Nevermore (18 page)

T WELVE

The Park in Rear

Larchmont, New York

Saturday 18 November 2006

Dean’s second trip to the Park in Rear was a marked improvement on his first for two reasons: no sign of Janine, and Jennifer was working the bar again. Better yet, Jennifer was wearing leather pants instead of tight jeans.

“Well well well,” Jennifer said when he approached the bar with Sam, “look who’s back.” They had just come over after helping Manfred lug in his stuff from the four-by- four.

“Why don’tcha grab us a table, Sam?” Dean asked without looking at his brother.

Sam smiled. “Plenty of tables, Dean, I wouldn’t Nevermore

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worry. Besides, I figured I’d help you carry the drinks.”

Now Dean did look at Sam. “I think I can handle carry ing two beers—not to mention dumping one of them on your head if you don’t get us a table.” Without another word—but with a particularly annoying smile—Sam went off to find a table in the raised section on the side.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “What, Dean, you don’t like hittin’ on older women in fronta witnesses?”

“First of all, I don’t buy that you’re an older woman. Sure, you pulled that ‘food in the freezer’

remark last night, but I think that’s a load of crap, and you’re really twenty-four. I’m thinkin’ you get hit on by so many losers in here that you pretend to be a single mom to drive them off and that you’re really a hot babe in her twenties who’s just fussy.” By this time Jennifer had started pouring his Brooklyn lager without him even specifying what he wanted. “Y’know, Dean, you gave this a
lotta
thought.”

“Yeah, I did.” In fact, he had only just thought of it, as he’d been too busy breaking into houses, meeting cops, sleeping, psychoanalyzing Dad, and trying to find information on Arthur Gordon Pym.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t find anybody by that name in any city records. His website admitted to 182 SUPERNATURAL

his name change, but it looked like he hadn’t done it legally, and there was no indication of what name he was born with.

Placing Dean’s drink on a napkin on the bar, Jennifer said, “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s all true. Took Billy to soccer practice this afternoon and everything. They’re makin’ him a forward.”

“Good for him.” Dean had no idea what that meant, really, but he assumed it not to be a bad thing.

“So what’s Sam getting?”

“Uh, Bud Light for Mr. Wuss.”

“Hey,” Jennifer said, “whatcha got against Bud Light?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, “I just prefer
beer.
” That finally got a smile out of her. She poured another pint full of Bud Light from the tap. “So I’m surprised to see you back. I figured you’d run screaming from another night of Scottso.”

“What would you say if I said I came back to see you?”

“I’d say you’re lyin’ through your teeth.” Dean grinned. “And you’d be right. I need to talk to Aldo about somethin’. Getting to see you again was just a nice side benefi t.”

“What do you need to talk to Aldo about?”

“An old girlfriend of his.”

Jennifer snorted. “Which one?”

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“Blond girl named Roxy.”

Another snort. “Roxy Carmichael? She ain’t no girl. Hell, she was older than me.” That got Dean’s attention. “Was?”

“Well, I guess she still is. She broke up with Aldo a couple years back, and I ain’t seen her since.

Too bad, they were a good couple—neither of ’em drank or smoked or nothin’. No, wait, I remember she and I used to go outside to smoke right after they made it illegal to smoke in bars.” Knowing that those laws varied from state to state, Dean asked, “When was this?” Jennifer shrugged. “Couple years ago. Right before they broke up. Anyhow, she always drank ginger ale.”

Before Dean could say anything else, the other bartender—not Harry, but another guy half his age and twice his height—said, “Hey, Jenny, move your ass, willya, I’m dyin’ over here.”

“Sorry,” Dean said. “How much?”

“Catch me later.” Again Jennifer smiled, but it wasn’t the snarky one she usually used. This one was nicer.

A warm, pleasant feeling in his chest, Dean walked over to the table with the two beers.

That feeling got cold and clammy by the time Scottso reached the second verse of their opener,

“Smoke on the Water.” Dean swore right then and there he was changing his ringtone as soon as he 184 SUPERNATURAL

figured out a way to ask Sam how to do it so Sam wouldn’t tease him about it.

