The Barkeep (40 page)

“Something’s come up.”

“Your shift tomorrow night has come up,” said Marson, looking down at his clipboard. “And you’ll be here, or don’t bother coming back.”

“Then you better give Chip a call.”

Marson’s head jerked up. “Are you quitting on me?”

“I don’t have to. Your ultimatum did it for me. And I actually want to thank you for it.”

“If you’re quitting tomorrow, then you’re finished now,” said Marson. “Hang up your towel, punch out, and go.”

“There’s a call for you, Mr. Marson,” said a waitress.

“I’ll be right back,” said Marson. “Don’t touch the till.”

“You can trust that I won’t,” said Justin.

“That’s the shame of it, Justin, because I know that I can.”

Cody was finishing his Sidecar at the bar when Justin ambled over to him. “Another?” he asked.

Cody checked his watch. “Something quick.”

Justin snatched a shot glass and slapped it on the bar, grabbed a squat brown bottle from the premium rack, filled the glass to the rim.

“Tequila?” said Cody.

“Not just any tequila,” said Justin. “This is Tezón Añejo. Pure blue agave, slow-roasted, ground by a millstone of volcanic rock, aged in oak for two years.”

“So how do I rate such an honor?”

“It’s a celebration,” said Justin. “I just got fired. Drink up.”

“What’s going on? You never got fired before, you were always the one who left.”

“It’s a new era.”

Cody lifted up the glass carefully. “To new things,” he said before lapping up just enough of the tequila to stop it from spilling. “Wow.”

“Yeah. I need something from you.”

“Whatever you need, you must need it bad.”

“That I do.”

Cody looked at Justin for a moment and then snapped down the rest of shot. “Yowza, that’s good.”

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

Justin leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need to buy a gun.”

59.

DUPLEX

J
ustin’s father was speaking, words were coming out in a seemingly sensible order, but they held no meaning. Justin sat across the table from his father in the Graterford Prison visitors’ room and heard the audible ebb and flow of sentences as they streamed across his father’s lips, yet still it was as if he were watching a dumb show. That is what happens when you finally realize that every word out of your father’s mouth is a stinking lie.

Justin now fully understood the truth in that old weathered book pressed urgently upon him so many years before.
Fear it not. Be not terrified. Be not awed.
In the past Mackenzie Chase’s words had the capacity to terrify and destroy Justin; all manner of damage could be done with an indelicate suggestion or a barbed comment. But no longer. Now that Justin understood everything his father said to be a lie, and that any meaning his father’s words might carry existed only in the convoluted workings of his father’s own befouled consciousness, his father’s words were suddenly devoid of threat.

“It’s just amazing to me that she could have done it,” said his father. “That this woman, whom I had never met, could wreak such devastation on our family is unfathomable. It
makes what happened to Eleanor seem even more horrible.”

“It’s unfathomable, all right,” said Justin.

“And yet you tracked her down.”

“I got lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” said Justin’s father.

Now see, there was an interesting comment that took some close interpretation, because while it wasn’t quite a lie, it certainly wasn’t the truth either. That Justin had found his way to Janet Moss certainly had little to do with luck, Justin was now well aware of that. He had been led there, step-by-step, by this very man sitting across from him. But Justin’s father was implying that it was Justin’s pluck and perseverance, along with a pressing curiosity and keen intellect, that had led Justin on that path, and this certainly was a lie. It was more Justin’s gullibility, and his fervent wish to disavow the truth, that sent him to Janet Moss, and his father well knew it. It was becoming almost a game to try to find every level of lie in his father’s words, in his every breath.

“Have you told everything to Sarah?” his father said.

“Most,” said Justin.

“You need to tell her everything, son. We can’t have any surprises in court.”

“I have another appointment scheduled. She seemed more interested in getting to know me as a person than in pumping me for information. As if we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Why would she think that?”

“I’m sure she’s just thinking of the case,” lied Justin’s father. “She’s a patent lawyer, and I don’t suppose she has much trial experience. She must just want to get to know her witness.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” lied Justin right back.

