not.”
“My apologies,” I say. “One of the other guests must have lost it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she says as she gets into Maxine’s taxi. Andrew closes the door for her. She doesn’t acknowledge either of us.
“Do you know that woman, Andrew?”
“No. Nice shoes, though.”
Back inside, the trio has finished its set to distracted applause. Laurel is being helped into her coat by Barney, who is careful not to jar her arm.
“I missed him,” I say. “Sorry.”
“I just called my boyfriend,” she says. “He’s coming to get me.”
“Let me take you in to Emergency. Get an X-ray.”
“It’s not bad,” Laurel says. “I just can’t carry a tray.”
“How much did he run out on?”
“Wasn’t even that much,” Barney says. “Two beers, plus a bar Scotch for the little guy, then they started arguing about something and the little guy left in a huff and the big guy says something like, ‘I’m not finished with you, asshole,’ and chases after him.”
Laurel says, “And I’m, like, excuse me, sir, and he pushes me out of the way and I put my hand out to grab the railing and bend it back a little. Ow!”
“I think a doctor should look at it,” I say.
“Petey’ll be here in a minute. He can take me.”
When Petey arrives, I prevail upon him to make sure Laurel gets an X-ray. Petey’s a nice guy. He says all the right things about how if he ever sees the guy, and how he wishes he’d been here, and in the end he promises to get Laurel to Emergency to have it looked at.
Barney is back behind the bar taking care of business. The jazz buffs are thinning out after the last set. I find an empty stool at the end nearest the door and wait for Barney to get a free minute.
“Soon as he came in, champ, I spotted him as bad news,” Barney says. “Just had that look, you know. Two Buds, out of the bottle, sank the first one in two gulps. Carried the second one with him when he joined a table.”
“This the little guy at the table?”
“This was before. He takes his second beer over there, Kyra’s station, number thirteen. Nice-looking blonde sitting by herself, white wine. She didn’t touch it, though. So, oh, yeah, when he first comes in, he comes to the bar, drains the Bud, checks out your picture, asks what year it was. I told him it was the year you beat Olivera in six and won me a G-note. Then he gets the other Bud and carries it over to the table and stands there talking to the woman. I think for a minute maybe he’s hitting on her. She’s not smiling. He’s giving her static, she’s giving him the high hat. I figure she’s going to tell him to piss off, but he sits down and they have a conversation with him doing most of the talking. Anyway, he makes his point, I guess, and he gets up. That’s when the other guy shows up.”
“Here’s where I say, what other guy?”
“And I say, short guy, fifties, blue polyester, comb-over starting to unravel.”
“Does he join them?”
“No, him and the big guy grab a pair of stools at the bar. The little guy has bar Scotch and soda, the big guy’s still nursing the second Bud. They’ve got their heads together, so I don’t hear much with the sax player and the drummer doing their thing. But it’s the little guy who’s doing most of the talking, and the big guy doesn’t like what he’s saying. Then the comb-over takes off for the street door. The big guy yells something and takes off after him, and poor Laurel gets in his way.”
“What did the woman do?”
“She went out the other way, up to the lobby. She might still be up there.”
“No, she got in a cab,” I say. “Give me the guy’s bar tab.”
“Don’t worry about it, champ. Small potatoes. The D and D fund can handle it.”
“I know, Barney, but it’s not just a dine and dash. He assaulted one of the hotel’s people. He’s going to answer for the assault, and he’s going to pay for any medical treatment and lost income.” Barney hands me the printout: $16.45. “And he’s going to pay his bar tab.”
Kyra is the other server working this shift. Often she works the day shift behind the bar, but she makes more money working the floor. Kyra has soft brown hair down to her sacrum. Says it takes her two hours a day to keep her hair that gorgeous. I’m sure it’s worth it.
“She wanted to know what white wine we served by the glass,” Kyra says. “She went for the imported, but she wasn’t impressed. I don’t think she wanted a drink. She was waiting for somebody.”
“The big guy in the sports coat?”
“Not him. She wasn’t happy to see him. He was asking her stuff, and she was shaking her head. I heard her say, ‘Only if it comes to that.’ He says, ‘It’s not coming to that,’ whatever that is, and she says, ‘I hope not,’ and he goes off to the bar. Ten minutes later she still hasn’t tasted the wine, and I ask her if she’d prefer something else. She looks at me like she just woke up. She says no, it’s fine, and she has a sip. She says it’s fine, that she’s just listening to the music. Then that thing happens over by the door, and when I turn around she’s gone.”
I find Olive May sitting at her little banquette in the dark corner around the far end of the bar. She has her usual rum and Coke, her pack of Winstons, and her gold lighter that says “Warm Valley.” She’s talking on the phone. “Friday night. Fri-day night. Don’t keep saying maybe. It’s Friday night. Well, what’s a booking to you? What does it mean to you?” She winks at me. “Same thing it means to me. It means someone’s booked. Friday night. He’s booked Friday night. I don’t care if he is unhappy as long as he brings his horn. Friday night. Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
She smiles across the table at me and offers me one of her Winstons. I take it. There’s no smoking in bars in Vancouver these days, but somehow it doesn’t seem to apply to Olive’s corner.
“Who’s going to be here Friday night?” I ask as she lights me up.
“He won’t be here. Been yanking my chain for a year.” She has a sip of her drink, mostly Coke and ice. “I keep after him. You’ve got to try. The fool will probably kill himself before the year’s out. Good player, but it costs him too much. How’s the kid?”
“She’ll be okay,” I say, “but that wrist’s going to hurt for a while.”
“We’ll look after her.”
“Yes, we will.” I have a shallow drag on the Winston. Abstemious Grundy. One smoke a day, one beer a day. You’d think I was still in training. “Did you see it happen?”
“You know me, Joe honey. I keep my back to the room.”
“You have a good view of both entrances. You can see the staircase coming down from the lobby, and you can see the street door in that mirror.”
“I didn’t say I was oblivious, darling, merely exclusive.”
“There was a woman here wearing a grey suit.”
“A statue. She didn’t belong.”
“And you saw the man who talked to her.”
“What was he, a cop?”
“Used to be.”
“Looked like a cop. Cop moustache. Kind of guy likes to push people around with his belly.”
“He was working for someone, but I can’t figure out who.”
“What is he, private eye, hired