Yesterday's News

there, get me?”
    “Coyne was an informant?”
    “Charlie was a little shit, like I told you. When he wasn’t working for me, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he was hucking it to the cops on the side.”
    “And you figure that’s what happened to him?”
    “No, I figure some bum in the alley did him, like the cops said. Charlie, the way he dressed most of the time, he looked like a bum. But if he was done intentional, I’d bet it was some guy, hears Charlie liked to drop the dime, and says to himself, ‘Jeez, maybe Charlie was the guy dropped my brother who’s doing eight to ten up in Walpole there the hard way with some jigaboo’s putz up his ass.’ That’s what I figure.”
    Gotbaum suddenly appeared awfully florid. Teevens said, “Boss, I think you ought to take one.”
    “Inna minute. You got any other questions there?”
    “I hear that Coyne was drinking in your bar before he was stabbed.”
    “That’s right. In fact, the Duck was with him that night.”
    “I was thinking I might go over there and look around. How about Duckie coming with me?”
    “Sure. Duckie, go with the gentleman here.”
    “Not before you take the pill, boss.”
    “Awright, awright.” Gotbaum pulled open the center drawer of the desk and fished around, coming up with a vial of tiny pills. He popped one under his tongue and began taking deep, uniform breaths.
    I said, “Nitroglycerin?”
    The fat man nodded.
    Teevens said, “For his heart.”
    I said to Gotbaum, “It doesn’t bother you that engineers use that stuff to blow away mountains?”
    “Naw.” He seemed to be completely recovered. “Naw, you just gotta be careful you don’t bite down too hard.”
    They shared a practiced laugh over that one.

    “So you like being a private eye?”
    I didn’t answer until we could trot through a break in the increasing traffic. “It’s not bad. You like being an apprentice porno pusher?”
    “Could be worse. Least I don’t spend my time like most guys, trying to get paid and trying to get laid.” At the door to Bun’s, Teevens spoke to the bouncer, an ox with a Duran Duran tee shirt and a bulletshaped, shaved head. “He’s with me.”
    “Enjoy the show.”
    I said, “Thanks.”
    Inside, Bun’s opened up into one big room. A raised stage with purple velvet curtains as backdrop occupied the far left comer. Running from the stage and toward the entrance was a bar with a center runway, constructed so that the performers would always be separated from even the bellied-up customers by the bar itself and the moat of bartender space between the bar and the runway. Although no one was on stage, the place was pretty full, ten men for every woman, as best I could see in the dim light.
    Duckie said, “Take a seat at the bar. I gotta see a guy here first. Don’t order till I get back to you.”
    I did as he said, telling the bartender who came over promptly that I was waiting for Duckie. The bartender moved away, and I felt long nails squeeze my leg.
    I looked up into a tough female face wearing enough eye shadow to fool a male raccoon. The punked-up hair glittered so much that I couldn’t tell what color it was.
    “I’m Sherry. What’s your name?”
    “John.”
    “John. I like that name.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Wanna fuck my brains out?”
    “Thanks, but it sounds like someone already beat me to it.”
    The smile gave way, but Teevens put his hand tenderly on her shoulder from behind and said, “He’s with me, Sher.”
    Sherry lifted her head defiantly and stalked off. The bartender came back and Duckie said, “ Cal , a round of the boss’s stock.”
    I said, “Just beer for me, thanks. Bottles?”
    Cal said, “Bud or Mick.”
    “Michelob. No glass.”
    “Right.”
    Teevens said, “You don’t like the hard stuff?”
    “Not most of it.”
    Cal poured Duckie a double shot of Johnnie Walker Black. I made sure I could see the top of the Michelob bottle from the time Cal used a church key on the cap.
    After Cal served our drinks, Teevens said, “You’re careful. I like that.”
    “Watching the drinks?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Force of habit. I ask how you figure Coyne died, will I get a straight answer?”
    “Not likely.”
    “Why not?”
    Duckie rotated his drink on the bar, leaving artistic whorls of water rings interlinking each other. “Charlie goes into the books the way the cops say, nothing changes. I put in my two cents, maybe I make waves.”
    “Off the record, what do