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To Chapter 8by Jason Bennett
Chapter 9
The day after the funeral dawned gray and steely. The summer was getting old, and the high blue skies of July were a distant memory as August drew to a close. One of the last things on my mind was a baseball game, but unfortunately, what was on my mind and what was on my calendar were two completely different animals. And, unfortunately, I had to get paid.
I went to Frank’s Diner to meet Donnie for breakfast. Franks Diner had, at one time in its life, been a train car, and was dragged to its current spot on 58th street by a team of Clydesdales sometime in the 1920s.
The original layout of Frank's, since it had been a train car, allowed only a lunch counter and the stools in front of it. However in the late 1940s, the owner doubled the size of the restaurant and also its capacity. The back of the menu told the full story, and I read it every time I ate there.
I picked up a Times at the door as I walked in, and sat near the end of the counter. It was late, by Frank’s customers’ standards. The place opened at 5 a.m., and closed at noon. By the time I got there at 9, the place was half empty.
I ordered a coffee and thumbed through the front section while I waited for Donnie to get there. There, below the fold on the front page was the story about Ellison’s release. Levin had interviewed him, but Ellison was no idiot.
“I have no real idea why they brought me in to ask me about this,” Ellison commented. “Olivia and I go way back, but its been a while since we spent any time together. I’m sorry this all happened, but I had nothing to do with it.”
Cocksucker. I hated that guy more now than before. He may have been innocent of this particular crime, but that didn’t change how much of an asshole he was.
Donnie walked in as I finished my second cup of coffee.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he said as he sat next to me and flipped his coffee cup right side up. “What’s new?”
“I should ask you that.”
“Well, nothing, I’m afraid. That’s the problem.”
“Listen, Donnie,” I said, feeling a bit lost. “I told Jerry yesterday that Jake was released. I wanted him to know before the paper came out today.”
“How did he take it?”
“Terribly,” I said. “He was crushed. I mean, he was also very torn.”
“What do you mean, ‘torn’?”
“Well imagine. His daughter is murdered, but her reputation will be destroyed when the identity of her killer, and motive for his crime become public. Then, all of a sudden, he’s not the killer: relief for her reputation, but now the killer’s a mystery. No justice yet for his daughter. It was very hard on him.”
“I know, it must have been.”
“So what now? Where are we?”
“Examining some forensic evidence,” Donnie took a sip of his coffee. “They vacuumed the room where they found Olivia, and also Olivia’s room. And there’s a bunch of other forensic stuff they’re looking at, but we’re still working. It could be a while.”
“Well,” I said, “let me know what’s up, okay? I just want to know where it’s all at. And I think Jerry should know.”
“Ozzie, this is a police investigation, and you’re a reporter. I really can’t tell you any more than I’d tell another reporter. I hate to hit you with that, but it’s true.”
Even though I probably shouldn’t have been, I was shocked. Donnie knew how much this meant to me, and the idea of him keeping any facts from me made be boil. I stared at him for long seconds, trying to find the words I was looking for.
“Great,” I finally said. “That’s just fantastic.” I stood up and dropped my newspaper onto the stool I had been sitting on. “Now I know why every one regards cops as assholes. You could just as easily have told me you’d keep me updated, then just not done it. You know how upset I am about this thing.”
“I know, Ozzie, but the truth is, I never should have let you in on most of that stuff to begin with. I only did it because Jerry called you that night and asked you to come over. I didn’t really want you there. You’re too close to the whole thing.”
“Nice, real nice.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but this is reality. This is a police matter.”
“These are my friends, Donnie. My best friends.”
“This is my job,” he said after a short pause. “Trust me to take care of it. I’m good.”
I thought for a minute. Not only was Ellison gone now, but also there was no other suspect in mind, and even if there were, I wouldn’t be told about it.
“You know, Donnie, you could have just told me you’d tell me, then kept me in the dark.” I realized that I was repeating myself, but didn’t care. “At least then I would have thought you were including me.”
