Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

here.”
    Leo answered first. “I fish, mostly lobsterin’.”
    “You are so full of bullshit,” said Paulie. “He goes out once in a while, only when someone can’t find anyone else to help.”
    “Mor’n you do,” he countered, looking embarrassed for a moment.
    Alfred looked at Ralph and then Paulie. “What do you do?”
    Ralph picked up his beer and took a sip, looking straight ahead, ignoring the question and giving no indication that he was going to answer.
    Paulie spoke up. “I do yard clean-ups and odd jobs. Ralph here helps me.”
    Alfred nodded and looked at Max.
    She forced a smile and quickly said, “I’ll go check on your lunch. It must be about ready.”
    As soon as she was out of sight, he turned to Leo, “So what’s her story? She’s cute, but with kind of an attitude.”
    “Max?”
    “That her name?” He knew that already, but he didn’t let on.
    “Yea, Max. She’s been bartending here for as long as I can remember. She’s a good person, gets mixed up in things all the time.”
    Paulie interrupted what Leo was saying, “Except the last time.”
    Alfred looked over at him.
    Leo corrected his story. “Yeah, last time, she saved Jack’s ass.”
    “ Last time? ” he thought. “Who’s Jack? Her boyfriend?”
    “I guess that’s what you’d call him. They’re living together now. He hangs around, does odd jobs here at Ben’s, don’t know where he gets his money, but he lives in a pretty nice place over across the street.”
    Before Alfred could ask anything else, Max reappeared with his salad. He turned away from Leo, hoping that it hadn’t been too obvious that he had been talking with them. It would be better if she thought him a victim of their attentions. “Thanks, it looks good,” he said, avoiding eye contact as she placed it in front of him.

CHAPTER 61
    “MAX, WE GOTTA’ GET GOING,” said Leo. Each of the guys threw some money on the bar. “Nice meetin’ ya,” he said toward Alfred, who was busy cutting his salad into smaller pieces. Alfred wanted to know more about her, but what he had learned was more than he could have hoped for. Barely turning his head toward them, he nodded goodbye as he watched Max out of the corner of his eye.
    As they walked out the bar, Max, obviously annoyed, began picking up the assortment of bills, quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies that they had left. Miraculously, there was enough to cover the check and give her a small tip.
    “Good salad,” said Alfred, not looking up from his plate.
    “Thanks.”
    Then he looked up at her and said, “Those guys were interesting.”
    “I’m sorry you had to go through that. They mean well and they’re perfectly harmless.”
    He returned to his salad. “Your name is Max, I gather,” he said, still without looking up.
    She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, several times she had been called by name, but she was. And it felt strange. Now it was Max’s turn to comment on something overheard.
    “I heard you tell the guys you’re an antiques dealer.”
    “Yeah, down in Massachusetts. Got the business from an old couple, after they died years ago.”
    “Where?”
    “In Essex.”
    “What kind of stuff do you have?”
    “A little bit of everything. Nautical stuff, brass mostly, dolls, furniture, lamps, old tools, just about anything old.” Then, just to see what she would say, he added, “I even have some old quilts.”
    Max’s response to that last statement surprised him. “Really. Quilts? I’m working on a quilt right now, or at least I’m trying. It’s my first.”
    He tried to not let his interest become too obvious. “How’d you get interested in that? You don’t look the type.” He knew as soon as those words left his mouth that he had said the wrong thing. The last thing he wanted to do was offend her.
    “What type is that?” said Max with more than a bit of indignation.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just picture quilts as being made by little old ladies sitting around drinking tea and having lots of cats.” For the second time, he regretted what he had said so he quickly added, “Sorry,” and went back to his salad.
    Max chuckled at his impression of a quilter, and her indignation vanished. Dropping her guard, she began rattling on. “No, that’s okay. I thought the same thing until recently. Jack, my … uh,” she hesitated for a second as if looking for the right word, “significant other, and I went up North with