The Fed Man (17 page)

“Well thank you so much for the advice. And good luck to you.” He doffed his cap and bowed slightly to both before adding, “And have a good day, ladies.”

At first blush the Foam and Suds was a rat hole dive. It didn’t change with the second. He managed to miss most of the potholes in the two blocks from Casey’s and parked his Silverado across the street from the town’s watering hole. Inside he was greeted by the stench of stale beer, too many cigarettes, and body odor. He could hear a television blaring the latest sports news from ESPN, but it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the near-total darkness. He saw a lone bartender resting both elbows on the bar, his chin in his hands and his eyes glued to the television. There was a table in the corner where four regulars were engaged in a lively card game and seemed completely oblivious to the world. Their libation of choice for the morning appeared to be coffee, although he did note two empty shot glasses.

There was a hand-drawn poster on the wall next to the television. The artist had sketched a representative of each military division, all of whom were wounded and bandaged. They were leaning on each other for support and each man held one hand out, with the caption reading:
Change … where’s ours?

Pete approached the bar and took a position right in front of the bartender. The bartender instinctively reached for his moistened
bar towel with his right hand while keeping his chin perched on his left. Slowly he diverted his gaze from the television to Pete.

With a wary smile he asked, “What can I getcha, Mac?”

Tapping the badge on his left breast pocket, Pete returned the smile. “I’m Deputy Pete Mohr with the Oak Ridge PD. We’re investigating the death of a young man who lived here and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He slowly stood up and began wiping the bar in front of him. “Sure. How can I help you?”

“Were you working last Friday night, and if so, did you happen to notice anyone unusual come in here?”

“Yeah, I was working. I own the place so I work every night. Last Friday, you say? Isn’t that the night that young Johnny Ashford and the two girls were killed?”

“That’s the night. Now, did anyone unusual come in here that night?”

“Yes, now I remember.” Pretending to pull something over his head, he continued. “He had a gray sweatshirt on, pulled up this fashion so it was hard to see his face. Ordered a twelve-pack of Bud and some cherry-flavored sloe gin. That’s what I recall. Can’t remember the last time I sold some of that gut-wrenching, puke-making stuff.”

Jotting the information in his notebook, Pete looked up. “Did you see his face and can you give me a description of him?”

“Nope, couldn’t see very well inside of the hood. He was about five foot ten, I’d guess, and maybe 180. But again, hard to tell with a sweatshirt on.”

“Did you happen to card him?”

Wiping the bar harder, the bartender lost his smile. “Look, mister. It’s hard enough to make a buck here without carding every Tom, Dick, and Harry. Besides, he looked and sounded old enough. Good enough for me.”

Pete held up one hand and tried to put a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. Did you happen to notice his vehicle when he left?”

“No, I didn’t. I took his twenty, gave him his change, and,” wrinkling his brow, he hesitated a moment before continuing, “there was one thing, though. When I said thanks, he looked at me for a second from inside the hood and I thought I could see this funny looking, snarl-like smile. Then he said ‘no worry’ and left. Never heard that before. Struck me kind of strange-like. But that’s it. I don’t recall anything else.”

Pete folded his notebook and returned it to his pocket. He extended his hand, which the bartender accepted, and thanked him for his time. Exiting the Foam and Suds, the small smile on Pete’s face turned into an ear-to-ear grin. He took off his cap and swatted his thigh with it. Stepping off the curb, Pete almost did a small jig step. They had a clue, albeit a small one, and he couldn’t help but think that things were turning in their favor. They were going to get this weirdo psycho and they were going to nail his ass to the wall.

This was the night he had been anxiously awaiting. Despite not being at work for a few days, he had a difficult time concentrating on the tasks he needed to complete, making the day seem interminable. He tried to tell himself, he thought at least a million times, that he was only returning a pie plate. But his churning gut with a tinge of nausea and the beads of perspiration developing on his forehead reminded him it wasn’t just a simple mission.

