“Bar in Chico. I know you’re going to say no but I’m going to ask anyway. Can I get her number and-or address?”
“You say you’re a friend and you have neither? What kind of friend are you?”
“The kind who’s concerned and has no way of helping her unless you help me. What do you say? Pretty please?” He felt like one of the many desperate pig-squealing drunk girls in the Minx at closing time.
“Not a chance.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Same outcome, too.
A purple-scrub-wearing office girl—the only marginally attractive one of the lot—had been listening and came over. She leaned in, peered at Tag with her blue-green eyes, and in a tone that really shouldn’t be saying this, said, “Her boyfriend called earlier and asked for our fax number. He faxed a doctor’s note. I passed it along, but”—her eyes, the color of the Pacific ocean on an overcast day, peered even deeper into his—“she’s going to be out for a while.”
“Gee, what a surprise,” said the bitch receptionist.
Tag narrowed in on the eavesdropper, matched her optical intensity, and said, “What did it say? May I please see it?”
“Are you stalking her, Adam?” the uglier said. “I’m thinking you are.”
“Yeah, I’m stalking her,” Tag said dryly.
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” the nicer one said. Tag wondered if he was a lunatic for noticing that her blonde roots were the same color as its length, drawn back into a pony-tail, and thinking it might be worth remembering. It surely wasn’t, but he was functioning on some primal, instinctive level. He fancied himself a detective and strove to take note of everything. Like the meth lab that was called Diamond Smiles. Maybe absurd, maybe not. His senses were heightened from being in the same room that was intimately familiar to his Mae Clark. It didn’t seem possible that there was any information he could gather here that would be considered useless. Not when his case was Mae Clark. “I already passed the fax along, anyway. Are you a friend of her boyfriend?”
“I don’t know if I’d use the word friend. Maybe enemy.”
The straight line of her full lips—here was a place she had decided wouldn’t go make-up free; a blush colored lip gloss—widened almost imperceptibly. Tag would’ve noticed it from the door in his current state of awareness. She looked up at the wall-mounted clock, then Tag. Those pretty eyes knew things. And they weren’t the eyes of a tweaker. In her defense, just because she worked in Oroville didn’t mean she lived here or was raised here. Tag looked up at the clock and then back to her, trying to convey to her that he was willing to receive a cryptic message.
“We’ll tell her you came by to see her,” said the bitchy one. That was her closing the door on the conversation.
“Don’t bother. Thanks for your time.”
The tall blonde stared raptly at Tag, but gave no impetus for him to stay. He took a deep breath as he walked away. He glanced back: the bitch was working her chubby fingers on a packaged Little Debbie; the nice one remained fixed on Tag. She glanced up at the clock, then back to Tag. It meant something. He nodded once and left.
He sat in the pickup truck with the door open for a half-hour, most of which was spent debating himself. It isn’t a waste of time narrowly edged out it’s a total waste of time. It was six o’clock, which had to mean everyone in Diamond Smiles was wrapping it up. It also meant that he started work in an hour, which consequently meant that he’d be pulling up to work in Dallas’s truck with a bed still in the truck-bed. That wasn’t a big whoop. Life would go on. He’d have to ask Dallas for another favor, that’s all. Dallas was still somewhat new at the Saucy Minx and eager to please the senior bartender.
Fifteen minutes past the hour was the boiling point for Tag. He’d spent too much time to throw it all away inconclusively, but he needed to be getting to work. He was now pacing the length of the truck and watching the double glass-doors like a hawk. An older Civic hatchback, blue with tinted windows pulled up beside him. The passenger window lowered. The office girl with lank blonde hair smiled at him. A prettier smile than he would’ve guessed. He wondered if he was a detective in a previous life.
“Hi,” Tag said. “I didn’t see you come out.”
“Back door. Want to go get a drink?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. How could he have mistaken her body language? She just wanted to be asked out. He was probably a shitty detective in a previous life. “Uh, I don’t know. I have to be getting to work.”
She frowned. “Then why’d you wait?”
“I uh…” She had him there. “I don’t know. I guess I misinterpreted you. I was hoping you wanted to tell me about Mae.”
