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Authors: Derek Rempfer
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without
digging past the surface of name, rank, and serial number. And we danced
around how we had drifted apart and how different we really were back then, or
exploring how different we are now. Sitting on the bar in front of him
was a panama hat. I was going to ask him about it, but thought better of
it. Wearing a panama hat was the kind of thing you did when you wanted
the world to think of you in a certain way. Charlie wanted the world to
think of him in a way they hadn’t thought about the Charlie who hadn’t worn a
panama hat. That was all I really needed to know.
“You see much of Moose anymore? Whatever came of him?”
“I don’t see any more of Moose Thornton than you see
of Katie Cooper,” he replied.
I let the beer swish around in my mouth as the words
swished around in my head. I slowly swallowed everything. “What
does that mean?”
“It means that Moose has been dead for about seven or
eight years now. Was hot- rodding in town on his Harley when some old blue-hair ran a Yield sign and pulled out
in front of him on south 3 rd .”
“Jesus. Were you there when it happened?”
“I was. Moose flew over the top of that friggin ’ Buick and skidded about 200 feet. Blood and brains half-way down 3 rd Street. Dead. Just like that,” he said it with a snap.
He drained the rest of his beer and motioned to Stan for two more. “The
old lady stopped in shock, looked over at Moose lying there, looked at us and
raced off at about twenty miles per hour. A hit-and-run
without much run.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Some
out-of-towner on a visit. She could have took off at a hundred-and-twenty and it wouldn’t have made a difference.
Nothing happens in Willow Grove that somebody doesn’t see or know about.”
“Again, like Katie,” I offered.
He sat silent for a moment and then cocked his head in
consideration of something. Then gazing straight ahead he said, “No, not
like Katie Cooper.”
“What do you mean?”
“ You talkin ’ about the guy who supposedly saw Katie with ol ’ Slim
Jim?”
“Yeah.”
“Never happened,” he said with a shake of his head and
a dismissive frown.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that night she was found. I’m
not even sure there ever was an anonymous
tip . Even if there was, I don’t
believe any- body saw any- thing .”
The day that Katie went missing, the entire town had
searched for her. Then, early the next morning, an anonymous tipster had
called the Sheriff’s Office to say that they had seen a transient who had come to town a few weeks earlier
walking down the railroad tracks with Katie. It was that tip that led the
Sheriff to Katie’s body.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because while the whole town was out looking for
Katie that night, Moose and I was drinking a six-pack behind the lumberyard and
saw that hobo Slim Jim come loafing by ‘bout eleven o’clock. We sat and
watched that goofy SOB walk through the Halpern’s backdoor and come right back out about five minutes later with a jar of peanut
butter, a spoon, and a gallon of milk.”
Sticking my fingers in my ears to clear out the wax
would have been cliché, but that’s what I felt like doing.
“Are you telling me that Slim Jim was innocent of
murder because he was guilty of stealing?”
“Kind of funny when you say it like
that - ironic like.” He laughed and took a swig of beer he
continued, “Gaines, you gotta ask yourself…does that
sound like the behavior of a man who had raped and killed a little girl?
Even Slim Jim - dumbass that he was - would have known enough to get the hell
out of Dodge. Instead he goes for a midnight snack?”
Behind Charlie, Old Man Keller ordered another Jack
Daniels and Coke.
“Hey boys, how ya doin ’ this evening?”
“Just fine, thanks. Hows about yourself?” I
asked.
Stan placed the Jack and Coke in front of him. Keller picked it up
digging past the surface of name, rank, and serial number. And we danced
around how we had drifted apart and how different we really were back then, or
exploring how different we are now. Sitting on the bar in front of him
was a panama hat. I was going to ask him about it, but thought better of
it. Wearing a panama hat was the kind of thing you did when you wanted
the world to think of you in a certain way. Charlie wanted the world to
think of him in a way they hadn’t thought about the Charlie who hadn’t worn a
panama hat. That was all I really needed to know.
“You see much of Moose anymore? Whatever came of him?”
“I don’t see any more of Moose Thornton than you see
of Katie Cooper,” he replied.
I let the beer swish around in my mouth as the words
swished around in my head. I slowly swallowed everything. “What
does that mean?”
“It means that Moose has been dead for about seven or
eight years now. Was hot- rodding in town on his Harley when some old blue-hair ran a Yield sign and pulled out
in front of him on south 3 rd .”
“Jesus. Were you there when it happened?”
“I was. Moose flew over the top of that friggin ’ Buick and skidded about 200 feet. Blood and brains half-way down 3 rd Street. Dead. Just like that,” he said it with a snap.
He drained the rest of his beer and motioned to Stan for two more. “The
old lady stopped in shock, looked over at Moose lying there, looked at us and
raced off at about twenty miles per hour. A hit-and-run
without much run.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Some
out-of-towner on a visit. She could have took off at a hundred-and-twenty and it wouldn’t have made a difference.
Nothing happens in Willow Grove that somebody doesn’t see or know about.”
“Again, like Katie,” I offered.
He sat silent for a moment and then cocked his head in
consideration of something. Then gazing straight ahead he said, “No, not
like Katie Cooper.”
“What do you mean?”
“ You talkin ’ about the guy who supposedly saw Katie with ol ’ Slim
Jim?”
“Yeah.”
“Never happened,” he said with a shake of his head and
a dismissive frown.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that night she was found. I’m
not even sure there ever was an anonymous
tip . Even if there was, I don’t
believe any- body saw any- thing .”
The day that Katie went missing, the entire town had
searched for her. Then, early the next morning, an anonymous tipster had
called the Sheriff’s Office to say that they had seen a transient who had come to town a few weeks earlier
walking down the railroad tracks with Katie. It was that tip that led the
Sheriff to Katie’s body.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because while the whole town was out looking for
Katie that night, Moose and I was drinking a six-pack behind the lumberyard and
saw that hobo Slim Jim come loafing by ‘bout eleven o’clock. We sat and
watched that goofy SOB walk through the Halpern’s backdoor and come right back out about five minutes later with a jar of peanut
butter, a spoon, and a gallon of milk.”
Sticking my fingers in my ears to clear out the wax
would have been cliché, but that’s what I felt like doing.
“Are you telling me that Slim Jim was innocent of
murder because he was guilty of stealing?”
“Kind of funny when you say it like
that - ironic like.” He laughed and took a swig of beer he
continued, “Gaines, you gotta ask yourself…does that
sound like the behavior of a man who had raped and killed a little girl?
Even Slim Jim - dumbass that he was - would have known enough to get the hell
out of Dodge. Instead he goes for a midnight snack?”
Behind Charlie, Old Man Keller ordered another Jack
Daniels and Coke.
“Hey boys, how ya doin ’ this evening?”
“Just fine, thanks. Hows about yourself?” I
asked.
Stan placed the Jack and Coke in front of him. Keller picked it up
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