offered her his handkerchief to wrap the bird in. He walked with her to a nearby park and together they took care of this tiny yellow bird until it flew off. Anyone who’s seen their backyard knows their passion for birds. It’s more than appreciation and affection, but served as a reminder of a chance encounter that brought them together.
“I’m sure they had difficult times as all marriages do, but their compassion and love—not just for each other—is a reminder of how wonderful my parents, my father, was. He never yelled at us, never struck us, was never too busy for us…” He looked across the room, again focusing on Willem. “And he never gave up on any of us. He was what every man should strive to be, and the world is a lonelier place now that he is gone.”
Gregory looked away from Willem, folded up the paper and walked back to his seat.
* * *
Stavic had every intention of visiting Charles Went last night, but after being stuck in the station’s dingy basement digging through case files for hours, all he’d wanted to do was go home and get blasted. He’d thought about going after, but he had a reputation to maintain. Crashing his truck in a stupor would have ended his career real quick. And yes, he had his vices, but he enjoyed his job. In many ways he felt he was doing the community a service—by maintaining relations with the local dealers he could keep an eye on them. It was all for them.
After waking he’d showered, had his breakfast with an extra strong coffee, and dressed, then headed for the truck. Unsolved cases from the fifties could wait another day; a visit to The Thirsty Whale could not.
The Whale is what the locals called the secluded little dive bar off Lake Crescent. It was a little ways out of town down a two-lane winding road through the woods. They had a dock set up for those who preferred to boat in.
He turned off onto a gravel road that was just barely wide enough for two cars. Trees hugged the road, their branches slapping the truck along. And then he was in the lot with only three other cars. It was early enough in the day that people had yet to come and drink, smoke, and snort their money away. The Thirsty Whale had been designed to look like a log cabin—a style many used in this area—the exterior painted a nice dark tan. He kicked up gravel as he walked to the door and opened it.
The lights were on inside, but it was still dim. Adorning the walls were long dead taxidermy fish. A buck’s head was mounted above the bar.
At the far end of the bar was Fred, a grizzled old man who practically lived here. He did odd jobs for the owner in exchange for drinks on the house.
“Charles here?” Stavic asked.
Fred pulled the half empty glass from his lips, white foam stuck to his whiskers. He licked it away. “In the back.” A cough, then he called out, “Charles! Someone’s here to see ya!”
“Give me a sec!” a deep voice boomed.
Fred gave Stavic a sideways glance. “He’ll be out momentarily.” He pronounced every word perfectly as if to make sure Stavic understood, then took a drag on his smoldering cigarette, the ember glowing a bright orange.
Stavic sat on a bar stool. The place smelled of stale smoke, staler booze, and cleaning products. It made him want a drink. A few years back the state implemented an ordinance forbidding smoking in public places. Went decided not to comply, something Stavic had to occasionally issue a ticket for. I scratch your back, you scratch mine was the mentality. And, so far, it seemed to be working out.
Charles Went was lumberjack big. He looked more a bouncer than a bar owner, but if he could handle the crowd then why pay someone else to do it? “Afternoon, Stavic. What can I do you for?” He glanced around. “You come alone?”
“As always.”
“Alright. Give me a sec and I’ll grab your bait. Grubs?”
‘Bait’ was the code Charles liked to use for drugs. Grubs was cocaine, worms marijuana, leeches was
“I’m sure they had difficult times as all marriages do, but their compassion and love—not just for each other—is a reminder of how wonderful my parents, my father, was. He never yelled at us, never struck us, was never too busy for us…” He looked across the room, again focusing on Willem. “And he never gave up on any of us. He was what every man should strive to be, and the world is a lonelier place now that he is gone.”
Gregory looked away from Willem, folded up the paper and walked back to his seat.
* * *
Stavic had every intention of visiting Charles Went last night, but after being stuck in the station’s dingy basement digging through case files for hours, all he’d wanted to do was go home and get blasted. He’d thought about going after, but he had a reputation to maintain. Crashing his truck in a stupor would have ended his career real quick. And yes, he had his vices, but he enjoyed his job. In many ways he felt he was doing the community a service—by maintaining relations with the local dealers he could keep an eye on them. It was all for them.
After waking he’d showered, had his breakfast with an extra strong coffee, and dressed, then headed for the truck. Unsolved cases from the fifties could wait another day; a visit to The Thirsty Whale could not.
The Whale is what the locals called the secluded little dive bar off Lake Crescent. It was a little ways out of town down a two-lane winding road through the woods. They had a dock set up for those who preferred to boat in.
He turned off onto a gravel road that was just barely wide enough for two cars. Trees hugged the road, their branches slapping the truck along. And then he was in the lot with only three other cars. It was early enough in the day that people had yet to come and drink, smoke, and snort their money away. The Thirsty Whale had been designed to look like a log cabin—a style many used in this area—the exterior painted a nice dark tan. He kicked up gravel as he walked to the door and opened it.
The lights were on inside, but it was still dim. Adorning the walls were long dead taxidermy fish. A buck’s head was mounted above the bar.
At the far end of the bar was Fred, a grizzled old man who practically lived here. He did odd jobs for the owner in exchange for drinks on the house.
“Charles here?” Stavic asked.
Fred pulled the half empty glass from his lips, white foam stuck to his whiskers. He licked it away. “In the back.” A cough, then he called out, “Charles! Someone’s here to see ya!”
“Give me a sec!” a deep voice boomed.
Fred gave Stavic a sideways glance. “He’ll be out momentarily.” He pronounced every word perfectly as if to make sure Stavic understood, then took a drag on his smoldering cigarette, the ember glowing a bright orange.
Stavic sat on a bar stool. The place smelled of stale smoke, staler booze, and cleaning products. It made him want a drink. A few years back the state implemented an ordinance forbidding smoking in public places. Went decided not to comply, something Stavic had to occasionally issue a ticket for. I scratch your back, you scratch mine was the mentality. And, so far, it seemed to be working out.
Charles Went was lumberjack big. He looked more a bouncer than a bar owner, but if he could handle the crowd then why pay someone else to do it? “Afternoon, Stavic. What can I do you for?” He glanced around. “You come alone?”
“As always.”
“Alright. Give me a sec and I’ll grab your bait. Grubs?”
‘Bait’ was the code Charles liked to use for drugs. Grubs was cocaine, worms marijuana, leeches was
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