The Taking of Libbie, SD by David Housewright

I said.
    “They’re all waiting to see what I do about you sitting here,” Tracie said.
    “Oh yeah?”
    “If I tell you to get lost and you don’t, half of them will jump to my defense.”
    “You have a lot of big brothers.”
    “No, just a lot of men who think they should be sitting here instead of you.” Tracie turned to face the audience as I had done. “Hey, guys. This is McKenzie.”
    “The one who beat up Church?” someone said.
    “I heard he sucker-punched him,” said someone else.
    “Chickenshit,” said a third man.
    “Glory is so fleeting,” I said.
    “It is, indeed,” Tracie said.
    We both spun back on our stools to face the fading mirror.
    “Do you mind knowing that so many men are, what’s the word—interested—in you?” I said.
    “I’m used to it.”
    “How many of them”—I paused to choose my words carefully—“have you let sit here?”
    “Damn few.”
    She waved her glass when she spoke, and some of the golden liquid spilled out. It was only then that I realized that Tracie was smashed.
    “How long has your husband been in the jar?” I said.
    “Ex-husband. It’s been about five years. Why?”
    “I was just thinking—that’s a long time to be without somebody.”
    “Oh, there’s been a lot of somebodies, McKenzie, but I’m holding out for that someone. How ’bout you? Is there a someone in your life?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good for you.”
    “So,” I said, “do you come here often?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Chief Gustafson knew where I could find you.”
    “Eric always knows where he can find me, day or night.”
    Tracie emptied her glass and waved it at Wayne, who had been watching intently out of the corner of his eye while pretending not to. A moment later, he refilled the glass. Tracie was drinking amaretto and 7UP, and Wayne was being generous with the amaretto.
    “What’s the plan, McKenzie? Do we have a plan?”
    “Tomorrow after breakfast, if you’re up to it, I want you to introduce me to every man, woman, and child that the Imposter knew in this town. Everyone involved in the phony mall. We’ll see if we can cut his trail.”
    “What about tonight?”
    “Tonight, I’m going back to my room at the Pioneer Hotel.”
    “No, no, don’t do that, McKenzie. You don’t want to go back to Sharren Nuffer. Stay with me. I have plenty of room.”
    I wondered briefly if Tracie had made the same offer to the Imposter who called himself Rushmore McKenzie, but I let the question slide.
    “I don’t think my girl would appreciate that,” I said.
    “Do you have a girl, McKenzie?”
    “I told you I did.”
    “Did you? I forgot. What’s her name?”
    “Nina.”
    “Do you love her?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Isn’t that—that’s a great feeling, isn’t it? Being in love.”
    I told her that it was. I don’t think she heard me, though. Instead, Tracie finished her drink and beckoned to Wayne for another. This time he gave her only a splash of amaretto to go with the 7UP. He glared as if daring me to challenge his pour and set the drink in front of her.
    “On the house,” he said.
    “You’re always so nice to me, Wayne,” she said.
    “Are you good to drive home?” I asked.
    “Of course.”
    “Hey,” Wayne said. “You don’t need to hang around. We have it covered.”
    “See, McKenzie,” Tracie said. “I have someone, too.”

CHAPTER SIX
    I woke early, a common occurrence when I sleep in a bed that’s not my own. I wasn’t in any hurry, though, so I lay on my back and stared at the hotel room ceiling, waiting for the alarm clock to catch up to me. Bright sunlight slipped through the cracks between the window and the frilly shade. Still, it wasn’t the sunlight that caused me finally to go to the window and look out. It was the silence. Even in my residential neighborhood in St. Paul there was noise: the distant murmur of traffic; neighbors opening and closing doors to houses, garages, and cars; a dog yapping. Yet Libbie