exwife, Arlene, sent us down here.
It was a simple story, but those work best for me, probably because I'm a simple person.
The first bar we entered was the Red Rabbit. Janice
hesitated when the stench of sour beer and whiskey mixed
with stale cigarette smoke hit us square in the face. She
wrinkled her nose. "Ugh"
"Get used to it," I whispered. "It doesn't get any better."
We were met with suspicion at first, but as we told our
story, most seemed to be willing to cooperate, although
somewhat grudgingly. Several of them knew Eric, and
some knew his ex-wife was named Arlene. That gave us a
thin cloak of credibility.
Within an hour, we had finished the south side of Sixth
Street.
Janice groaned, "I don't think we'll ever find him." She
shivered. "I can't believe people frequent thesethese-" She struggled to find the appropriate descriptor.
I laughed. "They do. Trust me" I paused at the curb.
"Can't tell. Our luck might change over there," I said,
pointing across the street to a saloon with the inspired
name, The Hollow Leg.
The cabaret was locked. I knocked. No answer. Peering
through the stained window, I spotted the bartender and
gestured to the door. He shook his head.
I knocked and gestured once again.
Anger contorting his face, the bartender jerked open
the door and glared at me. He was a tall, sallow-faced man
who looked like he was mad at the world. As soon as I
mentioned Eric Lavern, he exploded into curses.
"You bet I know that stinking slimeball. He cleans this
place for me, that is, when the crud feels like it." He threw
open the door and waved his hand at the dark interior of
the bar. Empty beer cans and mugs littered the tabletops;
ashtrays overflowed; and trash lay scattered across the
floor. It was worse than when the cops toss an apartment.
"See this mess? The jerk was supposed to be here at eight.
I come in fifteen minutes ago, and here it is, a stinking
mess. And look at the time. 11:00 A.M. I should be open
now, but I got to keep the doors locked until I get this joint
cleaned up."
One trick I learned when interviewing an irate citizen
like the bartender was to let him rant until he cleared the
bile from his system. When he calmed down, I pitched him
our cover story, then added, "I can't blame you for being
upset. Do you know if he lives around here somewhere?"
He eyed me narrowly. I could see the stubbornness in
his face, the knit brows, lips pressed together. I had the
feeling he knew where Eric lived, but he wasn't going to
tell us. I had an idea. "Look, we haven't seen him in years,
but he is family. Personally, my cousin here and I are
embarrassed that one of our family would leave you in a
lurch. If you'd give us some garbage bags, we'd be happy
to clean off the tables for you. That would help some,
wouldn't it?"
Beside me, I heard Janice gasp.
His eyes opened in surprise. "Hey, you'd do that?"
"Yes"
His eyes narrowed. He studied me suspiciously, then
shook his head. "Why? It ain't your responsibility."
I felt Janice tugging on my sleeve. I didn't look around
at her. "Maybe not, but I'd feel better. We'd both feel better," I said, emphasizing both.
Clearing her throat, Janice tugged harder on my sleeve.
"Wouldn't we, cousin," I said, smiling around at her.
Her eyes blazed fire, but she nodded and reluctantly
replied, "Yes"
Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. "Well, if that
don't beat all" A grin popped up on his lips. "Just scraping the cans and bottles off the tables and dumping the
ashtrays in the bags would be a big help. At least I can
unlock the doors then. I'll get the bags," he said, heading
for the rear.
We followed him inside, and when he was out of earshot,
Janice exclaimed. "Tony, what on earth have you done?"
She looked around the room. "I'm not touching those filthy
cans. Can you imagine who drank out of them?"
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to play Nick and
Nora Charles," I reminded her. "You've got no choice.
It was a simple story, but those work best for me, probably because I'm a simple person.
The first bar we entered was the Red Rabbit. Janice
hesitated when the stench of sour beer and whiskey mixed
with stale cigarette smoke hit us square in the face. She
wrinkled her nose. "Ugh"
"Get used to it," I whispered. "It doesn't get any better."
We were met with suspicion at first, but as we told our
story, most seemed to be willing to cooperate, although
somewhat grudgingly. Several of them knew Eric, and
some knew his ex-wife was named Arlene. That gave us a
thin cloak of credibility.
Within an hour, we had finished the south side of Sixth
Street.
Janice groaned, "I don't think we'll ever find him." She
shivered. "I can't believe people frequent thesethese-" She struggled to find the appropriate descriptor.
I laughed. "They do. Trust me" I paused at the curb.
"Can't tell. Our luck might change over there," I said,
pointing across the street to a saloon with the inspired
name, The Hollow Leg.
The cabaret was locked. I knocked. No answer. Peering
through the stained window, I spotted the bartender and
gestured to the door. He shook his head.
I knocked and gestured once again.
Anger contorting his face, the bartender jerked open
the door and glared at me. He was a tall, sallow-faced man
who looked like he was mad at the world. As soon as I
mentioned Eric Lavern, he exploded into curses.
"You bet I know that stinking slimeball. He cleans this
place for me, that is, when the crud feels like it." He threw
open the door and waved his hand at the dark interior of
the bar. Empty beer cans and mugs littered the tabletops;
ashtrays overflowed; and trash lay scattered across the
floor. It was worse than when the cops toss an apartment.
"See this mess? The jerk was supposed to be here at eight.
I come in fifteen minutes ago, and here it is, a stinking
mess. And look at the time. 11:00 A.M. I should be open
now, but I got to keep the doors locked until I get this joint
cleaned up."
One trick I learned when interviewing an irate citizen
like the bartender was to let him rant until he cleared the
bile from his system. When he calmed down, I pitched him
our cover story, then added, "I can't blame you for being
upset. Do you know if he lives around here somewhere?"
He eyed me narrowly. I could see the stubbornness in
his face, the knit brows, lips pressed together. I had the
feeling he knew where Eric lived, but he wasn't going to
tell us. I had an idea. "Look, we haven't seen him in years,
but he is family. Personally, my cousin here and I are
embarrassed that one of our family would leave you in a
lurch. If you'd give us some garbage bags, we'd be happy
to clean off the tables for you. That would help some,
wouldn't it?"
Beside me, I heard Janice gasp.
His eyes opened in surprise. "Hey, you'd do that?"
"Yes"
His eyes narrowed. He studied me suspiciously, then
shook his head. "Why? It ain't your responsibility."
I felt Janice tugging on my sleeve. I didn't look around
at her. "Maybe not, but I'd feel better. We'd both feel better," I said, emphasizing both.
Clearing her throat, Janice tugged harder on my sleeve.
"Wouldn't we, cousin," I said, smiling around at her.
Her eyes blazed fire, but she nodded and reluctantly
replied, "Yes"
Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. "Well, if that
don't beat all" A grin popped up on his lips. "Just scraping the cans and bottles off the tables and dumping the
ashtrays in the bags would be a big help. At least I can
unlock the doors then. I'll get the bags," he said, heading
for the rear.
We followed him inside, and when he was out of earshot,
Janice exclaimed. "Tony, what on earth have you done?"
She looked around the room. "I'm not touching those filthy
cans. Can you imagine who drank out of them?"
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to play Nick and
Nora Charles," I reminded her. "You've got no choice.
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