*****
Twenty minutes later, I had a bandage on my head and my face was clean. There was still blood on my collar, and I considered going home and getting a clean shirt, but since I wasn't absolutely sure I had any clean shirts, I didn't want to waste the trip. Also, something Mondo said had stuck in my craw and I needed to look into it.
Filly was an old buddy of mine that ran a bar up on 12th and 57th, near the west side docks. I hadn't talked to him in months, but if Mondo was bundling me and Filly together into the same death threat, it stood to reason that some or all of the mysterious problem Mondo had with me was because of Filly. Having a psychotic pimp gunning for me seemed like a more urgent problem than finding Candy Warner just then, so I hailed a cab.
Ten minutes later I was standing in the doorway of Filly's bar. It was the middle of the day, which never stopped folks from drinking, but did limit the number of patrons to only half a dozen or so. Filly was working the bar by himself when I walked in, chatting up some old-timer. The place had been cleaned recently, and still smelled a little of bleach. There was a new jukebox in the corner playing KC and the Sunshine Band, so I took a guess that business was pretty good.
Filly was a small guy. Back when we were kids, that meant he had to be smarter than the rest of us, and more ruthless, and he was still both of those things. He talked a mile a minute, like he was revved up on something, and for a while when we were teens, I thought he might have become a caphead – somebody who chewed the crazy 'shrooms. But no caphead could hold a job together, let alone a business, and Filly had been doing that for years.
I raised a hand to him as I approached the bar, and watched the smile evaporate off of his face. He stepped away from the old-timer and closer to me, but set about the business of polishing the bar so he wouldn't have to look at me.
“How you been, Cheek?” he asked. “What brings you to my establishment today?”
“Can I get a beer?”
“You gonna pay for it?”
I scoffed. “Why you always treat me like a mooch, Filly?”
“'Cause you been one since the second grade,” he said, and there was a hint of a smile there. He was still tense, but he started pouring me a glass. I nodded down the bar at the old-timer, but he just scowled at me and returned to his own drink.
“Talked with Mondo today,” I said.
Filly hesitated. It was just for a beat, but it was unmistakable. “Yeah?” he asked, trying to keep it casual. “Why'd you do that, Cheek?”
“I got a case. I'm looking for a missing girl.”
“That a fact?” Filly brought me the beer and set it down, and when he talked next, his voice was low enough so the old-timer couldn't hear us. “And was this girl's name Candy?”
“Starting to feel like I came in in the middle of the movie, Filly,” I said, and took a drink.
“What are you playing at, Cheek?”
“Just trying to close a case. Earn some scratch. You know how it is.”
“No, I don't. You're like a dog's had its nose slapped and still don't know to keep off the table, you know that?”
I took another drink and very slowly set the glass down on the bar. Then I folded my hands and leaned across them, right into my old friend's narrow face.
“Filly, I just got pistol-whipped by the biggest motherfucker that ever slapped a ho, and my head is pounding. How about we cut the shit and you tell me what you know about Candy Warner?”
Filly straightened then, and cocked his head. “Is this some tough guy bullshit? Why you acting like you don't know?”
“Why you acting like I do?”
“Just drop it, Cheek. You know and I know you do not want a part of this.”
He started to turn away, but I snaked out a hand and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back hard against the edge of the bar. He yelped, and the old-timer hollered in reply, hopping to his feet. The other patrons in the bar watched with only mild interest.
“Tell him we cool,” I hissed into Filly's ear.
Filly raised his hands at the old-timer. “It's cool, Horace. It's cool. I got this.”
“Yeah, Horace,” I sneered. “We all friends here, right?” I let go of Filly and he stepped out of my reach, straightening his collar and trying to regain some of his cool.
“Don't know what's gotten into you,” he muttered. “I used to think you was smart, Cheek.”
“Now you just sound like my momma,” I said with a grin. It hurt my head to smile like that, but I did it anyway. “We gonna do this here, or do you wanna go for a walk?”
“Walk,” Filly said. “Horace'll watch the bar for me for a couple of bucks. Let's get this shit over with.”