What really had him somewhat perplexed was that he was looking forward to this evening. Bringing Ms. Abby was a nice touch. How had Nancy said it? PJ would just love to play with her. He thought he would bring some old Abbott and Costello movies with him. Just in case they couldn’t maintain a conversation and he wouldn’t be ready to leave. He absolutely loved the famous baseball sketch, “Who’s on First?” from their 1945 movie
The Naughty Nineties
. And he equally appreciated their “Lend Me $50” movie math humor from the 1941 movie
In the Navy
. However, he wasn’t
sure he liked utilizing his FBI training just to return a pie plate, but at least he had a backup plan.

With the pie plate and movies in one hand and Ms. Abby on her leash in the other, he began the three-block stroll to the Jameson home. He thought this area was his favorite part of Oak Ridge, and not just because of his destination. All the boulevards contained old, large white oaks with branches like outstretched hands, each straining to touch the hand of its neighbor across the street to form a canopy. The yards were immaculately trimmed; the homes, and especially those with porches, were all maintained and enhanced with their beds of black-eyed Susans and roses. The streets were even clean! This picture of tranquillity could easily be the setting for a movie or a sitcom from the ’50s or ’60s. He kind of expected Ozzie and Harriet or Mrs. Cleaver to come out of any home and invite him in for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.

He stood outside Nancy and PJ’s house and took a deep breath, scratched Ms. Abby behind her ears, and nervously walked up to their porch. He was about to push the doorbell when the door burst open and PJ bounded out.

“Hi, Nube.” Kneeling, he began to pet Ms. Abby. “Glad you could come, and I’m really glad you brought Ms. Abby.”

Both were startled when Nancy came to the door. “Peter James, where are your manners? Why didn’t you invite Mr. Lawson into our home? Please take the pie plate into the kitchen, PJ.”

Turning to Nube, she forgot she was holding a small hand towel and hurriedly tried to hide it behind her. “I apologize for my
son’s lack of courtesy. He’s been so excited about your visit tonight. Or I should say, he’s really excited about having your dog here. He’s been asking me for some time now if we couldn’t get a puppy, but there’s just no way it would work. Not now anyway.”

Her cheeks blushed and she nervously tucked a not-out-of-place strand of hair behind her ear. The sight brought a soft smile to his face. “Well, would you look at me. I’m just like my son. Won’t you please come in, Nube? May I offer you something to drink?”

“No, I’m just fine. Is it okay if I bring the dog in? She does very well and she is housebroken.”

Smiling, she stepped to the side and held the door open. Gesturing to the living room with the towel still in her hand, she said, “Certainly. She’ll be just fine and will be great company for PJ.”

She blushed brighter as she realized she still had the towel in her hand, which made Nube smile broadly.

He knelt to remove the leash so he could hide the smile and hopefully lessen Nancy’s embarrassment. Standing, he gave Ms. Abby an imperceptible hand signal and she followed Nube into the house at heel and she sat by his side. However, when PJ returned to the room the dog began to squirm and whine softly. She looked up at Nube, who said, “It’s okay, Abby. Go play.”

The dog bounded over to PJ and almost knocked him over, causing Nube and Nancy to laugh. Still smiling, they looked at each other with an unspoken feeling that the ice had been broken and a bond formed via this small boy and a German shorthair dog.

Nube and Nancy sat on the couch for what seemed like an
interminable minute before Nube said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Nancy? I can’t help but notice all the pictures you have displayed around the room; and you have a son and you’re wearing a wedding ring. And I see the encased flag on the mantle. Do you mind if I ask what happened to your husband?”

After an audible sigh, Nancy began her reply, “I was married to the most wonderful man in the world. His name was Joseph Jameson. I liked to call him JJ. But he was a career Army man, where he was officially known as Sergeant First Class Joseph Jameson.”

Nube noted the small tear at the corner of her left eye and how she rolled her wedding ring as she continued with a break in her voice. “He was killed two years ago in Iraq. The official government report was that insurgents planted one of their improvised explosive devices under his vehicle while he was engaged in some sort of combat operation. Forgive me, but it just angers me that the government’s description of how my husband and the father of my son died could be so trite.”

