Memorial Day: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Novels) (14 page)

Jerry looked baffled. "Okay."

"I am in this for the
short
haul, and you can take that to the bank."

Sunday, High Noon

The little diner was nearly empty. Two aging migrant workers shared a beer and a bowl of chili in the far corner. Madge waited on us, collected their money, then returned to the kitchen. Annie was nowhere to be seen. I was staring down at my can of soda like it was the winning lotto ticket when I surprised myself by talking. "She was only twenty-three years old," I said. "I think I had something to do with her getting killed."

"What?" Jerry tugged his baseball cap down over the scar.

"I'm okay for long stretches," I said, absently, "but then suddenly I start to dream about her and I can't get her out of my mind."

"Who?"

"Bonnie."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mick. Some client you used to see?"

"She was a blonde, like Sandy Palmer." It all came out in a rush. "I was doing this violence group with a colleague of mine, Angela Dorio. Sometimes I'd catch her client calls when she was on vacation."

"Oh. And this shrink lady was gone?"

"Yes. Bonnie paged me instead. Her boyfriend had threatened to kill her. She came in for an emergency appointment, really scared. Turns out she'd seen me on television. She'd recognized my name and my voice the minute I called her back."

This was not something I was used to talking about, and Jerry knew it. He didn't move, not even to take a sip of his coffee. I continued, now focused on another time and place.

"Bonnie was a beautiful girl. She was the kind who lit up a room. She looked a lot like Sandy, with blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile. She could make a man eat his heart out." The migrant workers left through the back door, chatting in Spanish. "The boyfriend was older, thirties I think. He had been in jail a couple of times for assault and another time for beating her. The neighbors called the cops, and in California the law says if anybody has a mark on them, somebody has to go to jail. I guess Bonnie looked pretty bad that night, so they took him away. He never forgave her."

I sipped my drink. I resumed talking, almost in a whisper. "I hadn't had a lot of booze, maybe a couple of drinks, I don't remember. But I know it was enough that my judgment was impaired. I gave her the number of a shelter, told her to go there. I gave her my private number. I promised I would call her right back if she needed help. Then I let her walk out, and do you know why? I had to start taping a show in a couple of hours."

Jerry swallowed. "That doesn't sound too bad."

I ignored him. "Walt must have come along right about when my program aired. It's a safe bet he was calling her a slut and a whore, things like that. They usually do. When they found her, she had a split lip. She also suffered a concussion, a broken cheekbone, missing teeth, some kidney damage, broken fingers, and her ribs were in pretty bad shape. One of them had punctured a lung. So she was lying there drowning in her own blood; dying in her own kitchen, that Saturday night, while I was high on coke and booze and making fun of somebody on the air." I turned towards Jerry. "But you know what really fucks with me?"

"What?" Jerry's voice cracked.

"The cops found her cell phone a few feet away. Her broken fingers were reaching for it, and my number was already dialed in. She wanted tell me all about her terrible evening."

"Mick, that's horrible. But how is it your fault?"

I grimaced. "Jerry, I didn't call her back. I got drunk and I forgot."

"Ouch. But look, you couldn't have known he would kill her."

"I knew it was possible. I started eating my shadow a long time ago."

"I don't understand," Jerry said. He obviously wanted to. But Jungian theory is dense and complex.

I thought for a moment. "Okay." I leaned forward. "We all have a shadow, consisting of all the elements of the psyche we don't understand. Carl Jung thought we had to examine and devour that part of us in order to be whole. If we do not accept and eat the shadow, it will eventually dominate."

"So therapy puts it in a burrito for you, or something?"

I laughed. "You might say that. We need light and dark to function. Evil is just the shadow without balance. But look, a man with no shadow also wouldn't have any courage. He wouldn't be able to fight for what he believes in. What's that old quote? Evil is just the absence of good?" I suddenly realized I'd left Jerry behind. "Sorry. I've lost you."

"That's okay," Jerry said. "But look, so you're an alcoholic. Why is that so unforgivable?"

