Don Winslow - A Long Walk Up the Waterslide

But what had happened to the other $1,327? He had used plastic to pay for the airline ticket and the hotels.

Oh my God, Withers thought. Could I really have drunk $1,327?

The bartender was staring at him.

“Yes?” Withers asked.

“I don’t serve martinis,” the bartender growled. “I don’t serve martinis, or white wine, or anything with fruit in it.”

Withers swore he heard a dog growl from behind the bar.

The bartender continued, “I serve beer, whiskey, and gin. What do you want?”

Feeling somewhat guilty at the possibility of having consumed in excess of a thousand dollars in alcohol, Withers answered, “Do you have coffee?”

Growling dog again. Next it will be a trumpeting pink elephant.

“Made a pot just this morning,” Brogan mumbled. He stepped over to the coffeemaker, found a mug that had been washed at least once during the Reagan administration, wiped it on his shirttail, and poured it full of the greasy coffee. “Milk or sugar?”

“How old is the milk?” Withers asked.

“It has Amelia Earhart’s picture on the carton.”

“Black, thank you.”

“Fifty cents,” Brogan said.

Withers laid a five on the bar and told him to keep the change. It was time to get to work, and that meant getting in good with the locals.

“Do you have a phone I could use?” Withers asked.

“Phone booth across the street, outside the gas station,” Brogan said. He took four dollars and fifty cents in quarters out of the cash register and set the change on the bar.

Withers drank his coffee under the watchful eye of the bartender and then went across the street. Except for modern additions like the gas station and the power lines, the street looked like the set of a Western. He had never been in this small a burg in his life. He didn’t know they still existed.

That gave him an idea.

Luckily, the phone booth had an intact phone book, something you’d never see in New York. In a town this dinky, Withers thought, it shouldn’t be too tedious or time-consuming a process to take the phone number Gloria gave me and check it against the numbers listed in the book, which will then produce an address. Yes, you have to get up pretty early in the afternoon to put one over on Walter Withers, P.I., he thought.

“She can’t be pregnant,” Neal said.

“Why not?” Karen asked.

“Because she can’t be. It makes things too complicated.”

“Don’t whine.”

“I’m not whining,” Neal whined.

“I dunno,” Polly said. “My friend is usually very prompt.”

“Well, maybe your friend got a flat tire or something,” Neal said irritably.

Karen looked at Neal and shrugged.

“And this is going to be the water slide,” Jack Landis was saying on the television. “The biggest in the world.”

“I wouldn’t ride down that ting,” Polly said as she looked at the videotape of the water slide at Candyland.

“Not in your delicate condition, anyway,” said Neal.

“Right, Jack,” said Candy. “And we’re having a ‘Name the Water Slide’ contest. You can win an all-expenses-paid week during the grand opening of Candyland by picking the name for the water slide. Who are the judges going to be, Jack?”

“Why, you and me, Candy,” Jack answered.

“Can we turn this off?” Neal asked. He had a headache that had started in his toes.

“Now, what are we looking at here, Jack?” Candy asked.

“These are the time-share condos, Candy,” Jack said. “And believe it or not, we still have a few to sell, but you have to act now. Just dial one-eight hundred-CAN-DICE for a color brochure. You know, Candy, folks can buy seasonal, month-long, week-long, or even a weekend package. We have something for every size wallet, fat or thin.”

“Yes,” Candy picked it up, “and for those of you who aren’t interested in a time-share but would still like to contribute to this wonderful family fun center, we have special discount Honored Guest coupons for when you come to visit Candyland.”

“How about The Break Your Stupid Neck and Drown Ride?” Polly suggested.

“Neal,” Karen said, “if she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant, whether you want her to be or not. Believe it or not, you can’t control it.”

“Do you want to ask her?” Neal asked.

“Ask her what?”

Neal stared at her.

“Ask her if she thinks that photography is an art or not,” Neal said. “Ask her who the father is.”

The phone rang.

“That’s none of your business,” Karen said.

“Oh, you don’t think so?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

The phone rang.

“It’s Jack,” said Polly.

“On the phone?” Neal asked.

“The father,” Polly answered.

The phone rang again.

Neal picked it up and said, “What?”

“There’s a guy sniffing around,” Brogan said. “I was worried he’s looking for… your houseguest.”

“How do you know…” Neal began. He turned his back away from the living room and asked, “All right, what does he look like?”

“Like he’s from the East.”

The East, meaning New York or Moscow, which were pretty much the same to Brogan.

“Okay, I’ll check it out,” Neal said, then added, “Thanks.”

“Let me know if you need me,” Brogan said. “The shotgun is loaded and the dog’s awake.”

“Thanks.”

Karen and Polly were hugging when Neal turned around.

“Oh, please,” he said.

Karen looked over Polly’s shoulder and said, “This is an important moment to a woman, Neal.”

Her eyes were teary and her nose was getting red. Neal was afraid she was going to cry. The last time he’d seen Karen cry was when a mechanic told her that her jeep was going to need transmission work.

“We don’t even know if she’s actually pregnant yet,” Neal said.

“I just feel it,” Polly said.

The women hugged again.

Neal took Karen by the elbow and guided her away, saying, “Could I talk to you for a second?”

In the kitchen, he said, “That was Brogan on the phone. He’s hinky because there’s a stranger in the bar. And he knows about Polly.”

“Neal,” Karen said, “Brogan’s is the only bar on a state highway for a hundred miles in either direction. Strangers go in there.”

Neal smiled and said, “Paranoia is not only a character flaw; it’s my business. I’m going to go check it out.”

Karen sniffled before she asked, “Why don’t you pick up one of those home-pregnancy tests until we can get to the doctor?”

A doctor, Neal thought. Great. That means a receptionist, too, and maybe a nurse. Throw in a few lab technicians, some hospital orderlies. Maybe we can just save time and go on the nightly news.

He heard Jack Landis’s mellifluous voice say, “Folks, we’ve been under attack lately. You know, there are people out there who are so afraid of our family values, they’d resort to just about anything to destroy us. And I don’t know about you, but I just can’t think of a better way to show them that they just ain’t going to get it done than to dial one-eight hundred-CAN-DICE…”

I’ll give you a time-share, Neal thought. You can share some time in a little cell with a lonely guy named Bubba-yearly, monthly, even on weekends.

“Make her do her Shakespeare,” he said to Karen.

“Aww, Neal…” Karen whined.

“Make her do her Shakespeare.”

Neal took about three minutes to walk down the hill to Austin’s Main Street, which also happened to be Route 50. A car came through at least once every four hours or so.

A rumpled-looking guy in an old suit was coming in his direction up the sidewalk. Brogan’s right, Neal thought, he looks like the chairman of the English department at a New England prep school circa 1956.