Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

He swung my legs carefully in. I lay on my side across the seat, facing forward.
    “My plates,” I muttered.
    “What?”
    “My license plates. They can trace the car by the plates.”
    “They can just as easily trace it by the serial numbers on the engine and dashboard.”
    “I filed those down. The plates are all they’d have to go on. I can’t have any trouble with the law.”
    He hesitated, then leaned the seat back and opened the glove compartment. He dug through it and removed a screwdriver. Then he closed the door and disappeared for a few minutes. During that time all I could think about was the tank full of gasoline. When the man returned he had the two plates in his hands. He tossed them behind the front seat and climbed in and closed the door. He shifted into gear and made a U-turn, heading us back toward Southampton. It was now the last moments of night.
    He reached into the back seat and handed a rag to me. I put it to the back of my head, where my skin had split.
    He glanced back at me quick. “You okay?”
    “Who are they?”
    “Don’t waste your breath. I’ve stuck my neck out as far as I can.”
    “Who was that man back there?”
    “Just an asshole.”
    “Who hired him?” My own voice sounded weak, as if I was hearing it from across a distance.
    “They don’t tell you the name of the man who pays, and I don’t ask.”
    “I have to find someone.”
    “Listen to me, man, I can only take you as far as Bridgehampton. You’ll have to get to where you need to go from there. Do you understand?”
    I felt myself slipping toward unconsciousness. I wanted to ask him more but I lost track of words. I blacked out then, and when I came to my left arm was wrapped around his neck and he was beside me like a crutch, walking me. I felt cold air, and it took me a moment to realize that we were on the platform at the Bridgehamton train station.
    “You can catch the train to Southampton from here,” he said. He moved me behind the tiny station house and leaned me up against the wall, facing the tracks. We were out of sight from the street there.
    He stepped away to see if I would remain standing. I did, but barely. I looked at his face then. It hurt my eyes to focus.
    “Why was the Curry girl killed?”
    “Look, the biggest land deal this town has seen in four hundred and fifty years is about to go down. The Shinnecock Indians are selling their reservation, and it’s got a lot of people in town worried.”
    I looked at him. It took all I had to focus my eyes.
    “What does this have to do with the girl?”
    “This makes us more than even. Next time we meet, it’s business as usual. Understand?”
    He turned then and walked around the corner of the station house and was gone. I never learned his name.
    The westbound train came in about a half hour later. I got on with my plates in my hand and rode to the next stop, Southampton. A short trip, and the conductor didn’t even have time to come by and collect the fare from me. I got out and made my way down the platform and across the street and headed for the Hansom House. It was less than a block away.
    Parked out front was Eddie’s cab. I saw him talking with George. When they saw me they started running toward me. They helped me up the two flights of stairs to my rooms.
    Inside Eddie lay me down on my bed while George stood by the door. I didn’t know much anymore and liked it that way. All I knew was what the man with the limp had told me. Eddie asked me if I wanted a doctor. I told him no. I had him bring me silver duck tape from a drawer in my kitchen. I removed my shirt, exposing bruises the color of sunsets, and had him wind the tape several times around my ribs, tight. He watched my face each time I winced.
    I lifted my feet up onto the couch and propped my head up with several pillows. I had slept on this couch for three months when Tina lived here and for countless nights when I was too drunk to find my bed.
    “Do you think you should sleep, Mac,” Eddie said. George was still by the door.
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “I’ll have George check on you every once in a while.”
    “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
    “Is your car somewhere? We could get it for you.”
    I shook my head.
    “Do you want anything, my friend?”
    “Just leave me alone. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Wait. Ask George if he would go over to Le Chef on Job’s Lane and explain to a guy named Bernard that I’ve been in an accident and would still like the job when