There was one last bit of pus in the wound. I stared down at the scarred plastic that covered the laminated table; studied the way it distorted my reflection. It made my features appear hideous. I felt my cheeks turn red. I eyed my dark twin without looking away.

"There was a groupie who used to hang out at the studio every night, kind of an airhead. While Bonnie was trying to call me I was screwing her in a broom closet. I had turned my cell phone off so we wouldn't be disturbed. Get it now?"

"Jesus," Jerry said. "Yeah, I get it now. And that's why . . . ?"

"Sandy Palmer reminded me of Bonnie. I knew there was something oddly familiar about her, but I actually felt it in my bones over at Doc's place, while I was standing by her body. I was looking at Bonnie, too, and it made me feel sick."

"I get it, now."

"Hal knows me better than I know myself. He wants me to lose the guilt and start tilting at windmills again. He also wants to be a part of it because he's bored. So from now on you and me, partner, are Don Quixote and Sancho Panza."

"Say what?" Jerry grinned.

"A knight in rusty armor. The trusty sidekick who helped him bought into his delusions of grandeur."

"Delusions of grander what?"

"Bad. Okay, I've got to see a man about a horse." I got to my feet, rocking the old wooden table. "Back in a few."

Annie Wynn was mopping the floor of the single rest room. She wore tight blue jeans and a white Dallas Cowboy tee. She looked edible. I stopped in the doorway, watched her for a while. Annie smiled with honest pleasure.

"Howdy. You need to get in here for some reason?"

"It can wait a minute. How are you? Was Loner was annoying you last night?"

"Some," Annie said. She finished wringing out the mop, stood to face me. "He's a caution, that one. He's like Will Palmer, thinks he's God's gift to the ladies. I used to have a weakness for that kind of fool. These days, I don't even get accused of being a lady."

"I doubt that," I said.

Annie closed the distance. She looked up at me, bright brown eyes steady and focused. "I still make you nervous, don't I Callahan?"

"Yes ma'am," I said. "You surely do."

"You ever think how it was between us? How we were together?"

"Sometimes," I said, and winked, "especially lately."

"I never forgot," Annie said. "Not even with two loser husbands. You were always on my mind."

I backed up a step. "I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything," Annie murmured. "Just take the compliment. Hell, Mick, you were smart, tough, pretty, and out of your damned mind. You were a genuine bad boy. There isn't a young girl in the world that can resist a combination like that."

We both laughed. "You were pretty wild yourself," I said.

Annie looked glum. "Yeah," she whispered, "a little too wild for my own good." She looked up, smiled sadly. "Could be I still am."

"I'd bet we're both older and wiser, now."

Annie's eyes sparkled. She cocked her head. "Wiser?" She moved closer and brushed her fingers up the crotch of my jeans. My body noticed. "Then just say yes."

I swallowed. "Slow down. A lot has happened in twenty years, Annie."

"Don't I know it?"

"Maybe a bit too much."

Her expression changed. She stepped away from me abruptly, as if another woman had entered her mind. "I'm sure we've both got our share of war stories."

"Mine are a matter of public record," I said. "It's going to be hard to live them down."

She gathered her thoughts. "You want to hear one of mine?"

"You want to tell me, I do."

I already knew the early stuff. Annie had grown up in a trailer park outside town. It was a broken home, and her redneck mother drank too much and found something wrong with nearly everything she did. So Annie had the kind of personality that both craves and mistrusts intimacy. She fucked and then fought, broke up and made up. Her heart was forever saying both 'come here' and 'go away' at the same time. She gathered herself, clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to say.

"I told you I lost a baby, right?" She cleared her throat. "It was an abortion."

"I see."

"You remember I used to talk about what I'd do, how I'd feel about having an abortion, if it happened maybe I got pregnant?"

I touched her face. "I remember."

"We were just kids then," she said. Her eyes went moist. "Then I didn't know if it was right that people were killing babies just for birth control. You recall that conversation?"

"I do."

