A Small Gray Dot

I STOOD IN FRONT OF THE JUKEBOX TRYING TO pick out five tunes to which I could stand to listen. I didn’t like most of the recent ones, though there hadn’t been many to come out the last couple of years.

I needn’t have worried. The box was filled with old, pre-Event songs. I carefully chose five. Carefully because there were certain ones I didn’t want to hear. I dropped in four quarters and punched the buttons for the tunes I’d chosen. The lights on the box flashed and the first song began to play. It was an old rap tune from before I was born.

I turned around and not wasting any time, I crossed the small space and set what was left of my drink on the table as I slid into the booth across from the man sitting there gazing sadly at an empty glass.

Startled, he rocked back and stared at me with suspicious eyes. He looked rough, as if he’d been drinking a lot and sleeping little. His color was splotchy and the blue eyes that went with the shaggy blond hair were baggy and bloodshot. I judged him to be late forties or early fifties but you couldn’t always go by looks.

“Frank Berger?” At his tentative nod, I said, “I’m Tennessee Murray.” I reached a hand across the table.

He frowned, his eyes questioning, but he met my outstretched hand with his.

I smiled. “We have a mutual friend.” I gave him my ex-client’s name.

“Oh, yeah. Ain’t seen ‘im in a while,” he said relaxing a little. “How’s he doin’?”

“He’s fine, said to tell you hello.” I took a sip from my glass. “Look, I won’t beat around with this. Just to let you know, I’m not trying to sell you anything. What I need is information and he said you might be able to help me out.” I slid a fifty onto the table.

The music blared around us as he stared at it. Then his eyes flicked back to mine. “You a tracker?”

“Yes.”

Warily: “Warn’t sent by cops, was you?”

“No.”

He studied me for moment. “Who you lookin’ for?” He eyed the fifty again but didn’t try to pick it up.

“A young lady.” I hauled out the picture Madison gave me and held it out to him.

He took it and perused the image. I watched his face. I saw recognition there. My ex-client wouldn’t have given me his name if he had thought the man wouldn’t know something. He said Frank was the nosiest person in Blue Heaven and if anybody had seen the young woman or knew where she might be, he would be the one to see.

“I mightta seen ‘er,” he said handing the picture back. He licked his lips and hesitated.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

“Vodka on th’ rocks.”

Odd choice. I’d never seen anyone drink straight vodka on the rocks, but to each his own poison. He didn’t appear to be flush with cash, but he’d likely passed on the cheap local made brews most of which, if they were anything like the ones I’d tried a while back, tasted like piss and burned like acid. Vodka was generally cheaper than other regular whiskeys though the ice would take the price up.

I nodded and signaled the bartender while indicating it was for Frank. Joe raised an eyebrow at me and I shook my head. I still had a couple of sips in my glass and once it was gone, I wouldn’t be having another. It was obvious he knew Frank’s favorite, though, as he nodded and clinked ice into a glass, poured from a bottle and brought the drink over. He smiled as he set the glass in front of Frank and placed a bowl of shelled peanuts in the middle of the table.

“Thanks, Joe. How much?” I asked.

“Fifteen. Peanuts are free.”

Not bad. Twelve for the vodka, three for the ice. Moreover, free hors d’oeuvres. I handed him twenty. “Keep the change.”

“You know, if you’re going to be here often, you can run a tab.” He gave me a hopeful grin.

I kind of liked Joe, but my plan was to find Morgan Effingham, get the hell out of Blue Heaven, and never return. I smiled. “That’s nice to know. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

He nodded and went back to the bar. I turned to Frank who had already knocked back half his drink.

He set the glass down and peered at me. “Ain’t seen you around here before. Been in Blue Heaven long?”

“No. Just got here tonight.”

He frowned. “Guards letcha in?”

“No.” I took a next-to-the-last sip from my glass.

He sat forward drawing in his breath. “Gawddam! Don’t tell me you come through th’ strip!”

“I did.”

“Shi-it!” He picked up his glass and downed the rest of his drink. He shook his head. “You either a crazy sumbitch or you got a lotta balls. Last time I heard of som’body gittin’ through that bitch alive was a feller by th’ name of Cue an’ he’s a crazy muthafucker!”

I grabbed some of the peanuts and chuckled. “Yes, I know him and you’re right. Look, I’m not trying to rush you, but could you tell me when and where you might’ve seen this young woman?” I gauged how drunk he was. Not very. I laid a twenty down on top of the fifty.

He glanced at the money and nodded.