Goldilocks (29 page)

At ten after five he was one of a handful in the dining room at Bishop’s. A marvelous neatness marked the person and manner of his waitress, whose brown eyes were enormous. Her figure was dainty. As soon as she set down his drink, a double Cutty on the rocks, he felt awash in a tide of good cheer and fond memories. Here, more than two decades ago, family and friends had toasted him and Barney Cole, Lawrence’s newest lawyers. Here, over lamb on a stick, Edith had mentioned that she was carrying their first child, which had hastened their marriage. Here he had entertained clients, pals, persons with wit, sportsmen with schemes, secretaries with sad stories, and always he had preempted the check, his pleasure, his nature. Those had been special years, the best, but the speed with which they had vanished astounded him.

At five-thirty the waitress asked whether he was ready to order. Yes, indeed, he told her, and made a show of examining the menu, which he knew by heart. His eyes strayed to her. She was too young, too hale, too alive, with everything ahead of her: heartache, bad luck, suspicious lumps, disappointments of the highest order. Why in the world would he envy her?

“I don’t,” he said aloud, surprising himself.

“Don’t what?” she asked.

“I don’t want French fries,” he said rapidly, as if she had caught him in a struggle with his diet. “Bad stomach, you know.” He reexamined the menu. “Prime rib sounds good. Rare. Very rare. They’ll know. Tell them it’s for Daisy.” He lifted his Cutty glass, weightless in his grip. “And another of this.”

At six o’clock many more tables were occupied, which pleased him though the lack of familiar faces disappointed him. The dinner crowd, unlike that at lunch, was mostly from out of town. He cut into a slab of beef that looked gory, as if it had just been plucked from the animal. He savored each bite while chewing carefully on tender teeth and wished now he had gotten the French fries. The waitress, busy at other tables, slipped over to his.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“Please, call me Daisy,” he said with immense sympathy for her and a gladness for himself.

The place filled up by seven o’clock, with new arrivals congregating in the lobby or slipping downstairs to the lounge. The wine waiter, energetically busy, flitted from station to station. Daisy missed the ornate costume and tinkling accessories of the previous wine waiter, killed some five years ago in a car crash, but he was elated when he glimpsed the faraway faces of a couple of brother lawyers. Good old Herbie Schultz, a Suffolk grad to boot, with his wife, Carol, a lovely person. At another table blustery but softhearted Ignatius Piscitello, another Suffolk alum, with his wife, Suzanne, who was assistant superintendent of schools. Good God, there was State Senator Pat McGovern and her mother, Phyllis! He knew the whole family, cousins and all. This was his world. The world was right, his life was in sync, and his stomach was strong. His waitress returned.

“It’s all perfect,” he said.

“Enjoy,” she said.

The lilt of her voice, the warmth of the scotch in his chest, the caressing sight of the familiar faces all served to uncork him. He began to cry.

The waitress, startled, said, “What’s wrong, Daisy?”

“I’m happy,” he said.

Abe Bashara, the restaurant’s gentle doe-eyed owner, came over. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

“He’s happy,” the waitress said.

“I am, Abe. I’m happier than I’ve been in years. I’m going to be waked from here, did you know that?”

Abe, without batting an eye said, “No, I didn’t.”

“Barney Cole should’ve mentioned it, surprised he didn’t. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Certainly not,” Abe said.

“I’ve paid my dues.”

“You have,” Abe said, not mentioning the large uncollectable tab Daisy had run up over the years.

“I love Lawrence,” he said through his tears. “I love the house where I was born. I love this restaurant. The whole city passes through it.” His face was trembling, his stomach hurting.

Abe whispered to the waitress, “Tell my brother to call Barney Cole.”

• • •

The sergeant rapped on the frosted glass of the open door and said, “Excuse me, Cap’n, but there’s two guys looking to see you.”

Chick Ryan glanced up from the newspaper spread out on his desk and tugged the creamy cuffs of his dress shirt a good inch below the sleeves of his fawn summer suit. His braided captain’s uniform, back from the dry cleaner, hung flat against the wall. He said, “Who are they?”

“I don’t know, but if I was gonna guess I’d say feds.”

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“Bet I’m not this time.”