He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “I know, Ozzie, but I didn’t want to. . .”
“Get into trouble, I know. Well don’t sweat it.”
I turned and walked out. I was pissed, and with no where to go. Today was my deadline, and I had no column. I decided to go to the office and explain it to the boss.
***
For the second game in a row, I had no urge to watch baseball. I sat through the first three innings alone, downing several beers and eating two hotdogs. I barely even noticed when, in the second inning, Colby Akers hit a grand slam to put Southport up 4-1. An outstanding double play that went Olivera, Hennessey, Washington – around the horn – kept my attention for a minute or so. But mostly my mind was on Olivia and who killed her.
By the fifth inning, with Southport up 9-2, I had lost all interest, and began walking around the stands. I found myself on the first base line, behind the Anglers' dugout. Trish was sitting there, alone, and even though my date with her wasn’t until tomorrow night, I felt like talking with her for a few minutes.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked as I walked down to where she was stitting.
“Hi Carson, have a seat. Did you see that granny Colby hit? It was a monster.”
“Actually I was at the concession stand at the time. I heard the meow of the crowd, though.”
She laughed. “You should have seen his swing. It was an inside pitch, so he had to shorten up. He even stepped out more than usual. His natural step is just to the left-field side of the mound, but he stepped almost directly at third, and his elbows barely left his body. But that ball must have gone 450 feet. He’s going to be a real franchise-builder, when he goes up.”
I was speechless for a few seconds. “Yeah, I guess he is.” I looked at her and tried to figure it all out. “Where did you learn so much about baseball?”
“From my dad,” she said softly, looking at the ground. Then she looked up, hesitantly. “He used to take me to games a couple times a week. We’d sit here, on the first base side, and he’d explain every detail of the game to me.”
“Wow,” I said. “Sounds like he was pretty invested in spending quality time with you.”
“Well, something like that, I guess. He wasn’t a very nice guy.”
Confused, I looked away for a moment. “What do you mean?”
Eyes down, bottom lip softly trembling, a slight blush on her face told me now wasn’t the time. “Life has been . . . complicated.” She almost whispered it.
She looked back onto the field. She was very cute. She had on a pair of khaki colored shorts, and a white t shirt, with a light blue cardigan sweater on over it. The sweater had a small rip in the cuff. I could tell it was a favorite piece of clothing for her. I had clothes like that.
She turned back to me. “Look, Carson, we don’t have to go out. I understand if you don’t want to take me out.”
“No, no,” I said. “I do. I really do want to take you out.”
“Okay.” Her demeanor slowly turned, and she smiled. “When are you picking me up?”
“How about 6? I’ve never been a really late dinner kind of person.”
“Sounds good.”
I got up to leave.
“Watch this at bat,” she told me. “He’ll throw fastballs until he gets a strike on this guy, then a change up. Then he’ll throw curves just off the plate, and in the dirt until he strikes him out.”
“I’ll watch,” I said as I walked away. “I’ll watch it.”
As I drove home I wondered just how much baggage was too much, and if I was completely honest with her and myself, didn’t I have quite a bit, too?
***
My apartment bathed me in loneliness all evening. At 9:30 I poured myself my third Jameson’s and Coke, and found the picture of Olivia and Colby I had tucked away the other day.
I stared at that picture until I finished my drink and poured the next one. They looked so damn happy. I used to be that happy. I was that happy for a long time. Why wasn’t I any more?
I finished the fourth drink before I knew I had started it, and another one magically appeared in front of me.
I flipped on CNN to see what was new in the world.
10:30 p.m. Drink number five finished, I decided a sixth would make it a nice, even number.
“I don’t know what you’re smiling about,” I said to the picture, “but she’s going to leave you, eventually.” I was jealous, I realized. Jealous of a picture. Jealous of the way she cuddled in his arm, the familiar touch of her hand on his chest. I wanted that.
Drink number six was lonely, so I sent it a friend, but realized that Coke was only slowing me down.
