Summer in Eclipse Bay

his size and weight issues had ensured that he went on to become a local football legend and a known thug at Eclipse Bay High. Eugene's post-football years had not gone well, however. The layer of padding that had stood him in good stead on the field had increased in volume, and his brutish ways had earned him an extremely limited circle of friends. Sooner or later his poor work ethic screwed up any job he managed to land.
    Dwayne was his constant companion.
Dickhead
was not really an accurate descriptor, at least not when applied to Dwayne's features. He reminded Nick more of an oversized insect.
    Dwayne was thin and brittle with spidery legs and arms. He looked as if he'd crunch if you stepped on him. He twitched a lot, too, like a bug that had been hit with a dose of pesticide.
    Bar stools were uncomfortable for a man of Eugene's proportions. Nick looked for his quarry in one of the booths.
    Eugene was there, sitting at a grimy table with Dwayne. The big man faced the door, in true Old West gunslinger style. There was just enough light coming from the little candle in the red glass holder to reveal the meanness in his eyes and the ragged tears in the grimy tee shirt stretched over his belly.
    Interviewing Mean Eugene was not going to be easy.
    Nick went toward the booth. He nodded once at Fred when he went past the bar.
    "Fred."
    "How you doin', Nick?" Fred did not look up from the little television set he had positioned behind the bar. He was watching a long-running soap opera. Fred was addicted to the soaps.
    "Doin' okay, thanks," Nick said.
    Civilities completed, he moved on to the booth and stopped. He looked at Eugene and Dwayne.
    "Can I buy you gentlemen a beer?" he asked.
    Dwayne, who'd been concentrating on a dripping cheeseburger, started and looked up with a startled expression. Clearly the word
gentlemen
had confounded him. And with good reason, Nick thought.
    But Eugene, always the faster of the two, chortled. "So we're gentlemen now, huh? Hell, yes, you can buy us a couple of beers. Never say no to a free beer. Besides, it ain't every day a Harte wanders in here and makes an offer like that, now, is it? Sit down."
    "Thanks." Nick considered and discarded the prospect of sharing one of the torn, orange vinyl benches with either Eugene or Dwayne. When you dealt with guys like this you did not want to find yourself wedged into a tight place.
    He glanced around, spotted a scarred wooden chair at a nearby table, and grabbed it. He reversed it and sat down astride, resting his folded arms on the back.
    Eugene swiveled his head, an amazing feat considering that he lacked any sign of an actual neck.
    "Hey, Fred," Eugene called loudly. "Harte, here, is gonna stand me and Dwayne to a coupla beers. Give us some of that good stuff you've got on draft."
    Fred did not reply, but he reached for two glasses without turning away from the television screen, where someone was dying bravely in a hospital bed.
    Eugene squinted malevolently. "You didn't come here to be friendly, Harte. Your type doesn't hang out with guys like us. Whatcha want?"
    "Yeah," Dwayne said around a mouthful of burger. "Whatcha want?"
    Nick kept his attention on Eugene. "Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, Eugene?"
    "You can ask." Eugene polished off the last of the beer he had been drinking when Nick arrived. He wiped his mouth on the back of his shirtsleeve. "I'll decide if I feel like answering."
    "I hear you've been speculating openly on the question of who might have taken that painting that's gone missing from the gallery up the street," Nick said casually.
    "Hell, I
knew
it." Eugene uttered a satisfied little snort, savoring his own brilliance. "So you're playing detective, huh? Just like the guy in your books? What's his name? True?"
    Nick raised his brows. "You read my books, Eugene?"
    "Nan. I don't read much. I'm more into the sports channel, y'know?
XXXtreme Fringe Wrestling
is my favorite program."
    "Mine, too," Dwayne volunteered. "That's the one where the women fight almost buck-nekked. They just wear those little leather thong things, y'know? You oughta see those tits flapping around in the ring."
    "Hard for a book to compete with that kind of upscale entertainment," Nick said.
    "Yeah," Eugene agreed. "But I seen your novels down at Fulton's when they come out in paperback. They got that little rack next to the checkout counter, y'know?"
    "Amazing that Fulton's even bothers to stock my books, given that so few people around