Chick folded the newspaper and tossed it beneath his desk. He did not rise when the two men appeared, one fair and the other black. The door closed behind them. The fair one, Cruickshank, produced identification. “I’m impressed,” Chick said.

“This is Agent Blue.”

“No shit. Any relation to Agent Orange?” Chick guffawed. “Sorry. I couldn’t help that.” There were chairs, but he did not ask them to sit. “I might as well tell you, Blue, I’ve got racial prejudices, but I keep them pretty well hidden.”

“That’s all right,” Blue said. “I have the same sickness.”

“No cure, right?”

“None on the horizon.”

Cruickshank said, “We tried to get hold of you once before, but you were out of town.”

“Was I? When?”

“Must’ve been a week ago.”

“That so?” Chick creaked back in his rotary chair. “Where’d I go?”

“That’s your business, Captain. Of course if you want to tell us we’ll listen.”

Chick did not return Cruickshank’s smile. “Why don’t you guys tell me what you want, quit beating around the fucking bush?”

“We don’t want anything, Captain. Unless you have something you think might interest us?”

“What would I have? You tell me.”

“You’re overreacting,” Cruickshank said mildly. “This is only a courtesy call to let you know we’re in the area. This is an exciting little city you have here.”

Chick regarded him with narrow eyes. “We have our ups and downs.”

“That was a bit of drama the other night at the convenience store,” Cruickshank went on. “Blue and I happened to catch the tail end of it. Glad you got your man.”

“It was a clean shoot. I’m proud of my boys. Is that why you guys are here? You think they violated somebody’s civil rights?”

“I didn’t say that. Did you say that, Blue?”

Blue’s gaze was on the uniform hanging against the wall. “I didn’t say a word. I know my place.”

“You guys are playing patty cake,” Chick said, his face sharply alert. “What the hell do you want?”

“Relax, Captain.” Cruickshank waved an assuring hand. “We’re just nosing around. It’s what we do best. Most of the stuff we come up with we don’t even use. Just store it in the computer.”

“What are you nosing around here for?”

“It’s an interesting area. You got some heavy hitters here. That includes Tony Gardella’s sister.”

“I heard of
him.
He’s dead. I don’t know her.”

“Lives in Andover.”

“That’s a different world,” Chick said with disdain. “Andover, the birds tweet. Here, we only got pigeons. All they do is crap. Put that in your computer.”

Blue said, “That’s a nifty uniform hanging there. I bet you look good in it.”

Cruickshank said, “I like his suit better. Custom-made, isn’t it?”

“You only go this way once,” Chick said, unfazed, unsmiling. His eyes swept over Cruickshank. “That suit you’re wearing didn’t come off a rack.”

“True, Captain, but the difference is I have only one. I bet you have a closetful.”

“That’s a good bet. Go find somebody to take your action. You’ll win.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“You’re pretty confident.”

“I got nothing to hide.”

There was a momentary silence as Cruickshank and Blue shared a look that harbored a smile. Blue shifted his weight from one lean leg to the other and said, “I had a uniform like that, I’d wear it.”

“I had fingers like yours,” Chick said, “I’d play basketball. Where the fuck did you get those fingers?”

“Africa.” Blue held up a hand. “White women find them sexy.”

The color rose faintly in Chick’s face. Also his heart seemed to beat a little faster, as if a bit too much were bearing down on him. He had dealt with feds before, but never this intimately. Cruickshank said to him, “Another heavy hitter is Louise Baker. You probably know her as Leone.”

This he had been expecting, and he let it roll off him. “Sure, I used to know her well. So what?”

“In fact, you used to work for her. I mean, a long time ago, right?”

“Where the hell did you come up with that?”

“Computer shoots out a lot of garbage,” Cruickshank replied. “Forget I said it.”

“I already have.”

Cruickshank looked over at Blue. “I think we’ve taken enough of the captain’s time, don’t you? He’s probably got a lot on his mind.”

“I think enough’s been said,” Blue answered with a final glance at the uniform and a smile that revealed only the tips of his teeth. “He knows we’re around if he needs our help.”

Both agents turned to leave, and Chick came forward in his chair. “I know what you guys are doing.”

Cruickshank swung easily around on his heels and appeared perplexed, an expression also appearing on Blue’s face. Cruickshank said, “What are we doing, Captain?”

