Whistle Pass (13 page)

A grease-streaked paw swept across the sweat-glistened butch haircut. “Sure. Getting hungry anyway. Where we going?”

Gabe couldn’t completely hold back the grin. “Surprise. I’ll pick you up at two forty-five. Okay?”

Lester shoved his hands deep into pockets in the sleeveless coveralls. The brow furrowed. “I don’t like surprises.” A smile broke through the indecision. “I trust you, though, so, okay. I’ll be ready.”

Gabe took a few steps and turned back around. “Dress nice.”

A scowl dug into the pocked face. “Fancy, huh? You know I’m not a fancy pants, Gabe.”

“Relax. Not that kind of place. But you can’t be wearing blue jeans there, either. I’ll see you in an hour.”

L
ESTER
stood waiting in the yard. Gabe, dressed in slacks and dress shirt to aid in the deception, snorted in amusement.

The man hadn’t donned blue jeans, but the chocolate-brown uniform trousers with the beige stripe down the sides were apparently the only non-denim pants he owned. The white shirt was spotless. A necktie as limp as a dead snake dangled from his hand.

Lester opened the passenger door and climbed in. The DeSoto listed right.

“Needs springs.”

Gabe put the car in gear and drove down the gravel road. “Now it does,” he groused. He sniffed at the odor coming off Lester. The scent was thick and sweet. A yearning for pancakes awoke in Gabe’s mouth. “What’s that you’re wearing? I never smelled any aftershave quite like it before. Reminds me of syrup.”

“Smells good, don’t it? I mushed up some blueberries.”

Gabe groaned.

Lester held out the black tie. “I didn’t know if I should wear this or not.” His face flushed. “You’ll have to help me if I do. I can’t tie it.”

“You know, the tie might not be a bad idea. Yeah. I’ll help you before we go in.”

Lester’s nose rose. Nostrils flared. “What’s that smell?”

“Flowers. Backseat.” Gabe bit back the self-satisfied grin.

The massive head turned toward him. “What kind of place is this we have to bring our own flowers?”

“You’ll see.”

Ten minutes later he turned the car in to the trailer park entrance.

Lester oozed anger. He ground his palms into each other. “This is where Cathy and Richie live. What are you doing, Gabe?”

Gabe pulled over a few lots down from Cathy’s. He turned off the engine and slipped the tie around his own neck to knot it. “You’re having dinner with Cathy. She made a special meal for the three of you.”

The man’s eyes darted around the car like a spooked deer. “Three? Aren’t you going to be there?”

Gabe cinched up the tie, then loosened it and slipped it over his head. “Put this on. No. This dinner’s for Cathy, Richie, and you.”

Lester tugged the tie over his head, had to lift it over the ear it caught on. Gabe tightened the knot, straightened the tie, and tucked it under the starched collar.

“You’ll do fine. It’s time you told Cathy how you feel, Lester.”

The paws nervously rubbed the trousers. “What’ll I say? I—I don’t know if I can do this, Gabe. I mean, well, she’s older than me, Gabe. She’s got a kid and all. She’s a lot more experienced than me that way. I’ve never been with a woman.” He glanced at the floor. “One I didn’t have to pay for, anyway.”

Gabe leaned against the car door and didn’t say a word. He knew the man well enough that he didn’t need to speak, just look at him.

Lester gazed at the floor, the windows, the ceiling, the dashboard, and finally, at Gabe. A lip twitched, then a tight smile curled his lips.

“We were always the oddballs, weren’t we, Gabe?”

Gabe folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah. You always came to my rescue when they made fun of me because I wouldn’t take showers with the other boys in gym class.”

Lester leaned back on the seat. Gabe hoped it wouldn’t break under the strain.

The big man heaved a heavy sigh. “You were the only one who never called me ‘dummy’.”

Gabe briefly closed his eyes to allow the ensuing silence to renew their unique bond.

Leaning over the seat, he picked up the bouquet of roses. He handed them to Lester. “Mr. Carruthers unlocked the greenhouse so I could buy these.”

