W Is for Wasted

swear he was drunk to the end. In fact, Pearl was devastated because he swore up and down he’d quit.”
    “Well, there’s no way to know how efficiently he metabolized alcohol, but he was clean on October 7 and probably the day before as well. He might’ve
behaved
like he was drunk. Kidneys start shutting down and the buildup of toxins can render you incoherent. Lethargy’s another symptom that can mimic inebriation. He might have garbled his words.”
    I said, “I’ll ask about that. I’m told he’d been going downhill for months.”
    “He was a short-timer. No doubt about that. All I’m saying is what
got
him wasn’t the result of alcohol consumption during the two or three days prior. The time frame’s a guess on my part, by the way.”
    “What about pain pills? I hear he was hooked on those.”
    “Nope. No sign of anything in his system,” he said. “At any rate, if you hear something to the contrary, you let me know.”
    “I’ll do that. And thanks.”

30
    I sat at my desk, wondering what to make of it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell Pearl that Dace might have been saved. She had Felix’s death to deal with and that was enough. She was already blaming herself for the beating that killed him. I picked up my jacket, my bag, and car keys. Ed seemed willing to follow me into the yard, but I couldn’t be sure he’d behave once I was gone. I went back into my apartment and snagged Henry’s house keys. I locked my door, lifted Ed, and tucked him under my arm. He purred happily, perhaps thinking we’d be going through life this way, his warm body pressed against mine. I would have kissed his sweet head, but I didn’t know him that well and I was worried he’d take offense. I unlocked Henry’s door and dropped him inside, a move he also accepted without complaint.
    In the car again, I drove along the beach, scanning the grassy areas along the bike path for sight of Dandy or Pearl. I spotted them in their usual place, in the area under the palms, across the street from the Santa Teresa Inn. They’d set up day camp. They had their carts close by, angled against the damp breeze coming off the surf. Both purloined grocery carts were filled with blankets, pillows, and shopping bags that bulged with recyclable bottles and soda cans. There was a redemption center three blocks away and the homeless supplemented their sketchy incomes by turning in glass and plastic for whatever it netted them. Of course, they squandered the money on bad booze and cheap smokes, trusting the good folks in town would see to their room and board.
    They’d spread tarps on the grass in the very spot where I’d first made their acquaintance. Dandy was stretched out on his sleeping bag and Pearl was sprawled on a blanket. A third fellow had joined them, and while I didn’t get a good look at him, I wondered if he was going to be a regular now that Felix was gone. I drove past them and pulled into the public lot, where I parked and got out.
    The makeshift memorial that had sprung up in the wake of Terrence Dace’s death was looking forlorn. The jars of wildflowers were still grouped together in the sand, but the water was gone and flowers themselves were wilted. The tower of carefully balanced stones had been dismantled. There was no sign of a rock sculpture for Felix, but he’d died in the hospital whereas Terrence had died on the beach. I couldn’t even pretend to understand the unspoken rules for honoring the fallen comrades of those who had no homes.
    Dandy watched me approach. Pearl ignored my arrival, except for the face she made, which expressed equal parts disdain and indifference. I suspected she was still miffed at me for not rushing to comfort her during her outburst at the news of Felix’s demise. She paused to light a cigarette and then continued sipping from a soda can that was doubtless laced with whiskey.
    I paused on the path within range of them. “Mind if I sit down?”
    Dandy moved his backpack. “Make yourself at home.”
    He was nicely turned out; fresh shirt, a sport coat only slightly threadbare along the cuffs. As far as I could tell he hadn’t been drinking. Then again, he held his liquor well and he might have been covering. At least there was no pint bottle in sight and when Pearl offered him the soda can, he declined.
    As I sat down, Dandy introduced me. “This is Kinsey. She’s a good friend of ours.”
    “They call me Plato, the preacher man,” he said. He doffed an imaginary