Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case by Adam Pepper Page B

sketch.”
    “My guess is he’ll recognize the vagrant.”
    “Seems awfully coincidental.” Vic straightened his tie, then we shook hands.
    I headed up Houston Street towards Second Avenue. Dempsey’s was just a short walk.
    * *
     
    There was a huddle in the far corner of the bar. I descended down the steps into the pub and saw Big Joe and a gang of regulars from the pool hall crowded around a television. There was more snow and squiggly lines than picture on the screen.
    “Hey, Rory,” I said as I walked in.
    He nodded and simply said, “Hank,” plopped two cubes of ice in a tumbler and topped it off with Jim Beam. He slid it down the freshly-wiped surface of the bar; the glass came to a stop in front of me as if Rory had it on a string.
    “What’s with them?” I asked.
    “OTB isn’t opened yet so they’re watching the dog races from Denmark.”
    I nodded. I guess in some bars it would look weird, but in the late mornings and early afternoons at Dempsey’s, seeing a horde of degenerate gamblers huddled around a television with crappy reception, trying to catch the winner of the Danish dog races, really was just another day.
    I gulped down my drink and raised my chin. Rory knew that meant I was ready for another, and he quickly obliged. When you’ve spent as much time in Dempsey’s as I have, you don’t really need to speak.
    “Hank!” Big Joe yelled from across the bar, cell phone in one hand, bottle of Bud in the other, “You want in on this race?”
    The screen was a total blur. It could have been a dog race, a pig race or a bull fight. I couldn’t tell.
    Big Joe continued, “I’ve got a tip from one of the trainers. The four dog has been pumped with so much speed and ‘ roids , he could lift a house. He is an absolute lock.”
    What the hell? I had some time to kill.
    “Sure. I’ll take a hundred on him.”
    “Yeah,” Big Joe said into the phone, “Another hundred on the four.” Then to the bar he yelled, “Anyone else? One minute to post!”
    Nobody else spoke up.
    “Rory? Any action?” Joe asked.
    Rory waved his hands and violently shook his head, then looked at me and said, “I’m broke.”
    Joe nodded. “Okay, that’s it. Thanks.” Joe hung up the phone. “Let’s go four. Bring home the cash for daddy.”
    “Give me one more, Rory,” I said, turning my back to the TV. I didn’t need to stare at a static-filled screen. Big Joe’s hollering would tell the story. The bell rang as the dogs launched out from their kennels. There were some grunts and hoots and cheers. “Come on four! Let’s go.” Joe’s voice was the loudest, but beneath him a few other guys yelled along with him, “Yeah four. You can do it, baby. Come on.”
    The race was quick, less than a minute, followed by a long, loud, exaggerated groan of several men, all in unison.
    “Fuck!” Joe shouted. “You gotta be kidding me.”
    “Guess we lost,” I said calmly to Rory.
    “Joe hasn’t picked a winner since grade school,” Rory replied. “You want another? On me.”
    I sucked down the rest of my drink, then said, “Nah. Three before lunch is plenty. I’m working.”
    Rory’s eyebrows raised. “Hank, I’m impressed.”
    “I didn’t find religion or anything. Just working on a case.”
    “I know, but turning down a freebee? Because you’re working on a case. This must be a new and improved Hank.”
    I smiled. “You’ll get me back another day.” I paid for the drinks and threw Rory a generous tip, then got up and headed towards the single ray of sunlight that snuck into Dempsey’s through the tiny window.
    “Thanks, Hank. Good luck with the case.”
    I waved, then crumpled a hundred dollar bill and yelled, “Joe!”
    He turned and I chucked the bill at him. He caught it while shaking his head back and forth. “Sorry, Hank. It was a lock.”
    I sucked a laugh back into my mouth and stifled it into my belly as I turned and walked up the steps.
    Once out on Second Avenue, I stopped at the