The Barkeep (47 page)

“He’s got to process it. He’s got a load to process still.”

“Like living with his father’s mistress. Is that Oedipus laughing in the distance?”

“Life is full of surprises if you’re open to them,” said Scott.

“Well, here’s one for you. From now on you’re working full-time on the Rebecca Staim murder. Find the killer, and I don’t care how far you have to go to do it. And then maybe when our Justin Chase finally shows up in his suit and buzz cut, you can work with him.”

“That I’ll look forward to,” said Scott. “So, Mia, what surprises are in store for you?”

“Who knows,” said Mia, thinking on it for a bit. Something about the way Justin Chase always seemed ready to reevaluate everything in his life made her want to do the same. “Maybe I’ll run for my boss’s job.”

“Heaven help us all.”

“Or maybe I’ll just get married.” Married? What the hell? Talk about surprises. Mia didn’t know where that came from, and didn’t even know what Rikki would think about it, but just saying it made her feel suddenly lighter, like she was
rising from some depth. “Yeah, married. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

“I don’t get paid to think,” said Scott. “That’s why I do the Jumble.”

68.

SIDECAR

D
erek holds on tight as Sidecar gallops around the circle. He does not have to grip so tight when Sidecar walks slowly. He can just sit like a king atop the saddle. But when Sidecar gallops and his head bobs and the saddle rises and falls like on a wild amusement ride and the great huffs of breath spurt from his huge nostrils, then Derek has to squeeze with his legs and lean forward while his fists grab the horse’s mane. And he feels his own heartbeat, and the horse’s heartbeat, and the horse’s hooves thundering beneath him, and that is the best feeling ever, like he is rising right out of himself, becoming some new kind of creature formed of horse and man.

It is thrilling and frightening both, and he owes it all to Cody. Cody is the only one of his special friends who kept all his promises. Vern or Tree or Rodney or even Sammy D, none of them were as good to him as Cody. He can count on Cody to take care of the details, count on Cody to take care of him. And Cody, true to his word, has gotten Derek a horse. Derek loves Cody with a warmth that wraps around his heart like a snake, which is why what is happening makes Derek so sad.

When Derek pulls back on the leather straps, Sidecar slows out of the gallop, and bit by bit Derek feels himself fall from the
sky and slip comfortably back into himself. At the edge of the circle stands Graham, in his tight black pants and funny cap.

Graham is tall and lean, and he smiles at Derek with his big horse smile and Derek smiles back. He likes Graham, not as much as he likes Cody, but Graham knows horses and Graham has a hardness in him that is comforting.

Sidecar makes his way around the circle to Graham, and Graham grabs the horse by the leather strap and rubs his nose. “You riding well, young Derek,” says Graham.

“We went fast.”

“I saw. You was making time, good time. You should be racing.”

“I am too big to race.”

“I can maybe set something up.” Graham scratches the horse’s jaw, and Sidecar whinnies. “He’s not the fastest, but he’s sturdy, and when he gets going, there’s no stopping him. Sort of like you. I was just thinking—”

Graham turns his head and quiets as a red car rumbles down the dirt road to the riding circle, spitting dust behind it. Cody’s car.

When Cody clambers out of the car, he is wearing dress pants with a shirt untucked, and his nose and eyes are red. From the powder, Derek knows. Cody is always nervous now, he drinks too much, even during the day, and he has begun to stuff the powder up his nose like Rodney. It is strange and sad how all Derek’s friends seem to fall apart over time.

“You look good up there,” says Cody with a slight slur.

“Yes, he does,” said Graham.

“Do us a favor and leave us a bit, Graham,” says Cody. “We have business to discuss.”

“No problem, boss,” says Graham, looking up and giving Derek a wink before he ambles off.

“We have a job,” says Cody, looking back down the now-dusty road. “There’s a girl who is missing.”

“I did not do it,” says Derek.

“I know that. There’s a man in the neighborhood, and the parents are certain he knows where she is. But the police can’t do anything about it. The girl’s parents want us to ask him some questions.”

“But he’ll see me. It won’t be tidy.”

“We’ll make sure to tidy it up after we ask.” Cody turns so Derek can see his eyes, red and crazy. “He’s a bad man, Derek. He’s done it before. He needs to be stopped.”

It is funny how Cody always tries to make sense of it for Derek, even though Derek does not care. It is as if Cody is really trying to make sense of it for Cody. Graham would not have to do that, Graham wouldn’t care either. Graham is more like Derek.

“Okay,” says Derek.

“And then I think we have to go.”

“Go?”

“Leave Louisville. I got word that someone was down here asking questions about me. Some old cop from Philadelphia.”

“Looking for me?”

“I think just me for now, but either way it’s time.”

“What about Sidecar?”

“We can’t take him with us.”

“But he is mine.”

“I’ll get you a new horse when we settle down again.”

“I do not want—”

“We don’t have a choice.”

Derek stares at Cody for a moment, notices the redness of his nose, the fear in his eyes, the way he staggers slightly as he reaches up to take hold of the leather around Sidecar’s jaw.
What Derek sees is what he so often sees in Cody now, the weakness pouring off him. Cody is not the same man anymore who taught him that trick with the penny and the quarter.

“Okay,” says Derek.

