Steve Hamilton - North of Nowhere

“Coming right up,” he said. “Yeah, I don’t blame the guy for sleeping that one off. I was awake myself most of the night. You know what I mean? Just staring at the ceiling.”

He did look a little ragged. But then he was no movie star to begin with. “Thanks,” I said when he slid the draft over.

“You know what I was thinking as I was staring at the ceiling all night? That it was all my fault.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Vargas, that horse’s ass, when he was building that house over there, he stopped in here a few times. I got to talking to him, he asks me if there were any regular poker games going on. So I told him yeah, I got a few guys who play here a couple of times a month. You know, Jackie and Gill and a few other guys. He starts coming over on poker nights, but he’s playing for bigger stakes than most guys here want to play for. So eventually we sort of break off this other game, just Vargas and that Kenny who works for him, me and Gill, and Jackie. And Swanson…”

He stopped and looked at me. He couldn’t help smiling.

“Until he started nailing Vargas’s wife, I mean. Then we needed another player, so Jackie dragged your ass along. Don’t you feel lucky now?”

“I am truly blessed.”

“Jackie was feeling a little bad for you, Alex. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. He said you were keeping to yourself too much. Said he hasn’t seen you much lately.”

“I was in a little slump,” I said. “I’m okay now. Really.”

“That’s good to hear, Alex. Jackie’s just looking out for you, you know that. He’s a good man. Hell, Jackie and me, we go back almost fifty years now, can you believe that? We used to do our homework together, right over there in the corner.” He pointed to the far corner of the bar, where now a dartboard hung on the wall.

“Must be a lot of memories in this place for you.”

“Alex, you don’t know the half of it.” He looked up at the screen again. “Can you believe this new ballpark they’re playing in now? Comerica Park, they call it? Is that for real?”

“I’ve seen it,” I said. “It’s not like Tiger Stadium, I tell you that much.”

“Of course not,” he said. He picked up a wet dish towel and threw it at his son. Ham O’Dell was even taller than his father, at least six foot six. He’d played power forward at Northern Michigan. He was what the newspapers politely called a “physical player,” meaning that he couldn’t do much besides get in other people’s way. Ham peeled the wet towel off his face and threw it back at his father, missing the man by three feet.

“Basketball players,” Bennett said. “No coordination.”

That started a series of arguments about sports, and then about which generation had it harder. Somehow it went to fishing after that, and then finally to women. That brought Mrs. O’Dell out of the kitchen. Margaret O’Dell was a truly lovely woman, and neither of the two men in the room deserved her. That’s what she said anyway, and when she put me on the spot I was more than glad to agree with her.

“How’s Jackie doing?” she asked me. “I haven’t seen him in I don’t know how long.”

“He’s still the same,” I said. “Aside from last night, he’s doing fine.”

As I talked to her, I remembered something that Jackie had told me. Or had almost told me but not quite, about how he had loved Margaret once, years ago, and about how he had lost her to his best friend. I wondered if he had seen her face when his life was flashing before his eyes.

It was dinnertime when I got back to Paradise. I stopped in at the Glasgow again. Jackie was out of bed, God bless him, and sitting by the fireplace. He still looked a little tired, but nothing a little friendly needling wouldn’t cure. I had my dinner with him, and told him about my day-my meeting with Maven, then with Leon, and finally how I stopped in to see Bennett. And Margaret.

He gave me a slow nod and a smile at the sound of her name. “You really got around today,” he said. “Not bad for a hermit.”

When I finally made it back to my cabin that night, the light on my answering machine was blinking again. There were two messages this time. I pressed play and heard a voice I didn’t recognize at first. Then it came to me. It was Winston Vargas, inviting me to have lunch with him the next day. On his boat, of all places. The second message was from Eleanor Prudell, Leon’s wife, asking me to call her back as soon as I could.

It was late, but I figured Vargas’s message was one invitation I shouldn’t leave hanging. He had left his number-I dialed it and waited through five rings until a woman answered.

“Is this Mrs. Vargas?” I said. “I’m sorry to call so late. Is your husband there?”

“Who is this?”

“My name’s Alex McKnight. I was one of the men playing poker at your house last night.”

“Let me guess, you had so much fun you’re calling to set up the next game.”

“No, actually, your husband invited me to lunch tomorrow. On his boat. I was calling to decline. I hope I didn’t wake you, ma’am. I wasn’t thinking.”

“He’s not here right now,” she said. “He’s out having some kind of meeting with his hired goon.”

“With Leon Prudell? It’s almost midnight.”

“I don’t know his name. He’s the big guy with the orange hair, the one who’s been following me around for the last few weeks.”

I wasn’t going to touch that one. “Well, can you give your husband the message, ma’am? That I won’t be having lunch with him?”

“I’ll do that,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t break his heart.”

“Thank you, ma’am. And good night.”

“Alex, was it? Sleep tight, Alex.”

I was going to save Eleanor Prudell’s call for the next morning, but this business with Vargas was getting stranger by the minute. The way Leon had been acting, and that line about his first priority being his client, his second priority being the police. I was thinking that was just Leon being Leon, but now I wasn’t so sure. I figured it was worth returning his wife’s phone call, even this late at night. She answered on the first ring.

“Eleanor,” I said. “This is Alex. I take it you weren’t sleeping.”

I’d gotten to know Eleanor Prudell, enough to like her and to admire the way she put up with her husband’s private eye dreams. When Leon broke both his ankles, I watched her carry him around the house like he was a basket of laundry. If I ever needed back-up in a bar fight, Eleanor would be my first choice.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” she said. “It’s been so long, Alex.”

“Is everything all right? You sounded a little upset in your message.”

“I’m just wondering what Leon’s got himself mixed up with this time,” she said. “This crazy Vargas character called him seven times today. They’re out at some bar right now, having some kind of ‘pow-wow,’ he said.”

“A ‘pow-wow?’”

“That’s what he called it. He’s been acting real weird, Alex. I mean, even on the Leon scale. I was hoping you’d know something.”

“I really don’t,” I said, feeling a small stab of guilt. “I haven’t been spending any time with him lately.”

“I wish you would,” she said. “You know how to bring him back to earth sometimes.”

“Eleanor, I’m sorry…”

“You don’t have to apologize, Alex. I know you’re not really his partner anymore. I was just hoping you could find out what he’s up to.”

“Maybe I can,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. “Vargas wants to have lunch with me tomorrow. Maybe I can find out what’s going on with Leon.”

“God, Alex, would you? I feel better already.”