His relationship with his father had entered a new and quite interesting phase. Before, Justin’s father would lie and
Justin would sort of believe him, would want to believe him. What son doesn’t want to believe his father? And so there was a troubling inequity in their roles, a carryover from the awe and fear Justin had felt for his father since toddlerhood. But now, after experiencing his fork in the eye, a wonderful balance had been achieved. Justin’s father would lie and both of them would be aware that he was lying. Justin wasn’t sure if his father was aware that Justin was aware that his father was lying, but that was only a matter of time. As it would only be a matter of time for Justin’s father to figure out that everything Justin was saying now was a lie. And when that happened, when both of them became aware of the full extent of each other’s lies, then they would have finally reached across the generational divide as equals. Sweet harmony.

Hey, nothing’s perfect.

So Justin watched with a surprising amount of satisfaction as his father lied to him about the past, the present, and the future they would have together.

“I want to take a trip when I get out of here,” said his father. “I want to reconnect with you.”

“That would be nice.”

“A cruise maybe.”

“We’re all a little short of cash.”

“So then we’ll just go camping. You, me, and Frank.”

“And Cindy?”

“Sure, and Cindy too. And the kids. The whole damn family.”

“And that Annie Overmeyer?”

“No, not Annie. She’s not important, Justin. She never was. Just us. Just family. That’s all that really matters.”

One, two, three, four. He had to restrain himself from pointing at the lies as they slipped out of his father’s mouth. It
could be like a game show. Welcome to this episode of
Find the Fib
, with your host, Mackenzie Chase. It astonished Justin that he hadn’t seen it all before. And just by being there, and nodding along, Justin was lying just as much as his father was. That was all part of this new relationship.

“I’d like that, Dad,” lied Justin. “I really would.”

God, it was beautiful, the symmetry of it all. And now it was time for Justin to raise the level of his game to match his father’s. It was time to play the caring son faced with a dilemma.

“I have to tell you something, Dad. I have to tell you the real way I found Janet Moss.”

“You told me already.”

“Not totally. I’ve been holding back.”

“Justin?”

“Just listen, Dad,” said Justin, and then he leaned over so he could say the next part in a whisper that only his father could hear. “A guy came into the bar one night, an old guy named Birdie Grackle. You ever hear of him?”

“No,” said Justin’s father. “Never.”

“This Birdie told me a strange story, that he was a Vietnam War vet who had become a killer for hire.”

“Jesus.”

“And that one of the people he had been hired to kill was Mom.”

“What?”

“And that he was actually the one who had killed her.”

A look of shock crossed Justin’s father’s face, a look of generic shock, mouth open, eyes wide, brow furrowed. The expression was as much a lie as everything his father had said that day. Justin fought to stop a smile.

“Who did he say hired him?” said Justin’s father.

“He didn’t know for sure, but he said he did know it was a woman. That’s what led me to Janet Moss.”

“Do you think this Birdman—”

Oh, thought Justin, that was good, the misremembered name, that was fabulous. His father was taking it up a notch. “Not Birdman, Birdie.”

“Birdie. How perfectly awful. Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t really know. But he gave me a little turtle pin that looked just like the little turtle pin I had given Mom and that came up missing after the murder. I tried to bring it in to show you, but they snagged it in the metal detector.”

“I don’t believe this. This is crazy.”

“Yeah, it is,” said Justin. “But then something really strange happened.”

Justin’s father pulled back a bit. There was no feigning his concern this time.

“This Birdie Grackle told me he’d kill the person who had hired him if I wanted. He said he’d do it for ten thousand dollars. I didn’t tell him to pound sand because I was still trying to find out who might have hired him. And then Mrs. Moss killed herself.”

“So it’s over. He should just disappear. Which is just as well, probably.”

“No, it’s not, Dad. If he killed Mom, he’s going to have to pay, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Justin. If he’s as dangerous as he said, then isn’t it better just to leave him be? You said he was old, he’s probably sick as a dog. Just let him die.”