“So let’s do it over a drink. I’m not hitting on you, Adam.”
“Oh,” he said enthusiastically. “My name is Tag, actually, and I really do have to work soon. In Chico. Bartender, free drinks. Would you mind going to Chico?”
“I live in Chico. The Saucy Minx?”
“How’d you know?”
“I was listening. I’ll see you there.”
Dallas was cool with keeping the Corolla overnight, as Tag knew he would. Dallas warned Tag that Tank showed up earlier than usual having gotten in a fight with his parents over funding of the education that mostly produced C’s and D’s, and he was well beyond drunk. “Thanks for the heads up,” Tag said over the screaming Axle Rose, welcoming the Saucy Minx denizens to the jungle. There was an ornamental bull-horns attached to a plaque advertising Shiner Bock, and he wondered how a bra got to be hanging off one of the horns. As Dallas headed for the door, Tag removed the bra and tossed it in the trashcan behind the counter. One of the regulars at a table booed.
Tag cut lime wedges, incessantly looking at the door. There were enough Corona ornaments before Tag had arrived, but his mind was elsewhere. Tank was perched on his usual stool like a twenty-years-younger Norm from Cheers and began telling a story, slurring every word of it as he went. It was the story of his lousy parents—Tag had heard this one before. “Tank, not today, bud.”
“What? What the fuck, Gab? What kind of sh-horse shit z’is? I pay for atmosphere, not jus’ tin and gonic.”
“You know I love you, but not today. I have a friend coming in.”
“Oh, and I’m not your fren’? Is that what I’m bean told, Tab?”
Tag closed in on the inebriated Tank and said, “I’ll tell you what. Go shoot pool, it’s on me. I’ll give you a free gin and tonic, too. A double. Tanqueray. Just give me some space tonight. Deal?”
It was a deal. But for two double gin and tonics, not one. Tank staggered to the pool table bragging of his incredible luck to the two other guys playing pool at the neighboring table.
The nameless girl entered the Minx at the tail end of dusk. Tag had already decided that he wouldn’t ask what took her so long. When he saw that she had exchanged the purple scrubs for a Hawaiian summer-dress and was now wearing makeup, he knew why she took so long. The smell of ale and cheap liquor permeated the long narrow room; he was pleasantly surprised to smell her perfume over it. She smelled like a lone flower in a Milwaukee brewery. “Howdy. Thanks for coming.”
“Sorry I took so long. I’m Amber, by the way. Are you still Tag or is there a new name?” She sat at the bar. Her slight but toned arms heaved a sizeable leather purse on the dark wooden bar before her. She extracted her phone and checked it, then returned it.
“It’s still Tag. I was trying to be incognito earlier.”
“Why were you trying to be incognito?” She surveyed her environment without expression. It was her first time here. He was undecided if she was old enough to be in here, but on this rare occasion he didn’t give a shit.
“I’d rather not get into it,” he replied. She sure polishes up nicely, Tag thought. It was hard to believe she was the plain girl in scrubs only an hour or two ago. She looked a little like the daughter of Goldie Hawn—Tag couldn’t remember the actresses name for the life of him. She probably didn’t look enough like h
er to mention it anyway. And it wasn’t the kind of ice breaker he needed. It wasn’t eighty-proof enough.
“So it’s going to be like that, is it?” she said. “I tell you what you want to know about Mae and you don’t tell me anything? Sounds fair to me.”
Tag humored, asked what she’d like to drink. “Anything on tap.” He gave her the memorized list, it was a short one. She requested a pint of Guinness. He poured it, placed it on a napkin in front of her and gestured to put the wallet back in her purse. She thanked him, returned the wallet, then gestured Tag to come closer. He inched forward. She gestured closer. He got within kissing range, smelled her peppermint breath. A hand came out of her purse and pressed to his forehead a round sticker with a graphic of a tooth caricature smiling. It said Great Job! on it, though he wouldn’t know this until later when he looked at himself through the neon-lit back-mirror.