Lester pushed his face into the roses and inhaled. “They smell good, like Cathy. Think she’ll like them?”

“She’ll like
you
.”

Lester looked over to Gabe. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “What am I going to say? I can’t talk so good when I get nervous.”

“Do you talk to Richie?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah. He’s a great kid. Me and him talk all the time.” A rush of excitement swept over him. Words flowed out in a single breath. “You should have seen him, Gabe. In the last game of the season, he hit a line drive up the middle that scored two runs. I was screaming from the stands I was so proud of him.”

“And who was it taught Richie how to catch and hit a ball?”

Lester’s eyes narrowed. A frown pulled down the corners of his mouth. “They were making fun of him. Nobody’d help him. Not his fault he doesn’t have a daddy to teach him boy stuff.” The brows lowered. “They had no business making fun of him, Gabe. He’s only eight. He needed somebody to teach him is all.”

“He needed a friend.” Gabe reached over and patted Lester’s hand as it strangled the long stems of the bouquet. “Kind of like us when we were growing up, huh?”

Lester calmed. “Yeah. Guess so. But we had each other.”

“And now Richie has a friend too. He has you. That’s what you talk to Cathy about. You tell her how proud you are of her son, how much joy he brings into your life. Trust me, the rest will take care of itself after that.”

Lester’s empty hand went to the door handle. “You’re sure I can do this?”

Gabe kept his tone reassuring. “Yes. I’m positive. Get going before your dinner gets cold.”

He swung the door open and put his feet on the ground. “I’m not a dummy.”

The statement struck Gabe in the gut. “I never, ever, so much as thought you were, Lester. Why say that to me?”

Lester looked over his shoulder at Gabe. “Not talking about you. Mayor Black thinks I’m a dummy. The men he plays poker with do too. So I let them think that. They talk a lot, Gabe. Like I’m deaf or too stupid to understand English.”

Adrenaline pulsed through Gabe’s veins. “What did you hear you think I need to know?”

“They talked how you’re a friend of some logging man that’s in Whistle Pass, and how that man’s going to take care of a problem for them.”

Every cell in Gabe’s brain shrieked. Had Charlie lied to him about not knowing why he was in town? If he had, what kind of game did he think he was he playing? “Lester, there was a Lincoln parked there with Wisconsin plates. Do you know whose that was?”

He shook his head. “‘Thurston’ is all the others called him by. I gathered he’s some kind of big shot with the electric company. The mayor thanked him for his help in bringing the logging man to town.”

Anger roiled in Gabe’s gut. It added up. The electric company needed telephone poles. Charlie cut down trees to make the poles. Maybe the mayor hadn’t known where to find Charlie, but the power company did. Charlie was in Whistle Pass because his former lover wanted him here. His anger turned to a growl. If they were, in fact,
former
lovers and weren’t still seeing each other in secret.

But before he confronted Charlie with any of this, he needed to be sure of what he was talking about.

“Lester, is there a way to check and see if the electric company owns a logging firm in Wisconsin?”

“Sure. Even the power company has to register with the county in order to do business. The records should have most of their holdings listed. But the recorder’s office won’t be open until tomorrow.”

“Can you meet me there? The clerk will probably help you quicker than he would me.”

“Yeah, sure. Ten?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Lester.”

He held up the roses. “Thank you, Gabe.” Worry painted his face again. “You sure I can do this?”

Gabe leaned over and massaged the man’s tree-stump-thick neck. “Yes. Hurry up before Richie thinks you aren’t coming.”

“Richie?” Lester leapt to his feet out of the car and jogged down the street.

Gabe smiled contentedly at the success of his plan. Cathy had never even shared with Gabe the identity of Richie’s father. While the town called her “slut” and whispers followed her anywhere she went the first few years, all that mattered to Gabe was that Cathy was his friend, and so he’d never asked. The woman had stood proud with her head held high against the gale of accusations.

Lester and Cathy. God help anybody who ever tried to come between them.

He leaned over to close the open door the big man had failed to close in his haste. The door jerked out of his grasp.

