Wilma was waiting downstairs, at the bar. She looked especially big, poised on the barstool like a magician’s balancing act. She also looked tired and not a little old, the oddly pretty blue eyes barely visible under heavy lids, the rows of chins hanging limp and loose, a cigarette drooping from her mouth like another tired appendage. The bartender, Charley, was putting glasses away nearby. He was bald and friendly looking but a hard-ass old guy who was also bouncer for the place. He and Wilma apparently had a thing, though nothing was ever said about it.
“About gave up on you,” Wilma said.
“I talked to him,” I said, taking a stool.
“And?”
“He’ll stay away from her.”
“I think the son of a bitch was with her tonight.”
“I know he was. But I think it’ll be the last night.”
“Well. I owe you.”
“No you don’t.”
“Shit if I don’t. Have Charley pour you one.”
“No thanks. I’d take coffee, though.”
“Sure. Charley?”
He went after some coffee.
“I do appreciate what you done. That pecker-head looked shifty to me, forty or better and her only sixteen, Jesus.”
“The guy is shifty. Does he stay in his room most of the time?”
“Not really. Comes and goes. Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Wilma. Just curious.”
“Think he might be up to something on the shady side?”
“Could be. I don’t know.”
Charley came with a pot of coffee and poured Wilma and me a cup, and went back to wiping the glasses. He hovered nearby, listening, but not participating.
“Let me give you some advice, Wilma.”
“Sure.”
“Stay away from the guy. I got him straightened out, I think. But at the same time keep an eye on him. And if he messes around with your niece anymore, you can let me know and I’ll talk to him again.”
“You really think he’s some kind of crook or something, is that it?”
“No, no. But keep your distance from him.”
“And my eyes open?”
“That’d be smart, I think.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Stop by for lunch tomorrow. It’ll be on the house.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
“You better.”
“Goodnight, Wilma. Charley.”
And I went home.