Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

Eddie’s cab right off, parked across the street in the lot of an auto shop, just where he had said he would be. His lights were off and his cab was parked perfectly in line with the other cars in the lot. He was hidden well enough from the casual eye.
    Before I pulled into the lot I looked to my right, into the long dirt, tree lined drive that ran past Murph’s. In it was only one car, a dark LTD circa 1975. I hit the blinker and turned into the lot and backed my car in between two wrecks.
    I walked across the crowded auto shop lot to Eddie’s cab. He wound his window down, and a burst of cloves and cigar smoke raced out at me on the steady current of heated air that fled his cab.
    “He’s in there,” Eddie said. He nodded toward Murph’s.
    I looked around, surveying the scene. I focused on the ramshackle bar and studied it for a while. A few dull lights were on inside but I could hear no voices or music, nothing. The LTD was the only car anywhere to be seen, beyond the contents of the auto shop lot. It was late--it was past late.
    “I was dropping off a fare in Bridgehampton when I spotted him. He was coming out of that bar on the corner, the one that changes names every year, what’s its name?”
    “Winston’s,” I said. A light went out inside Murph’s. I watched the windows.
    “Yeah, that’s it,” Eddie said. “He’s been here about an hour. He looked drunk enough to me when he limped in. I can only imagine what he’s like now.”
    I didn’t take my eyes of the bar. “Thanks, Eddie.”
    “You want me to wait?”
    “No, go home.”
    “You want me to call anyone?”
    I thought about having him call Frank and tell Frank to meet me somewhere in an hour. But I thought it would be better to have the man with the limp in my possession before I did that. As much as I wanted to remain an amateur, I didn’t want to look like one in front of Frank.
    “I can take care of this, Eddie,” I told him. “Get out of here. And thanks.”
    “We do what we do, Mac. I’ll see ya.”
    I walked back across the crowded lot to my LeMans, opened the passenger door, and leaned in. In the glove compartment was my Spyderco knife. I removed it and clipped it inside the right hip pocket of my jeans. Then I started across the street to the LTD.
    I went to the passenger door of the LTD and saw at once that it was unlocked. I opened the door and climbed into the back seat. It was as cold in the car as it was outside. I thought of the laws I was breaking and the laws I was about to break, and then I thought of Augie and the shit storm he was in and knew there was nothing else I could do.
    One good thing, I was in Sag Harbor, not Southampton. I didn’t have to fear the Chief here. Still, a felony was a felony, no matter what town I was in. And I wasn’t convinced that, one way or another, the Chief wouldn’t get his hands on me no matter where on the East End I got busted.
    I tried to keep my mind focused on Augie, on his needing my particular help, the trouble he was in. Now and then, though, Tina would cross my mind. It was hard to think of him without thinking of her. I remembered the warm nights last summer when Augie was still in the hospital and Tina was staying with me. I remembered us spending late-weekend nights sitting in my living room and listening to the radio and speaking Spanish. She had studied it for two years at school and wasn’t half bad. Of course, this was before her attentions turned dangerous and I started hiding from her in the bar downstairs, drinking myself senseless and making myself impervious to her attempts at getting me to want her.
    I don’t know how long I had been there waiting when I finally heard the sound of a door open and close, followed by footsteps on the dirt driveway. Even though I could hear him make his approach it seemed almost sudden when he appeared at the driver’s side and opened the door. I slid the Spyderco out of my pocket and held it tightly. I waited while the driver’s door opened. A hinge squeaked. The man with the limp more fell into his seat than anything else. He closed the heavy door and fumbled with his keys. After a moment, the ignition cranked and the engine caught. He switched the heat to high, shifted into drive, clicked on the lights and, after a long pause, started down the dirt drive to the street.
    The car moved forward with a jolt. He turned left, then left again, heading toward the bridge to Northhaven.
    I waited as we crossed the bridge. A