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Authors: Tom Corcoran
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No watch, as usual. I pulled my cell phone out of the fisherman’s knife pocket on my hip. It told me I’d missed a call before 7:00, probably while I was talking with Marnie at Schooner Wharf. I had turned off the ringtone going into St. Paul’s chapel. I had forgotten to reset it.
I pressed a button, read the clock. “I have to be somewhere in eight minutes. It’s a ten-minute walk.”
Lisa Cormier looked at me like I was dumb as toast. “Half the time I use my cell, it’s to warn somebody I’m going to be late.”
“Your husband suggested I use it sparingly.”
“Yes,” she said. “If it wasn’t for his paranoia, he’d be fearless.”
I borrowed the bar’s phone and white pages directory. Michaels’ listing, with its clip-art palm tree, was easy to find in dim light. A woman answered.
“This is Alex Rutledge calling about a 7:30 reservation…”
“Sir, Ms. Lewis called about twenty minutes ago. She changed your reservation to seven o’clock tomorrow evening. She said, in case you didn’t get her message before you arrived, she apologizes. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone as the bartender placed two appetizer plates in front of us. They must have been ordered before I arrived. Lisa was baiting her trap with every conceivable treat. Next up, she’d hand me a motel room key, two condoms, and her panties.
“Why am I here?”
Lisa studied the rum in her glass, took a deep breath. “We haven’t been able to reach Sam since you and my husband spoke in the chapel. We want you, and we believe Sam would want you, to pursue this search for the man’s daughter. It may carry some relevance to our situation.”
“I’d become one more person to worry about. Or don’t I count?”
“We’re not asking you to volunteer your skills, Alex. You take the man’s money and give him a time limit. Three days ought to cover it, from our side of things. You do whatever you do, and we debrief once a day. By the third day, from our questions, you’ll have an idea what this is all about. It’s something we’re prepared to trust you with.”
“Are you throwing me to the wolves?” I said.
“Not the hungry ones. Treat it like you face each day. Be alert to danger. Keep an open mind, especially in daylight.”
She made it sound so easy. Bob Catherman’s cash. My tush hung on the line. Doctors with Deep Wallets reaping benefits I wasn’t allowed to know about.
On the other hand, I could always screech to a halt, hand back the money. I might even get the chance to verify the mess with Sam Wheeler, perhaps feel good about helping to extract him from his undefined jam. Benefit of the doubt pushed me toward the hunt, toward finding the girl. Without direct word from Sam, I didn’t like a bit of it.
“Please pay the bill and leave first,” I said.
“You’re with us?”
“I’ll give Catherman his three days unless…”
“Unless Sam tells you to stop.”
“Just for this moment, Lisa, get the fuck out of my brain.”
“If it wasn’t a mystery, it wouldn’t be life. That’s what my daddy used to say. Can you meet me tomorrow, like this, at 5:30 in Virgilio’s?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I mean it. Go away right now.”
She began to speak but stopped. For an instant I saw true hardness in her face. She may be traveling the Atlanta high road now, I thought, but she’s only one generation removed from Appalachian tough times.
She put four twenties under her drink napkin, sniffed a couple of times but still said nothing. She strode as opposed to sashayed to the exit, disappeared into the darkness of Caroline Street.
I dug Catherman’s business card out of my wallet and asked again to borrow the bar phone. I dialed his number and identified myself.
“Mr. Rutledge,” he said. “Where do we start?”
“With that bank envelope,” I said. “Then, for a day or two, maybe longer, the ‘we’ part of it goes away.”
“I’m
I pressed a button, read the clock. “I have to be somewhere in eight minutes. It’s a ten-minute walk.”
Lisa Cormier looked at me like I was dumb as toast. “Half the time I use my cell, it’s to warn somebody I’m going to be late.”
“Your husband suggested I use it sparingly.”
“Yes,” she said. “If it wasn’t for his paranoia, he’d be fearless.”
I borrowed the bar’s phone and white pages directory. Michaels’ listing, with its clip-art palm tree, was easy to find in dim light. A woman answered.
“This is Alex Rutledge calling about a 7:30 reservation…”
“Sir, Ms. Lewis called about twenty minutes ago. She changed your reservation to seven o’clock tomorrow evening. She said, in case you didn’t get her message before you arrived, she apologizes. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone as the bartender placed two appetizer plates in front of us. They must have been ordered before I arrived. Lisa was baiting her trap with every conceivable treat. Next up, she’d hand me a motel room key, two condoms, and her panties.
“Why am I here?”
Lisa studied the rum in her glass, took a deep breath. “We haven’t been able to reach Sam since you and my husband spoke in the chapel. We want you, and we believe Sam would want you, to pursue this search for the man’s daughter. It may carry some relevance to our situation.”
“I’d become one more person to worry about. Or don’t I count?”
“We’re not asking you to volunteer your skills, Alex. You take the man’s money and give him a time limit. Three days ought to cover it, from our side of things. You do whatever you do, and we debrief once a day. By the third day, from our questions, you’ll have an idea what this is all about. It’s something we’re prepared to trust you with.”
“Are you throwing me to the wolves?” I said.
“Not the hungry ones. Treat it like you face each day. Be alert to danger. Keep an open mind, especially in daylight.”
She made it sound so easy. Bob Catherman’s cash. My tush hung on the line. Doctors with Deep Wallets reaping benefits I wasn’t allowed to know about.
On the other hand, I could always screech to a halt, hand back the money. I might even get the chance to verify the mess with Sam Wheeler, perhaps feel good about helping to extract him from his undefined jam. Benefit of the doubt pushed me toward the hunt, toward finding the girl. Without direct word from Sam, I didn’t like a bit of it.
“Please pay the bill and leave first,” I said.
“You’re with us?”
“I’ll give Catherman his three days unless…”
“Unless Sam tells you to stop.”
“Just for this moment, Lisa, get the fuck out of my brain.”
“If it wasn’t a mystery, it wouldn’t be life. That’s what my daddy used to say. Can you meet me tomorrow, like this, at 5:30 in Virgilio’s?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I mean it. Go away right now.”
She began to speak but stopped. For an instant I saw true hardness in her face. She may be traveling the Atlanta high road now, I thought, but she’s only one generation removed from Appalachian tough times.
She put four twenties under her drink napkin, sniffed a couple of times but still said nothing. She strode as opposed to sashayed to the exit, disappeared into the darkness of Caroline Street.
I dug Catherman’s business card out of my wallet and asked again to borrow the bar phone. I dialed his number and identified myself.
“Mr. Rutledge,” he said. “Where do we start?”
“With that bank envelope,” I said. “Then, for a day or two, maybe longer, the ‘we’ part of it goes away.”
“I’m
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