Read Online Lake Country by Sean Doolittle - Free Book Online Page B

ambitious smear of candy-colored lipstick by feel with the other. Regina was a part-time waitress at the Elbow Room, a mother of two grown girls who lived away and rarely called, and Hal’s third ex-wife. She came over to the bar and planted a fat, lipsticky smooch on Mike’s cheek. “Look at you, all clean-shaved,” she said. “Handsome devil. Where’s Darryl?”
    Mike eyed Hal and said nothing. Hal stood with his arms crossed, frowning at the bar. Regina looked back and forth between them. She cocked a hip and planted a fist on it, hoopy bracelets clattering together. “Okay, what did I miss?”
    Hal glanced one time at Mike, just long enough to be noticed, and then changed faces. “The start of your damn shift,” he said. “But what else is new?”
    “Oh, shut up,” Regina told him. “I had Jazzercise.”
    “Well, Jazzercise on back to the time clock and punch in already. Booth four needs a new pitcher.”
    “I’ll punch something,” she said, winking at Mike. “Good to see you, hon.” She nodded at the five-dollar bill on the bar. “Put that back in your pocket before some old ugly bastard picks it up.”
    Hal leaned across and swatted Regina’s ample backside with his rag. She gave him a smirk and headed toward the back, rooting in her purse all the way.
    As soon as she was gone, Hal’s expression changedagain. He acknowledged the guys from the garage across the street, who stood waiting for darts at the far end of the bar. Then he glanced at Mike one last time and said, “Stay put, friend. I want to talk to you.”

6
    Mike wasn’t sure how long he sat there, feeling Regina’s moist lipstick print on the side of his face, staring at the muted television as the rest of the bar noise faded to static in the background.
    All he knew was that the evening news kept on playing up there on the dumbstruck Magnavox, as if you couldn’t look out the window and see the weather for yourself, and at some point Regina took over for Hal behind the bar. Then Hal put a firm hand on Mike’s shoulder, and Mike felt himself get up off the stool and follow the man. Past the wrench monkeys throwing darts in the corner. Past the game of eight ball clacking around the pool table in back. Down the cramped hall, past the bathrooms, through the dusty stock room stacked with cases of booze. All the way to the glorified supply closet Hal used for an office.
    “Sit,” Hal said. He pointed to a metal folding chair with most of the paint worn off. The voice he used was not the endearingly gruff barkeep who wouldn’t let Mike Barlowe pay for drinks or ham sandwiches; this was the born-hard gunny sergeant Mike knew Hal Macklin to have been in his life but had never glimpsed for himself before just now.
    Mike sat.
    Hal shut the door. Firmly. He came around and leaned against the invoice-littered desk in the corner, facing Mike in the chair. He crossed his arms and studied the floor a minute, then looked up and said, “Tell me what you know.”
    “Hal, I know what you know,” Mike said. It was mostly true but felt like mostly a lie, and he couldn’t make himself meet Hal’s eyes.
    Right there he lives
, Mike kept thinking. It was all he kept thinking, remembering the sight of Wade Benson’s sleeping glass house from the curb between last call and dawn. The promising glimmer of the city beyond the lake. The look in Darryl’s eyes.
Some punishment, huh?
    Had that actually been the last thing he’d heard the guy say?
    Mike couldn’t remember. He remembered it had been a quiet ride home.
    “Son,” Hal said. “I’m not asking.”
    Mike exhaled carefully. His leg was starting to hurt. He said, “He was bent out of shape about that architect when we left your place last night.”
    “Yeah, he was,” Hal said. “I was here. And so were you.”
    Mike started to tell Hal about their after-hours joy-ride over to Lake Calhoun, but at the last minute he swerved away and said, “He was gone when I woke up today, and he’s