credence to this blarney, because if I was a mobster trying to hide, I wouldn’t be opening a bar in Hollywood. You know what I mean?”
“You got a point there,” Bruce agreed.
“Now, other theories put Quinn in Normandy on D-day, and he was the right age for it too. Though nobody could agree if he was a paratrooper or an infantry man. But all agreed Quinn had seen some heavy stuff in the ward and did God knows what himself. Like he shot prisoners of war and such.”
“You think it was true?”
Cecil’s shoulder twitched in a feeble attempt at a shrug. “It was a war. Many things happen in a war. I don’t even know if Quinn served, but he must have. Quinn scarcely ever said more than three words in a row, but he had a presence. A true hard edge to the way he’d look at you. If you told me he’d cut some German’s throat in cold blood, I would’ve believed you. Quinn was that kinda guy. Like that robbery you found the article about.”
“I’d love to hear how it went down,” Bruce said.
Cecil rubbed his right earlobe, and it clearly helped him to remember. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but I ran into Derrick on the street. He and I were old buddies but hadn’t seen each other for a while. He insisted on buying me a beer. He had a bird with him.”
“Velma Kincaid?” Bruce asked after a moment of confusion over the term bird .
“Yeah, Velma, that was her name. Not a spring chicken, mind you, but a fine bird still. Red hair and curves to make a man’s mouth water…” The old man trailed off, eyes clouding with memories.
“So you went to the Blue Parrot,” Bruce prodded, feeling a little guilty over interrupting the old guy’s reminiscing.
Cecil blinked the fog away. “We were the only customers. The place just opened. Velma went off to powder her nose while Derrick and I were catching up, when that thug came in. He wanted our money, and he had a shotgun, so we gave it to him. Never argue with a man with a gun, I always say. And the guy was sort of twitchy. The sooner he left, the better, I thought.”
“But Quinn overpowered him somehow?”
“He sure did. Eeriest thing I’d ever seen. Quinn came from the kitchen, and of course the thug waved the shotgun around and demanded money. Quinn, though, he wasn’t scared at all. His eyes got like… I dunno… Very cold, like freeze-your-blood-in-your-veins cold. He took three steps, grabbed the barrel with one hand and slugged the guy on the jaw with the other. The hoodlum fell over, just like that. Quinn punched his lights out.”
“It must’ve taken some guts. Quinn could’ve gotten killed.”
“Well, he wasn’t scared at all, only angry. Even angrier when it turned out Velma called the cops. I’m telling you, the robber was lucky the police took him away. God knows what Quinn would’ve done to him.”
“Tough guy.”
“No shit. He and Og made a strange pair.”
“Og?”
“Ogden, but everyone called him Og. He and Quinn knew each other somehow, from a long way back, maybe from the war. I don’t know, because as much as Og liked to talk, he never said a damn word about Quinn. It was the one subject he’d never touch. Of course, it made the enigma of Quinn all the thicker.”
“Then how can you be sure they’d known each other before?”
“Because Og drank free,” Cecil crowed triumphantly. “Quinn never gave out a free drink or held a tab for anyone. You could’ve been Cary Grant and he still would’ve made you pay. But Og never put down a dime, and he was there every night drinking whiskey sours. No matter how early you went in or how late you left, Og was sitting on his stool at the very end of the bar.” Cecil wrinkled his brow. “Come to think of it, he was there during the robbery, passed out over the counter.” He shook his head. “Can’t say if he was starting early or sleeping off the night before. He might have even spent the night there, for all I know. I never saw him leave or
“You got a point there,” Bruce agreed.
“Now, other theories put Quinn in Normandy on D-day, and he was the right age for it too. Though nobody could agree if he was a paratrooper or an infantry man. But all agreed Quinn had seen some heavy stuff in the ward and did God knows what himself. Like he shot prisoners of war and such.”
“You think it was true?”
Cecil’s shoulder twitched in a feeble attempt at a shrug. “It was a war. Many things happen in a war. I don’t even know if Quinn served, but he must have. Quinn scarcely ever said more than three words in a row, but he had a presence. A true hard edge to the way he’d look at you. If you told me he’d cut some German’s throat in cold blood, I would’ve believed you. Quinn was that kinda guy. Like that robbery you found the article about.”
“I’d love to hear how it went down,” Bruce said.
Cecil rubbed his right earlobe, and it clearly helped him to remember. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but I ran into Derrick on the street. He and I were old buddies but hadn’t seen each other for a while. He insisted on buying me a beer. He had a bird with him.”
“Velma Kincaid?” Bruce asked after a moment of confusion over the term bird .
“Yeah, Velma, that was her name. Not a spring chicken, mind you, but a fine bird still. Red hair and curves to make a man’s mouth water…” The old man trailed off, eyes clouding with memories.
“So you went to the Blue Parrot,” Bruce prodded, feeling a little guilty over interrupting the old guy’s reminiscing.
Cecil blinked the fog away. “We were the only customers. The place just opened. Velma went off to powder her nose while Derrick and I were catching up, when that thug came in. He wanted our money, and he had a shotgun, so we gave it to him. Never argue with a man with a gun, I always say. And the guy was sort of twitchy. The sooner he left, the better, I thought.”
“But Quinn overpowered him somehow?”
“He sure did. Eeriest thing I’d ever seen. Quinn came from the kitchen, and of course the thug waved the shotgun around and demanded money. Quinn, though, he wasn’t scared at all. His eyes got like… I dunno… Very cold, like freeze-your-blood-in-your-veins cold. He took three steps, grabbed the barrel with one hand and slugged the guy on the jaw with the other. The hoodlum fell over, just like that. Quinn punched his lights out.”
“It must’ve taken some guts. Quinn could’ve gotten killed.”
“Well, he wasn’t scared at all, only angry. Even angrier when it turned out Velma called the cops. I’m telling you, the robber was lucky the police took him away. God knows what Quinn would’ve done to him.”
“Tough guy.”
“No shit. He and Og made a strange pair.”
“Og?”
“Ogden, but everyone called him Og. He and Quinn knew each other somehow, from a long way back, maybe from the war. I don’t know, because as much as Og liked to talk, he never said a damn word about Quinn. It was the one subject he’d never touch. Of course, it made the enigma of Quinn all the thicker.”
“Then how can you be sure they’d known each other before?”
“Because Og drank free,” Cecil crowed triumphantly. “Quinn never gave out a free drink or held a tab for anyone. You could’ve been Cary Grant and he still would’ve made you pay. But Og never put down a dime, and he was there every night drinking whiskey sours. No matter how early you went in or how late you left, Og was sitting on his stool at the very end of the bar.” Cecil wrinkled his brow. “Come to think of it, he was there during the robbery, passed out over the counter.” He shook his head. “Can’t say if he was starting early or sleeping off the night before. He might have even spent the night there, for all I know. I never saw him leave or
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