Chris Grabenstein - Mad Mouse

“You guys catch him?”

“The paintballer?”

“The total jerk who did this.”

“We're working on it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Our investigation is ongoing.”

“What?”

Yeah. I didn't like the way it sounded either. I try again.

“We're still, you know, following up on some leads and stuff.”

“So the answer is no?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it just another paintball?”

“What?”

“Olivia thought she heard glass shatter. She told me there might have been a bullet or something.”

“Like I said, our investigation-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Danny. How long have we known each other?”

“Long time.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man.”

Jess has never talked to me like this before. Then again, one of our friends-the one I think he's falling in love with-was never shot at before either. And, back in the good old days, like last week, I could tell Jess just about anything. Now it's different. The chief says I have to be professional.

“I'm sorry, Jess.”

“Tell you what, Danny. If you find whoever did this, call my cell. We're staying on the mainland.”

Great! I want to scream. Stay there! Stay until it's safe.

“That might be best.”

“Yeah.”

“I'll call you when we catch him, Jess. I promise. As soon as I know anything definite.”

Jess doesn't say anything. I think he hung up before I even said his name.

The phone call carried me up to the top deck. I clip my cell back onto my belt and round the corner.

I freeze.

Harley Mook is sitting at a table downing a tiny cup of espresso under a green umbrella.

“Hey, Detective Danny!”

He's holding his cell phone with one hand and yammering away to someone. With the other hand he's waving like a lunatic to me. Like I won't see him even though he's the only person sitting outside sipping coffee.

“Love the uniform, dude!” Mook's conversation is over just as I reach his table. I'm wearing my summer cop getup: khaki cargo shorts, blue polo shirt, and baseball cap with POLICE stitched across the crown. “Where's your weapon?”

“I'm not authorized to carry a sidearm.”

Mook leans back. Surprised to hear me talk like such a cop. I'm only doing it to help me remember I'm in uniform and, therefore, can't punch him in his big fat face for insinuating he and Katie were ever a hot item.

I look at his eyes. They're red-rimmed, bloodshot. It's still last night to him, but I think his meth has worn off. He must hope a double espresso can jumpstart his heart.

“Why aren't you on your way to Atlantic City?” I ask.

“Where?”

“You guys said you were going down to A.C. The casinos?”

“Did we?” He yawns. “Oh, you mean at the diner? Yeah. We thought about it. But, the motel already has my credit card, and they'll charge me for the whole weekend if I check out.”

Mook. Cheap as always.

“So, we decided to stick around. Thought I'd hang with some of my old school buds.”

“I'm busy today.”

“Not you, pal. Nothing personal, but you're not that much fun anymore. You've been hanging out with Seedpack too much.”

I know he mispronounced Ceepak's name on purpose. I let him.

“Enjoy your coffee,” I say and start for the door into Sun Coast.

“You here to see Katie?”

I stop.

“Maybe.”

“She works downstairs, right?”

“So?”

Man, we even sound like we're fifteen again. At least I don't add a “What's it to ya?”

Mook smiles. He knows he's annoying me and he's loving every second of it.

“Say ‘hey’ for me.” He looks at his watch. “I'm meeting up with this guy from back in the day. Tell you the truth, I never really liked him, but hey …”

Maybe the feeling was mutual.

“Sort of a doofus, you know? But he called out of the blue yesterday, said he had that weed I was telling you about. Primo ganga. Jamaican. You ever do Jamaican?”

“Just Red Stripe.”

“The beer?”

“Yeah.”

“Beer just gives you a gut,” says Mook. “Weed? Completely non-fattening. Except for the munchies, of course.”

Marijuana. Like the T-shirt says, it's a special kind of stupid.

“Never pictured this dude for a dealer,” Mook says. “Wheezer was always more like a loser.”

“Enjoy.” I head for the door. “See you next summer.”

I go inside to order some coffee. For sure I'll see Mook sooner than next August. I'll be seeing him when “Seedpack” and I go ask him a few questions about his ARMY buddy's minivan.

“For me?” Katie unlocks the door and sees the tray with three cups of coffee jammed into the cardboard circles.

“One for you, two for me.”

“Great. Let me lock the door.” She leans in to twist the key.

“Something smells good.” I sniff her hair.

“That's chocolate, Danny. The store is full of it.”

“No. Your hair. Smells great.”

She laughs and her green eyes sparkle. I take another deep whiff of her hair.

“Rosemary and chamomile organic conditioning,” she says. “Enjoy it while you can. In another hour, it'll reek of candy apples.”

“Yum.”

“Help yourself.” She points to a tray where shiny red apples are lined up on a sheet of wax paper. It looks like some kind of Apple Day parade and the flat-bottomed balls are carrying sticks for flags they forgot to sew.

“Maybe later,” I say.

“So? How was the big dinner?”

“Did you talk to Olivia?”

“Nope. Was she working last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you guys get one of her tables?”

“No. Katie …”

“What?”

I'm not ready. So, I change the subject. “Hey-were you and Mook ever a couple?”

“Uh, no. ” She does this funny little puff of air out one side of her lips that sends her bangs floating up above her face like wisps of cotton candy. “I think we played spin the bottle once. In fifth grade or something. I think I had to kiss him.”

“You lost, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“So you two never …”

“Never what?”

“You weren't ever a couple?”

“Me and Mook?”

“What about that summer we all met?”

“Nope. I was hanging with Becca and I think she knew Mook. Maybe they were dating. I forget. Becca dated a lot of guys.”

“Still does.”

“And then we met Olivia in the dressing room at-”

“Teeny's Bikinis!” I know this because it's one of my favorite stories-probably because it involves three topless girls giggling at each other when one of them forgot to slip the little hook in the eye on the half door and the three of them ended up sharing a changing booth. I always figured they became friends because they had nothing left to hide from each other.

“And you knew Jess, who I knew already because he was a lifeguard.” Katie giggles. “Remember how all the girls used to hang out around Jess's chair?”

“Yep. It's why I hung out there, too.”

She smiles and goes behind the counter to empty a bag of jelly beans into their Plexiglas bin.

“You want some help?”

“Sure. Thanks”

I move behind the counter and get the gist of it pretty quick. You open a cardboard box, pull out the five-pound plastic bag of whatever, find its bin, pour it in. If the cop thing doesn't work out, here's a possibility.

“Hey, Katie …”

“Yeah?”

“Last night …”

“It's okay you didn't call.”

“Hmmm?”

“I figured you'd call and tell me all about your big night. What happened? Did you and Ceepak hang afterwards, celebrate some more? Is that why you need two cups of coffee this morning?”