V Is for Vengeance

far, all Audrey’s file contained was a copy of Marvin’s check. Time to make amends. I pulled out a sheaf of typing paper with tissue carbons and rolled the first sheet into place. I set my index cards on the desk beside me and began typing up my notes.
    When I finished it was close to noon. I was tired. I’m not a skilled typist, though I do better than hunt-and-peck. What I’d struggled with was the job of converting the bare facts into a coherent narrative. Some information was still in outline form with gaps where I hadn’t yet filled in the blanks. Aside from the missing links, it seemed clear I was onto something big. I made a neat stack of my typed notes and put one copy in my shoulder bag, along with the index cards, which I secured with a rubber band. I placed the second copy of my report in an unlocked file drawer in a folder labeled GYNECOLOGY & FEMININE HYGIENE ISSUES, subjects I hoped the average thief would find repellant.
    Time to talk to Marvin, whose house was less than two miles away. I’d made progress, but I still had to frame my findings so they made sense to him. In essence, I’d been suspended without pay. Now I hoped to persuade him to underwrite the next phase of my investigation. If he wasn’t home, there was a good chance he’d be at the Hatch. A serious drinker sees Sunday as just another day of the week, except that it begins with a Bloody Mary and progresses to beer, bourbon, or tequila depending on the company and seasonal sporting events. I was starving as usual and thought I’d stop in at the Hatch for bar grub whether he was there or not.
    I made a right turn onto State and drove the half mile to Marvin’s neighborhood. I parked and trotted up the walk to his front door. I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again. Still nothing. I peered in the windows along the front of the house and saw no indication that he was home. I returned to my car and drove the additional block to the Hatch, parking on the side street as I had before.
    It felt odd to be walking into a bar at such an early hour on a Sunday. Apparently, others felt fine about it because the place was doing a lively business. All four television sets were turned on. The jukebox blared, and there were ten or twelve patrons congregated at the bar where Ollie, the owner, seemed to be making drinks with both hands. The air was already hazy with cigarette smoke, and I could feel my eyes cross at the notion of particulate matter settling on my clothes.
    Marvin was among those gathered, talking to one of the two women who were part of his inner circle—Earldeen Somebody-or-Other, if memory served. He toted a bourbon on the rocks as dark as strong iced tea. He put a fresh cigarette between his lips and extended a light to Earldeen before he applied it to his own. I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and when he realized it was me, his expression downshifted ever so slightly from relaxed to disengaged. “Hey. Look who’s here. What’s up?”
    His tone was flat and that should have been a clue, but it went right over my head. I saw the flicker in his eyes but thought he was embarrassed I’d caught him smoking again. That’s how far off track I was.
    “I’ve updated my report,” I said. “If you have a second, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned since I saw you last.”
    “Yeah, well, you caught me in the middle of something, so it might be better if we talk another time,” he said. His gaze drifted to one side.
    By now it was apparent he was angry about something and I realized I’d have to stop and deal with his pissy mood before I went on.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I don’t think you’d be interested. You don’t take kindly to anyone challenging your point of view.”
    “Come on, Marvin. You’re obviously frosted about something. You want to fill me in?”
    “Just what I said. It’s your way or the highway.”
    I glanced at Earldeen, who was avidly watching the exchange. She didn’t seem perplexed by his attitude, which suggested this was something he’d discussed with her previously.
    “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
    “This is good enough right here.”
    “Then tell me what’s happened.” In my experience, when people like Marvin get mad, it doesn’t take much coaxing before they unload.
    “I’ll be happy to, as long as I’m not on the receiving end of an argument.”
    “I’m not arguing,” I said argumentatively.
    “Word on the grapevine has it that an ex-con was seen in the