The momentary look on her face was one of extreme sadness mixed with anger. She took a deep breath and then forced a smile as she went on. “I was told that they fold the flag thirteen times and leave stars shining to remind us of our nation’s motto, In God We Trust. Believe you me, Nube, my faith has been tested, but I’m happy to say it has persevered and has helped get me through this tragedy.”

“I’m sorry, Nancy,” Nube said quietly. “I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, that’s okay, Nube. Like I said, it’s been two years and PJ and I are doing okay. He’s asked me a lot of questions about his dad, but he hasn’t asked me anything now for quite some time.”

Clasping her hands together, she sat up straighter and put on a smile that almost melted Nube. “So, that’s enough about me for now. Tell me something about you.”

Nube told her a few things about himself and the conversation gently developed into one of generalities to avoid anything that might have become cumbersome. They spent the remainder of the evening having a quiet dinner, and then, with Ms. Abby curled up with PJ, they watched the two Abbott and Costello sketches. At the conclusion of the “Lend Me $50” sketch, Nube feigned a yawn and looked at his watch.

“I think Ms. Abby and I should be going. It’s been a long day and it’ll be another long one tomorrow.”

Starting to walk to the door, he continued, “Thank you so much for dinner and the company. And please feel free to return the pie plate some time. With a pie in it, of course.”

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable and unsure as to how to proceed when he blurted out, “Perhaps next time I can cook dinner for the two of you.”

He bent down to attach the leash to Ms. Abby’s collar, and when he stood Nancy was standing by his side. She raised herself on her tiptoes and lightly brushed his cheek with a soft kiss. “We’d like that, Nube.”

PJ held the door for them as they departed. He called out, “Bye, Abby,” causing the dog’s tail to wag even faster.

As soon as he was sure he was out of sight of their house, Nube touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him and it felt warm. The blush became brighter and the smile bigger. He almost felt like skipping. It would be easier working tomorrow.

Nancy stood on her porch and watched Nube walk away. She couldn’t help but wonder how someone got a name like Nube. He had talked a bit about himself, but somehow didn’t get around to explaining that. She shivered in the cool breeze, so she pulled her sweater tight. She was just going to return inside when she noticed that he stopped and touched his cheek where she had kissed him. She wasn’t sure what had come over her to cause that impulsive move, but she did smile and blush. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite as chilled any more. And then she saw him skip! She brought up a hand and held it over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Who was this man that was causing her to feel this way? And why was she allowing herself to feel the way she was?

As Nube disappeared into the shadows, she opened the screen door and went back inside. She stopped and leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. When she reopened her eyes, she looked at all the pictures she had displayed of her and JJ and of the two of them with PJ. She tried to recall the events that had led to her taking this path to Oak Ridge. She and JJ were high school sweethearts in Minneapolis, but decided to wait until he had finished his basic training before getting married. He had always
dreamed of being career military and she recalled being so proud of him and how handsome he looked in his uniform. And then her eyes fell upon the encased flag. The tears began to well up as she slowly approached the mantel and reached up to touch the glass-covered case.

“Oh, JJ, I will always love you, but it is time for me to move on.”

The room felt unusually cold this evening. And the dark felt darker. The only warmth he felt came from the comfort of his favorite chair. The half-lip snarl appeared as he thought how much he loved this old leather chair. It was the only thing that seemed to give something back to him. The smile disappeared, however, when he began thinking that the hounds were getting closer. The trail was becoming hotter for them. Nodding, he thought it was inevitable. But he was still the Garbageman and there was still work to be done. He had just turned on Dylan’s “Going, Going, Gone” when the headache recurred. Rocking back and forth in his chair, he dug his knuckles into his eyes and temples while contorting his face as hard as he could.

By the time the song was completed, the pain began to slowly subside. He loved this song and knew that he was slowly dying on the vine. He reached over and hit the replay button, sat back, and this time was able to enjoy the words of the man he thought of as his guidance counselor. He wanted his mind to be clear. He needed
to think about the next piece of garbage, the “need to be” who was out there somewhere waiting for him.