"Well, the time came when I had to do that very thing myself." She sniffed and wiped her nose. "I was all alone, Mick. I didn't figure there was any way I could care for a baby. I was so young and stupid. But you see, you never know what's going to happen. It turns out the abortion messed me up. I can't have children. That was it, just that one time."

I stroked her hair. "Annie, I'm sorry."

"Me too, now," she said. "Sorry as hell." All the heat was gone. I gently put my arms around her. We rocked slightly to the left and right. After a moment we let go and she looked up and chuckled. "Just when I start to think you're a prick, you do something like that."

"Huh?"

"You're a strange guy, always were." She moved closer. My pulse started to tap dance, my knees shook. Annie surely did have my number. "I never knew which Mick Callahan I was going to get. You went from cool and calm to hellfire and brimstone in a heartbeat."

"That's probably a bad thing."

Her breath was warm against my face and it smelled of fresh strawberries. "No, I like it," Annie said. "It makes you even more interesting." She quickly kissed me. And then, before I could respond, stepped around and behind. She slapped the seat of my jeans with an open palm. "You go on now," she said. "Do your business."

"Oh. Right."

In the restroom, I studied my face in the chipped mirror. I looked as confused as I felt. I splashed my face with water from the sink. I peeked back through the door for one last look. Annie went out onto the back porch. I followed the swing of her hips as she began to wring out the mop. Her clothes were soaking wet.

I flushed the urinal and washed my hands. The pipes were old and rickety and they banged and hissed, so I didn't hear anything. I walked back into the little diner and stopped dead in my tracks.

There were two of them, the Hispanic and the big one with the fuzz on his chin; the kid called Donny Boy. He and Mex had made short work of Jerry. My friend was on his hands and knees, trying to use his baseball cap to dab the blood from his lower lip. I felt oddly peaceful and enraged at the same time.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said, smoothly. "Nice to see you again."

Panting. Jerry's low and muffled moan: "Damn. What the hell did
I
do?"

"For starters," Mex said, looking down, "you messed around with somebody else's pussy. Not a cool move."

"Yeah," Donny Boy said. "Say you're sorry, pizza face."

"Thorry," Jerry said. He lisped because of the swelling and the blood.

"And then," Mex said, "you started hanging around with Mr. Showbiz here."

"I guess that's my cue," I said pleasantly. "It seems like I'm the one you ought to be talking to."

"Not us," Mex said. "Bobby wants to see you. He's waiting outside."

"Okay. I'll be along shortly, as soon as I tend to my friend here."

My attitude confused Donny Boy. "The fuck?"

"He thinks he's really hot shit, because he was like a Green Beret or something," Mex said.

"Navy Theal," Jerry lisped.

They left. Annie came back in from the alley, where she had just finished dumping trash. She looked at Jerry with concern.

"What the hell is going on?"

"My friend could use a mother's love," I said. "Me, I've got some business outside."

I looked out the window. All the townspeople had vanished. People in Dry Wells sure knew when to disappear. I was completely on my own. Annie knelt by Jerry and handed him a paper napkin. "Oh, damn that's ugly. Hold your lip between two fingers," she said. "Let me get some ice on there."

"You think Sheriff Bass is in his office?" I asked.

"I doubt it, not this time of day."

"Then Jerry, soon as you feel up to moving around, it might be a good thing if you went looking for him."

"Hokay," Jerry said, into the napkin. He sounded like he had a mouth full of marbles. "Sure you don't you need some help?"

"Help with what?" Annie asked. "Will somebody explain?"

"Thanks anyway, Jerry," I said, ignoring her. "I can handle this by myself. Maybe I've even got it coming."

"Got
what
coming?" Annie said. "I don't understand."

"That makes two of us," Jerry said. "Let's go find Bass." He struggled to his feet and stumbled to the door. Annie noticed blood on her fingers. She wiped them on her jeans, nodded quickly and left.

I stepped out onto the porch, facing Main, where the three boys waited. Their harem wasn't far away: the hippie girl and the skinny brunette wearing beads were up on the sidewalk by Doc Langdon's clinic. The thin one, Jerry's sometime girlfriend, seemed upset.