Chapter 9 #2
Griffin is standing in the corner with a repeat customer, the mailman, Ernie.
I’m not sure where the poor, scrawny guy Ernie is from.
He just kind of showed up in town one day and got the job as the Mystic River mailman.
I’m not sure how he keeps his job. He constantly delivers mail to the wrong address.
I swear he does it on purpose because it’s only certain people who get their mail mixed up.
So, it’s either intentional or he’s taking one too many hits of the rolled-up buds before he clocks in for work.
Ernie and Griffin make their exchange, and Ernie makes a beeline for the exit. He doesn’t stick around for cards or sports. He shows up once a week, buys a bag, then dips. As Ernie passes by, Griffin and I make eye contact, and I nod my head, giving him the go-ahead to head back upstairs.
Our “little” side business is more rumor than common knowledge.
Sheriff Jackson has never been able to get enough evidence to secure a warrant, and anyone who does utilize our services wouldn’t dare snitch.
Not only would the rest of our customers go after them, but we’d make sure they were never seen again.
I begin circulating the room with keen eyes, walking by each and every player. Most are too focused on their hand to pay attention to me. Cheating doesn’t happen often, but it’s not uncommon. And there’s always a sore loser that we have to set straight.
We don’t have much down here. People can place bets on sports and races, or they can play poker at the tables.
And we may not have the appropriate licenses or permits, but that never stopped our grandfather, great-grandfather, or great-great-grandfather.
So, it sure as hell isn’t going to hold back Griffin and me.
Once I’m done with my inspection of the tables, I don’t have to fight my way through the crowd to get to the bar. Everyone parts like the Red Sea, so my path is clear.
“Hey! Back already, Knox?” Florence Baker, the local librarian, greets me.
Florence tended bar upstairs when Pops ran The Wandering Raven, and she insisted she continue when we took over.
We didn’t hesitate to take her up on her offer.
But we knew Florence well before The Wandering Raven.
She’s been the librarian since I can remember, and she’s one of the few people in town who didn’t shun Griffin and me.
“Yeah, just had a small teen problem upstairs,” I answer her.
“I hear you hired a new bartender.” Florence peeks at me out of the corner of her eye as she fills another glass with Bud Light and hands it to a customer.
“That we did,” I confirm.
A round of boo’s flood my ears as the Nets score another three-pointer against the Rockets, ending Florence’s line of questioning. I ignore her pointed looks, prying for more information, and busy myself filling drinks.
“So?” The woman is like a dog with a bone.
“Her name is Raven. She’s new in town,” I concede.
A flicker of approval crosses Florence’s face. “Good hire,” she praises in a monotone voice. “She works for me at the library, too. Hard worker. Talks too much, though.”
Turning my head toward her, I make a face conveying my annoyance at her hypocrisy.
“Don’t give me that look, Knox Montgomery. You have no room to talk.”
We go back to serving up drinks, and an hour later, the Rockets have won, and spirits are high. Well, most of them. There’s always at least a few who lose out on money. That’s the way it is here. The basketball fans begin to clear out after they collect their winnings or walk away empty-handed.
A fist slams on the far poker table, and someone shouts, “Aw, come on! This bitch is obviously counting cards!”
My feet are moving before I notice who is causing the scene.
Graham LeBlanc.
Like uncle, like nephew, I guess.
I don’t give him a warning as I grip the collar on the back of his shirt and lift.
Graham lets out a choking sound as he tries to get his feet under him.
I don’t wait for him as I drag him behind me and shoot off a text to Benny.
Once again, a path is cleared as I lug this asshole out of the room and up the stairs.
By the time I’m in the back hallway, Graham is standing and letting some vitriol fly. “You piece of dumb shit! Get your grubby hands off me! I want my money back! That game is rigged!”
It takes everything in me not to take him out right here, right now.
This man’s brother is the reason for the scars I carry.
He’s smaller than Frank and a major prick just like his brother.
But he doesn’t deserve my wrath. Frank is smart enough to never set foot in The Wandering Raven.
He wouldn’t walk out alive. But that doesn’t stop Frank’s wife, son, and brother from coming.
Benny comes around the corner and I hand Graham over to him. Benny may not look like much while sitting at the bar, but he’s just as big as I am. And every time he has to throw someone out, it’s like he sobers up in ten seconds flat.
Graham has yet to cease with his insults, but they’re like water on a duck’s back.
But before he gets tossed out the back door, I interrupt him, “I expect your balance to be paid in full by tomorrow. I’m giving you the night because I don’t want to see your punchable face for the next twelve hours.
As for the game, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked in.
It’s no one’s fault but your own that you suck at playing cards. ”
I nod at Benny, and he hauls Graham out the back door.
He’ll rough Graham up a bit and send the idiot on his merry way.
He’ll have a couple of black eyes and maybe a broken arm, but he’ll be fine.
Benny is good at handling this type of thing.
Griffin and I prefer to handle collections ourselves, so this arrangement works out perfectly.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I release a large exhale. The letter is burning a hole in my pocket. I told myself I would keep it close just in case, but I was only lying to myself.
I head into the office and plop down in the rolling chair, letting out a groan.
Back problems have become my daily companion, and they serve as a reminder that I’m not twenty-five anymore.
A few months ago, Griffin said we needed something with good lumbar support and bought the chair along with some cushy mats to put on the floor behind the bar.
I will never admit to him that he was right and that his purchases might be the only reason I’m not crawling out of The Wandering Raven every night.
I pull the letter out of my pocket and drop it onto the desk. Ignoring the letter hasn’t done me any good. It’s become a silent obsession—a dark whisper in my ear.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself and tear open the envelope.
Dear Knox,
I knew you’d be the one to open my letter.
Your heart is pure, unlike Griffin’s. He’s never forgiven me, but I know you want to.
It’ll lift a burden from your shoulders, one that never should have been there because I’m innocent.
I finally figured out how all that evidence wound up in my truck, but I can’t tell you in a letter. Come see me and we’ll talk.
Amos Montgomery
My fists clench the letter, wrinkling the paper. My sneer could burn a hole right in the middle of the page.
I let him get to me. Again. He’s always been able to get me to do what he wants. A few well-placed words and I’m bending over backward to make him happy.
Not this time.
For all I care, the state of Texas can give him the needle, and I won’t miss a wink of sleep.