Black Irish by Stephan Talty Page B

I knew it, I always said so.”
    “You always said I’d be knock-kneed and looking for a boyfriend till I was forty.”
    “You got a boyfriend?”
    “No.”
    “Well, then.”
    He unlocked the door and led her to the right to his office, which fronted his small and neat apartment. As she walked in, the smell of a fastidious bachelor—shoe polish, tobacco, and aftershave—brought her back twenty years.
    “What about you, Reverend? No girlfriend, I see.”
    “I’m married to the Lord’s work, you know that,” he said. His smile grew until his white teeth parted to allow a peal of explosivelaughter to fill the apartment. The Reverend looked good, Abbie decided. And she was relieved.
    “Sit down, sit down.”
    They sat and he slapped both hands against his muscular legs.
    “It’s good to see you, Absalom.”
    “It’s good to see you, too. I was afraid the city had worn you down.”
    He shrugged. “God never gives a man burdens he can’t carry,” he said. “But you’ve probably learned that yourself.”
    “I’m still learning it, I guess.”
    He smiled but there was concern in his eyes, a fatherly worry.
    “You still searching, Absalom?”
    “I think I’ll always be searching, Reverend. For one thing or another.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “I’m gainfully employed. I’m damned good at what I do. I’m kind to animals and small children. And I think you’re gonna have to settle for that, Reverend.”
    He laughed. “No one can defeat a woman who is strong in faith, whatever faith that may be. Now, what did you come here to talk about?”
    “Gerald Decatur.”
    “Ah.”
    He turned away sharply, as if she’d slapped him.
    “We lost him.”
    “I know. What can you tell me about him—towards the end, I mean.”
    “They say he was back dealing drugs.” The ever-present “they,” meaning the cops, the
Buffalo News
, the justice system.
    “You don’t buy it?”
    The Reverend swung his muscled face back and forth slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.
    “No, I don’t buy it. He hadn’t gone near the drug boys since he got out of prison. I’m telling you this from my heart. Six months before he was murdered, he was right here in this office and I hadhim going out to Dow Chemical up off the highway, for a job. He got that job and he was excited about it. Had a little apartment over on Genesee and a young girl he was getting serious about.”
    The Reverend rubbed his knuckles in his other hand, massaging them as if he were wringing out a cloth.
    “It perturbs me. After he died, I called out to Dow and spoke to his supervisor. Gerald hadn’t missed a single day in weeks. The man had nothing but good things to say about him. He even asked me if I had another like him.”
    Abbie frowned.
    “That was a callous thing to say, considering.”
    “I agree with you on that. Like I was sending them damn mules or something.”
    “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”
    “Monica. Monica Merriweather. Funny name. She’s gone south now, like everybody else. Couldn’t even go back to his apartment to clean out his things. I had to do that for her. I packed up what she wanted and sent it down to her in Texas, UPS. Got the address if you want it.”
    She shook her head. “Reverend, how can you be sure he wasn’t back to dealing? Maybe he wanted to buy this Monica a nice birthday gift. Maybe he wanted to put a down payment on a car.”
    “Because I know everyone he would have called to get the stuff, Absalom. And I asked them, believe me. They were as surprised as anyone else.
Somebody
would have known. And there wasn’t a whisper.”
    She nodded. “Anything else I should know about him?”
    “Nothing. He’s forgotten already. Nobody gives a damn …”
    He looked at her, his wide-set brown eyes considering.
    “I care,” she said, and meant it.
    “I’m going to choose to believe you. But you working for the police …”
    He looked down at the scuffed hardwood floor, a patch of light