Before he registered what had happened she was grinning bashfully. He looked up but couldn’t see his forehead. He wondered why she’d do that, decided it didn’t matter. She was playful and in good spirits and that worked for him. Worked great. The sticker would stay for the time being. Maybe it would be disarming and elicit some information from her.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, Amber, which isn’t much.”
“You know enough that you wanted to be incognito looking for her. I can only guess why.”
“Go for it,” he said as he poured himself a Guinness, feeling quite ridiculous with a sticker on his forehead. “Guess.”
“You’re afraid of him.”
He tilted the glass to remove excess head while leering at her. “I’m glad you came. And you’re right. What do you know?”
“I know that I want him to die a slow and violent death.” She said it in such a pretty and calm voice that Tag had to replay what she had just said. She sipped her Guinness and sat it down.
“Damn. I appreciate the honesty. What else?”
“I’m not comfortable talking to a stranger about this.”
“But you’re comfortable enough to say you want him to die. Hmm.” He produced a pair of shot glasses. “I have a solution. Liquid courage. Name your poison.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t drink and drive anymore. Oh well, huh?”
“Where do you live?”
“Cherry Street. Over by Riley’s Pub.”
“I’ll drive you home if you stay till we’re closed. Otherwise I’ll call you a cabbie and pay for it. And tomorrow I’ll even give you a ride from your house to your car. Fair enough?”
“Tequila.”
“Now we’re talking. Have a favorite?”
“Yeah, but I’ll settle for Cuervo.”
“No you won’t. Patron? Profidio?”
“Patron is fine.”
“Then Profidio it is.” He reached to the glass top shelf and pulled down a hand-blown bottle with a cactus inside and uncorked it. He poured two shots and returned the bottle. Two more shot glasses were placed beside them. Tag filled them with Jägermeister. “To Oroville sucking?” Tag offered his shot to toast.
“I’ll drink to that.”
They slammed the first of two shots.
Tag inquired into Mae again and still sensed a little apprehension. Not enough courage in the liquid. He changed directions and asked about herself. She gave the abridged version—twenty-one, junior at Chico State University, majoring in economics, Diamond Smiles pays tuition and bills—and put the ball back in his court. He delved into his background, hoping it would lower her guard a little. What his words might not accomplish, maybe the smiling tooth on his forehead would. More importantly, she finished her Guinness and both shots of tequila.
After Tag placed a fresh pint of black stout on a napkin before her, he decided he’d take a chance and tell her about what he knew of Mae, and how he knew it. It was a short story because there wasn’t much to tell.
“I’ve always liked writing, so one day I took a stab at a novel. It practically wrote itself. My main character is a girl named Mae Clark. I assumed I was creating her, not recalling her from memory. I don’t know when or where Mae and I have crossed paths, but it seems we had to have for me to describe her as accurately as I have. Even down to the fiddleback tattoo on her hand. It’s hard to explain why it’s so important that I find her, that I meet her in person. You grow to love your fictional darlings, and Mae has really impacted me, even before I knew she was a real person. In my novels, I’ve written two, both in which Mae is the heroine, she was the victim of abuse. In the first novel it was her parents, and in the second novel she had a piece of shit boyfriend named Trent Blackwood. He beat her.” He then told her of the messages he’d been exchanging with Mae and the ones he had received from Anonymous Guest. She said nothing, just sipped her beer and listened attentively.
“So you met her and don’t remember,” she mused.
“I guess so. How else can it be, right?”
She nodded. “And she told you about Trent.”
“Is that his name?”
“You just said it was.”
“I know, but I also thought I made that name up. Mae hasn’t mentioned his name to me.”
“Trent is his name, yes. I didn’t know his last name is Blackwood. Thought it might be asshole. Cocksucker, maybe.”
“That fax from the doctor earlier, what did it say?”
Amber’s eye’s sharpened, lips tightened. “She’s admitted to Forest Pine hospital. Seems our clumsy little Mae lost her footing going down the stairs of her porch. Again.” She hiccupped.
“Fell down the stairs? That’s the oldest crock of shit in the book.”
“And considering her porch doesn’t have stairs, it’s quite a feat.”
“You’ve been to her house?”
She nodded as she took a sip of beer.