“We just do this job and then we go.”

“Okay. Let go of Sidecar.”

“Sure,” says Cody, letting go of the leather as Derek jiggles the straps.

Sidecar starts walking again around the circle with Derek sitting high in the saddle like a king. Derek turns and looks at Cody, who is rubbing his nose. He turns back and sees Graham smiling at him in the distance, encouraging him to go faster. Graham was born in Louisville, and he knows everyone, the rich with their horses, the workers in the paddocks, the bookies who take bets, and the gamblers who make them. And Graham is going to set up a race for him. More than anything, Derek wants to race, to see how fast he can go in a straight line, to merge into the horse and never have to stop.

Derek kicks Sidecar with his heels, and the horse begins to gallop again. Derek holds on tight as the saddle bounces and the hooves clop beneath him. His heart begins to race, merging with the heartbeat of his horse, and he feels again like he is something more, like he has burst through his limitations and is flying high, a force of nature, rising above the rest of the world, melting like a ray of light into the cloudless sky itself.

He is really going to miss Cody.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T
he Tibetan Book of the Dead
in my father’s bedroom. This was in the Age of Aquarius, when a psychology professor named Richard Alpert changed his name to Ram Dass and, along with his colleague Timothy Leary, touted
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
as a manual for life. My father was as straight an arrow as ever flew, but he was always willing to check out new ideas, and thus the book. I’m not sure what he made of it, but he did end up practicing his own form of meditation. Like Justin Chase, my father was always a seeker, who taught me to be more interested in the questions than the answers.

My father grew up in the Logan section of Philadelphia, two streets over from the home of David Goodis, a Philadelphia novelist who died in 1967. Though Goodis and my father grew up in the same neighborhood and are now buried in the same cemetery, I can’t imagine two so different lives. While my father was living the suburban dream, Goodis followed a starker yet more literary path, writing
Dark Passage
, from which the Bogart movie was made, and then
Down There
, which was turned into the Truffaut film
Shoot the Piano Player
. After an unsuccessful marriage, and a failed stint in Hollywood, his career dimmed, his drinking picked up, and his writing turned ever darker. He ended his life holed up in his parents’ house, banging away one seamy pulp noir masterpiece after another, books like
Night Squad
and the brutal
Cassidy’s Girl
, all with very little commercial success. His memory
has been kept alive by a coterie of admirers such as Lou Boxer, Deen Kogen, and Duane Swierczynski. Partly through their efforts, a Library of America volume of five of his noir novels has been released, edited by Robert Polito.

I bring up Goodis because one of his stories, about an elevator operator who is also a hit man, was an inspiration for this novel; give it a read and you’ll find the connection. Goodis’s hero in that story, Freddy Lamb, would have been a hell of a bartender if he wasn’t so busy killing. I haven’t bartended since college and needed a barkeep’s help with the book, not just with mixing the drinks but with the whole feel of what it’s like behind the wood these days. Chris Myers, known online as Chris The Bartender, kindly agreed to read the manuscript and correct my many mistakes. He also gave me many terrific suggestions that found their way into the book. If you are of the noble class of barkeeps and something in the book feels right, thank Chris. And if anything feels dead wrong, blame my editor.

I am incredibly grateful to be part of Thomas & Mercer, working with Daphne Durham, Alan Turkus, Jacque Ben-Zekry, and the rest of the team. My work couldn’t be in better hands. I want to thank the indefatigable David Downing, whose clear-eyed readings kept this book as tight as a spring. Wendy Sherman, my agent, has been incredibly supportive and loyal as my career moves in ever-shifting directions. And finally, as always, I offer unbounded love and gratitude to my children, Nora, Jack, and Michael, and to my wife, Pam Ellen. They are my joy and inspiration.

COMING IN 2014

THE RETURN OF VICTOR CARL

Y
ou know what a bagman is. He’s the scurvy errand boy for some fat-faced pol. A dark, malevolent figure in a shady fedora and long leather jacket, the bagman lugs his satchel full of black cash and dirty tricks through the city night, and when he whispers in your ear you shiver because he holds the shiv of his boss’s clout at your throat.

I was a bareheaded lawyer, a credentialed member of the bar, lank and weedy and as threatening as a chipmunk; I was nothing like I imagined a bagman to be. Yet somehow I found myself running errands for a power-mad congressman and carrying a valise filled with illicit cash through the city streets. What had I become? You tell me.

But with bag in hand, was I wrong to believe I was finally heading toward the heights? Was I wrong to hope the raw game of politics could shower me with the riches I so richly deserved? Was I wrong to expect I’d be the barracuda in the cesspool?

Evidently.

BAGMEN
a Victor Carl novel by William Lashner

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

W
illiam Lashner is the
New York Times
–bestselling creator of Victor Carl, who has been praised by
Booklist
as one of mystery’s “most compelling, most morally ambiguous characters.” His crime novels include
Blood and Bone
,
A Killer’s Kiss
,
Marked Man
,
Fatal Flaw
,
Hostile Witness
, and
The Accounting
. His novel
Kockroach
, published under the name Tyler Knox, was a
New York Times Book Review
Editors’ Choice selection. Lashner is a former prosecutor with the Department of Justice and a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop; his work has sold worldwide and been translated into more than a dozen languages.