“Maybe, if I could. But he came back to the bar two nights ago demanding his ten thousand dollars.”

“What? Why?”

“He said he killed Mrs. Moss for me. He said he made it look like a suicide just to help me out.”

“He must be lying.”

“I’d think so, but there was a bird at the Moss house when I first talked to her. It was missing when they found her body. This Birdie Grackle handed me a box, and inside the box was the very same bird. And he said something would happen to Frank if I didn’t pay him the money.”

“That son of a bitch.” Was there something truly aggrieved in his father’s exclamation, or was Justin imagining it?

“Exactly,” said Justin, powering on. “And I had to do something, right? But I didn’t want to go to the police right off, because I didn’t want anything to affect your case. So I got the money from Frank.”

“What?”

“And tomorrow I’m going to set up a meeting.”

“You’re going to pay him off?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Dad, if he’s telling the truth, he’s the one who killed Mom. We can’t do nothing. We have to do something.”

“What can you do?”

“There were some fingerprints at Mom’s murder scene that they never identified, right? Well, I carefully pulled his whiskey glass right off the bar and put it in a bag. It’s got his prints all over it. It’s filthy with his prints. Tomorrow I’m going to set up a meeting with the old bastard. But before the meeting I’m going to give the glass to the police with the whole story. They’ll check his prints with the ones they found at the house. If they match, they’ll be waiting when this Birdie Grackle shows up to get his money.”

There was suddenly something truthful coming from Justin’s father, something so pure and honest that it hurt a bit to see it. Justin had been enjoying the whole mendacity of their encounter a little too much, and now, to see something so raw was a little unsettling. And what Justin saw now in his father’s eyes was panic.

“Justin, that sounds too dangerous. Justin—”

“It’s all set up, Dad. And when they match his prints, you’ll be out, totally free. They won’t even wait for the hearing. This Birdie Grackle will be behind bars, you’ll be free, and we’ll be together, Dad. Finally. Just like you want.”

“Justin, no.”

The guard stepped over to their table. “It’s time, Mac.”

“No, not yet,” snapped Justin’s father. The prison guard didn’t step away this time.

“It’s fine, Dad,” said Justin, standing from the table. “I’ll be fine. But now I have to go. I have to make preparations.”

Justin’s father came to his feet, scurried around the table, and reached over, grabbing Justin’s arm. “Justin, stop. Listen to me.”

Justin wrapped his arms around his father, pulled him close, hugged him tightly. “If things go right, Dad,” said Justin into his father’s ear, “you’ll be out of here day after tomorrow.”

“You have to listen. You can’t—”

Justin let go of his father, pushing him away as he pulled back. “You have to go. Sleep well.”

“Justin, stop.”

As Justin backed away, his father pressed forward before he was stopped by the guard. Justin took a long look at his father’s face. Panic and fear and maybe hatred too. It was impossible to read it fully, there was so much going on, but the
expression on his face at that moment at least was sincere. Justin took a final look and then turned to leave.

“Justin, Justin,” said his father.

Justin stopped, and stood there without turning for a moment. This was it, the last chance for anything truly honest to pass between them. There was something his father wanted to say, needed to say, was desperate to say. A last chance at something. Would it be another lie or the truth, finally?

Justin turned around. “What, Dad? What is it?”

His father’s face was no longer a seething pool of emotion. It was friendly and calm, with a smile Justin recognized all too well, a bartender’s smile. It was all so tragic it seized his heart.

“Where will you be tonight, Justin?” he asked.

“Home, Dad,” said Justin, choking on the sadness as well as the words. “I’m going to be home. All night.”

“I’ll try to phone.”

“That would be great.”

“Wait for my call.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Bye, son. I love you.”

Justin nodded, thinking those might have been the very same words Justin’s father said to Justin’s mother the morning he left her to go to work. The morning he left her to go to work before giving the okay later that afternoon to whomever the hell he hired to beat his wife to death.

60.