“Co-workers and friends?”
“We’re not close friends, mostly because Trent doesn’t let her do anything.” She stared vacantly at her Guinness. “I wish we could be more.” She quickly amended, “Do more.”
Tag scrutinized her, wondered if it was a Freudian slip. “That’s cool, Amber. I hope you aren’t embarrassed about it.”
She looked up. “About what?”
“You know what I mean. We share the same plight.”
“I’m not gay.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing. It’s no biggie. You like Mae. I can relate.” He grinned at her; she grinned back. She had one of those grins that you want to take home to Mom and Dad. She resumed her solemn gaze at her glass and repeated that she was not gay. “Okay, you’re not gay. But you like Mae. What’s not to like, right?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing not to like.”
“Damned straight.”
“Yes I am.”
Tag laughed, stealing a smile out of her. “Reminds me of There’s Something About Mary. Everyone loves Mary, men and women alike. There’s Something About Mae.”
She hiccupped. “Yes there is. She’s awesome.”
“Are you a little drunk, Amber?”
“No.” Another hiccup. “Maybe a little.”
Tag laughed again. “You’re cute, Amber. I like you.”
“What about Mae?”
He suppressed more laughter, tried to maintain an aura of professionalism, but it’s hard when you’re buzzed—and that damn tooth was still smiling on his forehead. And Amber was fun. “It’ll be our little secret.”
“Okay. Secrets are good.” She took a long drink and hiccupped mid swallow. A little beer drizzled down either side of her chin. She sat the empty glass down and wiped her mess. “I get the hiccups when I drink. Like those old cartoons where they sing How dry I am.”
“I see that. Does Mae know how you feel about her?”
“She knows I like her.”
“She knows that you like-her like-her?”
“Your job is to put beer in my mouth, not words.” Tag crossed his arms, put a closed hand over his mouth and chuckled. “I’m glad
I amuse you,” she said.
“You’re funny, sorry. Do you have a boyfriend, Amber?”
She shook her head. “Are you propositioning me?”
“What if I was?”
She shrugged. “You like Mae, not me.”
“And you like Mae, not me. Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“What’s the hang-up, Tag? Fuck. Who cares who likes who? This is supposed to be about Mae and Trent. Why the twenty”—hiccup—“questions?”
“I don’t know. You’re right, this is about Mae.”
“I’ve had boyfriends, okay? Do I get any more drinks or am I cut off?”
“As many as you can handle.”
“Famous last words. Can I get a Slippery Nipple? You know what that is?”
“I do. Coming right up.” He began mixing the drink—one part butterscotch schnapps, one part Irish cream. “I think I’ll visit Mae at the hospital tomorrow before work. Forest Pine, right?”
“Yep. In Oroville.”
“You should come with me.”
“I can’t. I’ll be at work.”
He handed her the Slippery Nipple. “I don’t understand why Mae doesn’t go to the police. He’d go to jail.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, he’ll make her pay for it. Jail would just put her suffering on hold.” She put an elbow on the bar and rested her head in her hand, rolled her eyes up at him. “It’s not just physical violence that Trent is so wonderful at dishing out. Physical is probably the lesser of two evils.”
“He’s good at fucking with her mind?” He knew that Trent was.
“He’s pro. Literally. He’s a professional.”
“What’s he do?”
“If you wanted to fuck with peoples minds so much that you’d do it for a living, what profession would you consider?”
“No way. He’s a shrink?”
She grinned wanly.
“This has to stop. I don’t even know her but I can’t sit idly by and let this prick ruin her life.”
“I was hoping you’d say some version of that. That’s why I’m here. That’s who I hoped you were when we met at Diamond Smiles.”
“Maybe I’ll kick his ass. How might that go?”
“I’ll be there cheering you on. Other than that, I have no idea how it would go. I’ve never even seen him. Well, other than his silhouette in his truck.”
“God this sucks. I feel responsible. I am responsible. I know he did this because of what I wrote. He probably read our emails, or who knows, maybe he saw the picture she’d taken of herself on her phone and jumped to conclusions. She said this would happen. I should’ve just done what she asked and stopped emailing her.”