Ten Years After/Part 5
"You came back."
"Yes."
I laugh. "Why?"
"He wouldn't see me."
"And? What's that got to do with me?"
Arthur looks pissed. Not a good look for him. He's a handsome man now, but
a bit too dour for my tastes. He looks like a smile would kill him. Maybe
it would.
He steeples his hands in front of him and gives me what he apparently
thinks is a cool, considering look. But he seems to forget that I've
stared down more than my share of hard cases, including the man he wants
to investigate.
"Did you call him?"
Okay, that takes me by surprise. He got me there. "What?"
"Did you warn him I was coming?"
I tap the box of Marlboros on the table with one impatient finger. "Don't
have his number."
"How do you get in touch with him?'
That does make me chuckle. "What is that, a trick question, Arthur? Wow,
you turned into one hell of a reporter."
"Then try this one. How does *he* get in touch with you?"
I stop smiling. "He doesn't."
"You're going to tell me sooner or later."
"Why? To satisfy your fucking curiosity? Get over it, Arthur. I did."
Arthur leans back and manages to do the impossible. He smiles. Like a
fucking cat who just swallowed a mouse. "See, I don't think you did."
"Well," I shrug, "far as I know, it's still a free country, so you go
right ahead and think what you like."
"But if I *print* any of it, you'll tear me to pieces," he says, evidently
deciding that he knows how I think now. What an arrogant little
ballbreaker he turned out to be.
"Me? I've got no power," I say. That's not only true, it hurts to admit
that out loud.
"Dammit, Curt," he cries. Oh, this boy's snapped his leash. He's so
frustrated, he wants to shake the truth out of me. Only problem is, I
don't have any truth to share. Not with him.
"You have to trust somebody sometime."
"Give me one good reason why it should be you."
That stops him cold. Then he does it. He fucks up so bad, he is going to
get his ass handed to him. "We had something. We could--"
I slam both hands down on the table, making enough noise to get the
attention of both the barmaid and three other people sitting clear on the
other end of the bar. "Y'know, I wanted to save you the pain of hearing
this, but you leave me absolutely no fucking choice. We didn't have
*anything*. We're not *going to* have anything. I'm more interested in
getting to know this bottle of beer," I pick it up and consider throwing
it, but that would be a waste of good beer, "than I am in you."
"You're wrong."
"You're stupid."
"No, I'm not. You're afraid of something, and I think I know what it is."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Brian Slade's not Tommy Stone."
"What the--"
He's got my attention now, and he knows it.
"I don't blame you for thinking they're the same person. That's what I
thought, too. Till I went over there. He wouldn't see me. But Shannon did.
Still doing damage control for Brian."
He pops a piece of gum into his mouth and starts to chew like a kid who
just discovered candy. "I've seen Tommy up close. He doesn't look a thing
like Brian. Don't forget, I was obsessed with Brian Slade, I probably know
more about him than--"
He gives me a slightly sheepish smile and stops there. I think he knows if
he finishes that sentence, he's dead.
"Anyway, I heard Shannon and Tommy arguing before I left. Do you want to
know what they were talking about?"
I can't help myself. I want to know more than I want to take another
breath.
"Brian."
I blink, momentarily feeling the strain of trying to follow him.
"Tommy knows he's just a stand-in, and not a very good one at that, from
the way it sounded." He frowns, and I wonder what he's thinking. Or if
he'll even tell me.
Then I realize. He *wants* to tell me. To prove how brilliant he is. Or
how wrong I am. Either way, it works for me.
"Shannon's hiding Brian."
"No way. He would never--"
"He's there. Right now. You just have to get past Shannon."
"You've seen him?"
"I don't have to. I know he's there."
"If he wanted to see me, he would," I say sulkily. I know I sound like a
broken-hearted fool, but I don't care anymore. I'm tired of this. I want
to go home. I want to forget about him. I want to get over--
No, I don't. I can't lie for shit.
"He doesn't care," I whisper, more to myself than him, but he hears me.
"You don't know that."
"I think I pretty much fucking do," I snap back, and I realize once again,
he's succeeded in getting me aggravated.
He seems to be weighing his next words carefully. I sit up straighter. He
knows something else, and he's deciding whether or not to tell me.
"I think Brian's sick," he says finally, and whatever I expected him to
say, it wasn't that.
"Sick? How?"
He shrugs. "Dunno. But the two of them kept saying that he's not feeling
well."
I wave my hand impatiently at him, almost dropping my lit cigarette. "That
doesn't mean anything."
"What if he *wants* to see you...and *can't*?"
Oh, God.
I run a shaking hand over my face and wonder if I remembered to shave this
morning. "What's your interest in all this? Besides the fucking story?"
He sighs heavily. "I think you got a raw deal. I think...maybe Brian did,
too."
"So what? Misery loves company?"
"You're going to hate hearing this from me, Curt, but..." He takes a deep
breath and plunges in. And he's right. I do hate hearing it from him. But
even I recognize the truth when I hear it.
"I always thought the two of you belonged together. I still do. It's not
going to be easy. In fact, it'll probably be fucking hard."
"But if you don't at least try...you're going to hate yourself for the
rest of your life."
I already do. But if trying one more time to reach Brian could change
that, for either one of us?
I scrape back my chair and stand, albeit a bit unsteadily. But it's not
drink that's throwing me off-balance.
It's hope.
*****