eye for us to both come closer. He had a secret to share.
“Those little chiselers down at city hall want to skim some money off that city dome project for their own use.”
“No. Why … why that’s corruption,” I said, widening my eyes and throwing a hand across my mouth. With a laugh Red moved off to the television. He usually lost interest by the time Gallagher was off and running with his latest story of graft, scandal and larceny in city politics. Besides, Melinda, his anchorwoman princess, was back on the tube. It was left up to me to carry the burden of baiting Gallagher.
“You’re damn right it’s corruption,” he thundered. “And I don’t have to put up with it.”
I brought my fist down on the bar and leaned toward him. “Darn it. What can I as a hardworking, taxpaying citizen of this city do about it?”
And now Gallagher came to realize that he was being strung along. He managed to fight back a grin though. “I’m not shitting you Crager. We got some bad apples running this city. Some real shysters.”
He poured some whiskey into his glass and stared at the liquor bottles resting on the shelf behind the bar. “Ah, the hell with it,” he said. We both sat quiet for a few moments, the only noise in the barroom coming from the sounds of the television set.
Melinda was finishing up the news, and Red had his nose right the hell up against the screen. Gallagher drank off his whiskey then began turning the empty glass around in his hand. “You know Crager, that stabbing the other night looks pretty open and shut to me.”
“How’s that?”
He grabbed the bottle and poured some whiskey for himself and me. He didn’t drink any more just yet, instead fixing his eyes on the Christmas-like colors from the barroom’s neon beer signs swirling in the golden liquid of his shot glass.
“The city’s gone to hell. My guess is someone from off the street looking for drug money killed that ballplayer.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t wash. Someone after a fix doesn’t slip into a hotel like the Spinelli.”
“I didn’t say a fix Crager. I’m saying our dead ballplayer might have been involved in some drug dealing.”
I watched Gallagher take a sip from his whiskey. “Unless you know something I don’t know.” He put down the glass and stared past me at the television. “To tell you the truth Crager , m y boys aren’t getting anywhere with this. You know this is the fourth murder in the city this year. That’s more than we used to get in five years.”
“Keeps you boys on your toes.”
“Damn niggers from Philly bringing’ their shit to Centre Town,” he continued. “Killing each other over rock candy. You know we shut down two crack houses in the spring? Crack houses. Hell, when I started on the force it was the long-haired faggots and their marijuana.”
The alcohol was beginning to slur his words. His hand fumbled with the whiskey bottle. Somehow though, he managed to fill both our glasses without spilling a drop.
“Yeah. The town’s gone to hell,” he said.
“Joe. Who knocked off Lance Miller?”
He shrugged. “Some madman. Or someone pretty hopped up on drugs.”
“I thought you said it involved a drug deal.”
“Nah. My guess is someone slipped into that room looking for something, found the ballplayer there and plunged a knife in his back.”
“Just like that?”
“Had to be. You saw the body. No knife wounds on the victim’s hands, arms or anyplace else. What does that tell you?”
“That there was no struggle.”
Right. In and out. Nice and clean.”
“And the weapon was never found either.”
“Exactly. The guy knew enough to take the weapon with him. A lot of guys would have left the blade before fleeing.”
“That’s assuming it was a guy.”
Gallagher drank off the rest of his whiskey and leaned in toward me. His face had become more flush; his eyes were as droopy as a bloodhound’s.
“I think the drunkenness becomes you,” I said.
He
“Those little chiselers down at city hall want to skim some money off that city dome project for their own use.”
“No. Why … why that’s corruption,” I said, widening my eyes and throwing a hand across my mouth. With a laugh Red moved off to the television. He usually lost interest by the time Gallagher was off and running with his latest story of graft, scandal and larceny in city politics. Besides, Melinda, his anchorwoman princess, was back on the tube. It was left up to me to carry the burden of baiting Gallagher.
“You’re damn right it’s corruption,” he thundered. “And I don’t have to put up with it.”
I brought my fist down on the bar and leaned toward him. “Darn it. What can I as a hardworking, taxpaying citizen of this city do about it?”
And now Gallagher came to realize that he was being strung along. He managed to fight back a grin though. “I’m not shitting you Crager. We got some bad apples running this city. Some real shysters.”
He poured some whiskey into his glass and stared at the liquor bottles resting on the shelf behind the bar. “Ah, the hell with it,” he said. We both sat quiet for a few moments, the only noise in the barroom coming from the sounds of the television set.
Melinda was finishing up the news, and Red had his nose right the hell up against the screen. Gallagher drank off his whiskey then began turning the empty glass around in his hand. “You know Crager, that stabbing the other night looks pretty open and shut to me.”
“How’s that?”
He grabbed the bottle and poured some whiskey for himself and me. He didn’t drink any more just yet, instead fixing his eyes on the Christmas-like colors from the barroom’s neon beer signs swirling in the golden liquid of his shot glass.
“The city’s gone to hell. My guess is someone from off the street looking for drug money killed that ballplayer.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t wash. Someone after a fix doesn’t slip into a hotel like the Spinelli.”
“I didn’t say a fix Crager. I’m saying our dead ballplayer might have been involved in some drug dealing.”
I watched Gallagher take a sip from his whiskey. “Unless you know something I don’t know.” He put down the glass and stared past me at the television. “To tell you the truth Crager , m y boys aren’t getting anywhere with this. You know this is the fourth murder in the city this year. That’s more than we used to get in five years.”
“Keeps you boys on your toes.”
“Damn niggers from Philly bringing’ their shit to Centre Town,” he continued. “Killing each other over rock candy. You know we shut down two crack houses in the spring? Crack houses. Hell, when I started on the force it was the long-haired faggots and their marijuana.”
The alcohol was beginning to slur his words. His hand fumbled with the whiskey bottle. Somehow though, he managed to fill both our glasses without spilling a drop.
“Yeah. The town’s gone to hell,” he said.
“Joe. Who knocked off Lance Miller?”
He shrugged. “Some madman. Or someone pretty hopped up on drugs.”
“I thought you said it involved a drug deal.”
“Nah. My guess is someone slipped into that room looking for something, found the ballplayer there and plunged a knife in his back.”
“Just like that?”
“Had to be. You saw the body. No knife wounds on the victim’s hands, arms or anyplace else. What does that tell you?”
“That there was no struggle.”
Right. In and out. Nice and clean.”
“And the weapon was never found either.”
“Exactly. The guy knew enough to take the weapon with him. A lot of guys would have left the blade before fleeing.”
“That’s assuming it was a guy.”
Gallagher drank off the rest of his whiskey and leaned in toward me. His face had become more flush; his eyes were as droopy as a bloodhound’s.
“I think the drunkenness becomes you,” I said.
He
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