I sat back on my couch and flipped through all my channels.
11:30 p.m.
I uncorked the bottle and tossed the glass in favor of the direct route. I turned on HBO. None of the 14 channels offered anything I hadn’t seen – not even the Spanish versions.
Drink number eight. My armchair seemed large as I held the remainder of the Jameson’s in my left hand and the snapshot in my right.
“Bastard,” I said to Colby. “Lucky bastard.”
I watched “Ghostbusters” for an hour.
Then it hit me. I wandered out of my apartment, barely remembering to leave the Jameson’s behind. One final large swig, and I set it just inside the front door.
A nice, casual pace got me to Dianne’s apartment. She lived on the top floor of a two-flat in a residential neighborhood. I walked to the back of the building and searched the ground for a suitably small rock to throw at her window.
Finding none, I fished in my pocket and pulled out the only change I had: a half-dollar.
I shrugged, and being careful not to throw it so hard as to break the glass, tossed it at her bedroom window.
It hit the mark with a large “clunk” and fell back to the ground where I picked it back up and pocketed it, no worse for the wear. I waited several seconds until I saw her light come on, and, very pleased with myself, waited for the window to open.
After what seemed like an hour, I heard a voice from the side of the building.
“Carson?” it was barely more than a hoarse whisper. “Goddamn it Carson, is that you?”
I was startled. This was not part of the plan. I jumped behind a bush that sat low against the building. In my haste to hide, however, I had forgotten that the bush grew flush against the brick foundation. My head crunched as it hit the brick and I flew backwards more quickly than I had jumped to hide, landing flat on my back in the dirt. I saw stars for several seconds, then opened my eyes to see Dianne standing above me in a bathrobe and slippers, carrying a baseball bat.
“What the fuck are you doing here at 1 a.m. Carson Osborne?”
I tried to make sense of it all.
“And why didn’t you ring my doorbell, if you needed to speak with me so badly?”
From my vantage point on the ground she looked very tall, and I noticed, again, the halo of small hairs escaping from her ponytail. They swayed gently in the night breeze. Then the pain in my head intensified and the world began to spin. I sat up and climbed onto my knees, and the world spun faster.
The first wave of nausea hit me like a Mack truck, and I found myself face first in the bush losing the hotdogs I had eaten at the game, along with the last few shots of Jameson’s.
After a few seconds I regained myself and looked back up at Dianne. I stayed on my knees so I would be close to the ground.
“Hi, Dianne, how are you?” “Carson, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I just wanted to come by and say hello. See, I have this picture.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out Colby and Olivia. “And it reminded me of you and we haven’t really talked in a while, and I thought maybe we could talk.”
I tried to get to my feet and wound up leaning against the side of the building.
“I didn’t break your window, did I?” I asked sincerely.
She sighed deeply. “No, Carson, you didn’t.”
“Oh, good.”
She looked at me for a minute. “Come inside, you must be cold. It’s cold out here.”
We walked inside and up the long steps to her apartment. Once inside I found the bathroom and got sick again. I looked at myself in the mirror. My nose was still swollen from my encounter with Ellison several nights before, and my eyes were still blackened, though they were beginning to look better. Those adornments now were joined by a large abrasion beginning to form on the left side of my forehead with the distinct impression of a brick’s corner in the middle of it. This new injury trickled a small amount of blood, which I wiped with toilet paper before rinsing my mouth several times.
I felt and looked pathetic.
I walked unsteadily back to the living room, where Dianne sat on the couch. I sat next to her.
“What’s wrong with you, Carson? You’re not yourself.”
“It’s been a long week.” I could hear my words slur, and for the first time became self-conscious about my condition.
“I guess it has.”
I lay down on the couch and dropped off my shoes onto the floor. “Will you hate me if I crash here tonight?”
“I already hate you,” she said as she brushed my forehead gently. “So it doesn’t matter.”
She got up and shut off the light as she walked into her bedroom. I closed my eyes and fell unconscious almost immediately – at least from what I remember.
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