“Last I heard he was flogging some junk public-housing munis for a bucket shop in New Jersey. He knew the paper wouldn’t survive till maturity. And he was right.”
Dave Tanner grabbed the neck of the bottle and held it upside down so the last drops of beer could wet his throat.
“Guy could perish of thirst in this joint,” he said. Tanner had a point. The bar was one of those overdecorated yuppie watering holes where the staff does you a favor by waiting on you. We hadn’t seen a waitress in ten minutes.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said. “I feel like stretching my legs.” I tossed a twenty on the table, got up and straightened my tie.
Tanner nodded in agreement and grabbed his jacket. As soon as we stood, the waitress was all over us. She looked like an aspiring actress who would have had trouble remembering her lines.
“What’s the matter, gentlemen,” she said with an edge to her voice. “Didn’t you like our service?”
“Sure,” I said. “The same way the cow likes it when the bull gives her service.”
We were out the door before she could frame her reply.
The night was cool for June and there was a good breeze as we headed north on Third. The sun was just setting and the sky was the kind of red you sometimes see in a Turner painting. Even Tanner looked at the sky and made a comment on the light, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who notices those things. It was the time of evening when couples start to stroll around and take the measure of each other.
“Is Wheelock still working in that boiler room?” I asked.
“Nah,” he shook his head. “Place folded soon as the SEC started poking around. The owners closed it and opened a new outfit across the street under a different name and they used new straw men as the principals. The Feds never had a chance. Soon as they smelled a rat, these guys would shut the shop down and open a new one with the same salesmen. Always two steps ahead of the law.”
We walked past a succession of boites, cafes and gin mills where the new generation was learning the unalloyed joys of the liquid fermentation process.
“What happened to Wheelock after that?”
Tanner shrugged. “Lost track of him. He dropped out of sight.”
“Who would know where to find him?”
Tanner watched a couple of girls coming toward us. “Wheelock was a strange bird. He didn’t have many friends. Laura might know.” When the girls reached us, Tanner turned to them and said, “Excuse me, ladies. I was wondering if you subscribed to the Apollonian or Dionysian world view.”
The girls stopped and exchanged glances. I mean, we looked presentable enough. No disfigurements that they could see. Two decent-looking apparently successful fellows in well-tailored dark business suits. They wanted to believe we were sincere and well-intentioned but there was dissonance in our words. They were at a loss as to how to reply.
Finally one of them, the plainer one, said, “I really don’t understand your question.”
They were in their early twenties, obviously out-of-towners, new to the Morris dance mating rituals of the unforgiving city. You could see the quandary they were in. They didn’t want to blow a chance at a hot night on the town but, on the other hand, they had no idea what the hell Tanner was talking about.
“What I mean to say is do you prefer Apollo or Dionysus?” Tanner went on in his sardonic tone.
The girls exchanged another glance. The prettier one allowed a gleam of insight to shine through her heavy-lidded eyes.
“Hey,” she said. “Are these like discos or nightclubs or something?”
Tanner nodded. “Yeah, but very old and very Greek.”
The girls squealed in despair. There was some kind of communication gap here.
“I’ve never been to a Greek disco before,” the prettier one said.
I nudged Tanner. “Let’s keep moving,” I said. There was no contest. It would have been too easy.
Tanner nudged me back. “We can nail them, old buddy,” he said in a mock whisper.
I grabbed Tanner’s arm and said, “Come on, champ.” To the girls I said, “Good night, ladies. Don’t you know the dangers of chance sexual encounters?”
I hauled Tanner away against his protests and left the girls with a look of wide-eyed wonder on their faces. Defender of the innocent, protector of a maiden’s chastity. Was I a man living in the wrong century?
“Laura told me Wheelock called Alicia a couple of months ago,” I said.
Tanner raised his eyebrows. “And she doesn’t know where he is?”
I shook my head.
“Fond of the sauce, he was. The guy could always drink you and me together under the table.” He paused. “Think he whacked Alicia?”
“I don’t know. The odds are good. She didn’t want to go out with him. You know what a hard head he was.” I pictured Wheelock’s face. Flat, cold, smooth with deep-set eyes. “He was capable of it.”
Tanner nodded. “Maybe. Let me make some calls. You never know. He might turn up under some rock.”