“You’re trying to give me something to think about. Let me tell you something, I’ve got
nothing
to think about.” Chick’s color rose. Something in his mind twitched, warned him to say no more, but did not stop him. “You think you’re telling me something, but I’m not buying. I don’t care what it is.”

Cruickshank glanced at Blue. “This is an occasion.”

“It sure is,” Blue replied from the door.

Chick glared at them. “What’s the occasion?”

“You’re a man without a worry in the world,” Blue said with a smile showing all his teeth. “We’ve never met one before.”

• • •

Barney Cole parked the car under the portico at Bishop’s restaurant and hustled into the teeming lobby, where a voice sang out to him, “Over here, Barney.” Daisy Shea waved his padded hand, which looked too large and floppy for its chicken wrist. He was sitting tentatively on a cushioned bench, with Abe Bashara standing protectively near him. Cole eased his way to them, and Daisy said, “Everybody comes in, they speak to Abe. God, Barney, the whole world knows him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cole said, and, sotto voce, thanked Abe, who discreetly melted away. Cole placed a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“I had a little spell, but I’m better now.”

“Can you stand?”

“In a minute. I don’t want to take things too fast.” Daisy flung his face up. “You’re tall, Barney. I never realized how tall you are. Sit down.”

Cole sat beside him, and together they viewed the eager and expectant faces of the crowd, the happy young man whose hand grazed the seat of his girlfriend’s dress, the chattering Japanese businessmen in identical suits, the array of wives with pearls and poolside tans, the well-dressed aging woman with the beauty-parlor hair who unexpectedly broke from the man beside her and came to Cole with a smile.

“We seem to meet only here,” she said, her voice and face instantly familiar to him, but her name eluding him. “You forgot it the last time too,” she said divining his difficulty as he bounced to his feet.

“You’re wrong,” he said, and, nudging the name off the tip of his tongue, introduced her to Daisy, who had not yet mustered the energy to rise but made a polite attempt.

“Yes, and I remember you,” she said with no break in her smile, which she quickly returned to Cole. “I believe I told you my daughter graduated from Merrimack. Now she’s got a job in Boston. Honeywell Bull.”

“That’s wonderful,” Cole said.

“My oldest boy’s at Merrimack,” Daisy interjected, but she did not hear him.

“And I have a friend now,” she said to Cole in a tone that told him that more than friendship was at stake. “My daughter can’t believe it. Nor can I. You were right, Mr. Cole, things do, sometimes, have a way of working out.” She gave Cole’s hand an awkward squeeze. “I’d better scoot back before he gets too jealous.”

She slid away as if on a high school dance floor, a deejay providing the music. Daisy, tugging Cole’s sleeve, said, “What did she mean she remembered me? I don’t know her from Adam.”

“But everybody knows you,” Cole said.

The crowd thickened around them, and Daisy, breathing audibly, yielded himself up from the bench. Cole grabbed his arm. “Little shaky on my feet,” Daisy said, “but I’ll make it.” Cole made a path, and together they slipped carefully through the double set of doors and halted just beyond the outer ones. The night air was a balm. The starry sky, more spectacular than usual, seemed to have drawn closer to the city. A calm worked its way into Daisy’s flushed features and settled in his eyes. Pointing, he said, “Is that Venus?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t either, but they tell me there’s an open bar in Heaven. You think that’s true?”

Cole smiled unwillingly. “Is that your idea of the place?”

“No, Barney. My idea of heaven is starting all over again and doing everything right this time.” He shook his head with regret. “I had a talent, but I slathered it. Christ, you and I, Barney, we could’ve built a big practice together, but I was in the bag too much, I don’t deny it. You were right to kick me out.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“I’m not whining. You gave me a hundred chances. But if you’re feeling guilty, I’ll absolve you, the least I can do.”

Cole angled him out of the way of groups of people leaving and arriving. Cole’s eyes followed the departure of a woman with a luxuriant mane of hair and a young unsurpassable figure. Daisy peered at two priests descending the stone steps.

“I’m a good Catholic, Barney. I confess everything. Last time I went, Father Flaherty asked me if it was the same old stuff, and I said yes, and he saved time by just giving me the penance. Everything’s quicker today, like at McDonald’s.”

Cole stared at him.

“I’m sober, Barney, in case you’re wondering. It’s my stomach. It’s always my stomach.”