Police Chief Perkins plopped onto the seat.

The knot on Gabe’s forehead throbbed. Fearful sweat flowed. In determination, he gritted his teeth. He would not run from this man—he clenched the steering wheel instead.

“Tomorrow night between nine and ten you be in the river park with Harris. I want you to kiss him. Don’t screw this up if you don’t want a court-ordered lobotomy.” Perkins slammed the door behind him.

Gabe steadily breathed in and out in an attempt to control his fraying nerves. Perkins had just ordered a public display of homosexuality for which Gabe and Charlie could both be nailed to a cross. Gabe laid his head on the seat and blew out a ragged, terrified breath. The irony hadn’t escaped his notice.

Judas had betrayed Christ with a kiss too.

Chapter 14

C
HARLIE
pushed the folding door of the phone booth closed and scrunched his nose. Somebody’d pissed in the thing. He yanked the door open. The phonebook wasn’t any thicker than three comic books. He flipped through the pages until he found the right one, ran a finger down the list to
Black, Roger
, then lifted the receiver, dropped in a nickel, and dialed the number.

While he waited for someone to answer, he dragged his fingertips under the metal shelf. He struck a damp glob and jerked his hand away. Pink goo stuck to his skin. Bubblegum.

Scraping off the gum on the sharp edge of the shelf, he muttered, “What the hell’s wrong with people in this town?”

“Hello? What did you say?”

Great
. “It’s Charlie, Roger. I need to talk to you.” A man and woman in their Sunday best walked past. The lady’s wide-brim blue hat fluttered with each step of her heels clopping on the sidewalk. “But not on the phone. Where can we meet?” The not-so-secret location across from the hospital immediately came to mind. “And don’t say the water tower. Half this town does business up there.”

“Really?”

Roger sounded surprised. Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Really. Where?”

“There’s two taverns on Fourth Street just up from the Milwaukee Railroad’s roundhouse. Meet me at the Nugget. The doorman will be expecting you. But I can’t get there until after church, so, say, one o’clock?”

“Fine. See you there.” He hung up and scratched at his beard. Captain Tom had said the bars on Fourth Street had slot machines. Not to mention it was Sunday and the bars shouldn’t be open. Old Roger had definitely gotten into some stuff. He stroked the end of his nose. His gut tightened.

In the window of the closed dime store was a campaign poster with the state representative candidate’s smiling face. Charlie gathered the saliva in his mouth and spat into a crack in the concrete at his feet. This Whistle Pass Roger Black was a man he didn’t know… and sure as hell couldn’t trust. A wrenching sadness gripped his heart. Not even a semblance of the man he’d loved existed anymore. He turned up his collar and stepped out of the booth.

If the Fourth Street bars were open, maybe Captain Tom’s was too. He lit a cigarette and headed down the sidewalk.

The ship’s wheel sign wasn’t lit, nor were any of the beer advertisements hung in the windows. Charlie clicked the thumb-latch and pushed against the wood-framed door. Locked tight.

He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside. The glow of a light in some back room bled into the bar. All of the stools were upside down on the counter; the chairs were upside down on the tables. In the dim glow, faint shadows moved. Somebody was in there. He beat a fist on the doorframe.

Captain Tom’s head poked into the light. “It’s Sunday. We’re closed.”

“It’s Charlie Harris! You set me up with a tab and an alibi if I ever need one.”

The soft-bellied man strode into the room. Apparently the stained white shirt and suspenders were his trademark clothing. “Back already, huh?”

“Yeah. Quick turnaround.”

Locks tumbled and clicked. The barkeep pulled open the door. He quickly looked up and down the street.

“Come on in. Got to be careful the cops don’t see you.” He closed and locked the door behind Charlie. “I can be in here on Sundays to clean and such, but can’t have any customers. Unless, of course, we was on Fourth Street,” he snarled.

Charlie followed Tom through pasty air laden with stale booze and nicotine. His boot soles stuck and smacked free of whatever had spilled and semi-dried on the floor.
So much for the cleaning excuse
.