One of the men behind the table stepped toward me, but froze when Dunk glanced at him. Dunk reached behind his back and pulled out a small gun. He smiled thinly at it, then set the weapon on the table, gave it a tap with his finger so it spun in a half-circle. “Remember this gun?”
I did. His father’s .38. I think I memorized every millimeter of it the day I brought the gun with me to the bench in the cemetery all those years ago. The .38 seemed so big back then, like a cannon.
“I always figured my pops would eat this gun. Remember how he used to hide it? We’d have to climb up on chairs and boxes just to get it down. That last year, it got to the point where he just left it lying around the house. I found it in the bathroom once, on the floor next to the shitter. He’d been in there for over two hours before that, then just came stumbling out and dropped onto his bed. I figured he was shooting up. He’d been doing that. I wasn’t sure when he started. I went into the bathroom to make sure he didn’t leave his needles on the floor, because he had done that too, and I damn near stepped on one in the middle of the night when I went to take a piss. Didn’t find any needles that day, just this gun on the floor. I must have stared at the gun for an hour, wondering how close I came to finding him dead. I started hiding it, different places around the apartment, but he always found it. ThenI’dfind it again, in some weird place—the bathtub, in the refrigerator, in the microwave. Sometimes right out in the open on the kitchen table or the counter. This was around the same time I was helping you with your aunt. God, I loved that woman, closest thing to a mom I ever had. I thought about hiding the gun at your place, even did once, but I’ll be damned if this peashooter didn’t turn back up a few days later in the middle of the floor in my apartment. I always meant to ask if you found it and put it there…”
I shook my head.
“Another one of life’s great mysteries, I suppose,” Dunk went on. “When he started doing the heroin around the clock, I gave up on hiding the gun and I started leaving it right out in the open. Figured if he was going to kill himself, best to give him the opportunity to do it fast. He went with the needle, though, the sad fuck.” He leaned forward, his breath smelled of onions. “I’ve known a few to eat a gun over the years. I heard you joined the club, too. That crazy woman from across the hall a few years back, what was her name?”
“Leech, Elfrieda Leech.”
“Yeeeeeaaah.” He drew the word out, like an exhale. “Who’d a thunk it? Takes balls to eat a gun. Don’t know if I could go out like that.” He turned toward one of the guys standing behind the table, big enough to be a linebacker. “What about you, Truck? Think you could swallow a bullet?”
His head swiveled on his shoulders. Someone forgot to give him a neck. “Not me, boss. I’d go with pills. Maybe in a nice, warm bath. Take a handful and nod off. That’s the way to go, nice and peaceful.”
“Not so nice for the guy who’s got to pull your fat, naked ass out of the tub, though, huh?” Dunk laughed. “Gotta think about those you leave behind. Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’, into the future…” He sang this last bit, his eyes closed. “Great echo in here. Love me some Steve Miller Band.” His eyes snapped open, and he nodded at the empty chair again. “Take a seat, Jack.”
This time I did sit. The door seemed awfully far away.
Dunk retrieved a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. He placed it on the table next to the gun and smoothed it out.
My poster of Stella with the wordsHave you seen me?
A grin filled his face. “I found your girl. Wasn’t easy, but I found her. She hasn’t gone by Stella Nettleton since that house of hers burnt down. Probably used at least a dozen names since, wouldn’t you say, Reid?”
Reid nodded. “At least. Bounced all over the country, too.”
“Why are you looking for her?”
“Because you’re my best friend, Jack. That’s what friends do. They help each other.”
“We’re not…” The words trailed away, and I regretted saying them out loud the moment they left my lips. I caught a quick glance from Reid to the large guy Dunk called Truck.
The smile fell from Dunk’s face, and he slouched back in his chair. “You still blame me for the diner, don’t you? For the shit Alonzo pulled? I told you I had nothing to do with it. Alonzo wanted Crocket dead, simple as that. I took five fucking bullets that day and nearly died. He turned me into a fucking cripple. If that was all part of some elaborate plan, it sure as shit wasn’t a very good one. If I wanted to take out Crocket, I would have done it myself. I would have knifed him, I would have wanted to watch the life leave his face, up close. None of that cowardly Godfather’s tommy-gun execution bullshit. Killing innocent people, people I loved, my friends. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t sanction that. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Alonzo was a shit,” Reid muttered. “Not a smart one, either. He was screwing with Crocket, dipping into funds and lining his own pockets. Crocket found out, planned on going after him. Alonzo panicked and acted first. Acted stupidly.”
Dunk leaned forward, looked me directly in the eye. “I. Wouldn’t. Do. That.”
My stomach churned, and my mouth filled with the taste of Jack Daniel’s from earlier. I should have brought the bottle with me. I couldn’t look at him. My eyes dropped to the poster of Stella.
“Where is she?”
Dunk sighed. “Tell me you believe me.”
“I believe you. Where is she?”
“That didn’t sound very sincere, Jack.”
I shook my head, stood, and nearly knocked the table over with my knees. “I’m not doing this.”
Truck dropped a hand on my shoulder before I could take a step. He pushed me back down into the chair. “Sit.”
Dunk waved a hand at him, and the large man released my shoulder. “Fine, Jack. You don’t have to say it right now, but think about it. Spend a little time on it, and you’ll figure out the truth. You’re a smart guy, and you know me. You know me better than anyone else.”
At one point, that was probably true. Not anymore, though. This wasn’t the kid I grew up with. He became some kind of thug. I followed enough of the local news to know he took over all of Crocket’s endeavors, just like the detectives said he would. He ran the local drug trade, probably prostitution and gambling, too. Even if what he said were true, and Alonzo Seppala had killed Crocket on his own, only Dunk benefited. More importantly, Gerdy, Krendal, and the others would still be alive if Dunk hadn’t gotten wrapped up in this world in the first place. Whether or not he pulled the trigger, their deaths were the result of his decisions and actions.
“You look like you need a drink,” Dunk said. “Somebody get him something.”