That may take a while,
he thought forlornly.

By the time the set was over, he had gone back to the bar three times, the third time again talking with Jennifer until the other bartender screamed for help. He definitely had a good feeling about this.

Now, however, there was business to take care of. He made a beeline for Aldo, who was making a beeline of his own for the restroom. This worked out nicely, as Dean’s own bladder was pretty loaded with Brooklyn lager at that point.

The men’s room only had two urinals, and with the set just ended, there was actually a line. He got in behind Aldo and said, “Damn, I thought it was only women’s rooms had lines.”

“Haw haw haw!” Aldo said. “That’s a good one there, Sam.”

“I’m Dean.”

“S’what I said, Dean. Good t’see you guys back.”

“Thanks. You really kicked some ass tonight.

Loved the way you nailed ‘Sunshine of Your Love.’ ”

“They didn’t call Eric Clapton God for nothin’, my friend,” Aldo said.

“Hey, listen, Aldo, Manfred was telling me you used to date someone named Roxy.” Nevermore

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Aldo frowned. “Uh, yeah.”

“Said she was a major ’rÿcher. I used to know a blond chick named Roxy who was a major ’rÿcher, and I was wonderin’ if she was the same one.”

“Coulda been, I guess,” Aldo said with a shrug.

“Name was Roxanne Carmichael.” The two people at the urinals both flushed and left, and Dean and Aldo took their places.

Dean unzippered his jeans, and moments later it was as if a great weight had been lifted off his—well, not shoulders, exactly, but damn if he didn’t feel ten pounds lighter after just peeing for two seconds.

“You know what they say about beer—the better it is, the sooner you have to give it back.”

“I guess,” Aldo said. “I just got my three-year cake from AA. Fact, that’s where Roxy ’n’ I met.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dean said quickly.

“Nah, s’no biggie, Sam.”

“I’m Dean.”

“Right, s’what I said, Dean. Wouldn’t last two seconds playin’ tunes if I had a problem with booze and dope, y’know what I’m sayin’? Anyhow, ’bout Roxy—she was just some chick I dated. She up and disappeared one day, no forwardin’ address, an’ it was right after we had this big-ass fi ght, so I didn’t really give a damn, y’know what I’m sayin’?”

Dean managed not to smile. “This fi ght wasn’t at Manfred’s house, was it?”

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“No.” Aldo zipped up. “Look, why you askin’?” Realizing he had pushed it too far, Dean backed off. “No biggie, I just thought it mighta been the same girl.” He finished off and zipped up himself, elbowing the handle to flush it. “In fact, she was big-time into the whole temperance thing, y’know?” Aldo smiled, as if remembering something.

“Yeah . . .” He shook it off. “Anyhow, I ain’t seen her in, like, two years.”

“Yeah, okay.”

With that, Aldo walked over to the sink to wash his hands. Dean made for the exit, thinking,
Yahtzee
.

Someone else—the bass player, Dean realized, whose name he suddenly couldn’t remember—said,

“What, you don’t wash your hands?”

“My dad was a Marine,” Dean said. The bass player’s blank expression indicated that he didn’t get the connection—though with this guy, it was hard to tell, as that seemed to be his default look.

So Dean explained: “Dad had this story. A Marine and a Navy guy walk into a bathroom together.

They both take a piss, and then the sailor goes to the sink. The Marine heads for the door, and the sailor says, ‘Hey—in the Navy they teach us to wash up after we take a leak.’ And the Marine turns around and says, ‘Yeah? Well, in the Marines they teach us not to piss on our hands.’ ” The bass player actually cracked a half smile at Nevermore

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that. “That’s funny.” And then he walked toward the stage.

Dean headed back to the table, where Sam was chatting with Manfred and the drummer, whose name Dean also couldn’t remember. Sam still had the remains of a light beer—he hadn’t even tried ordering a gin and tonic again in his presence—while Manfred and the drummer had

thick-bottomed

glasses with clear liquids that Dean assumed to be ordinary vodka or good tequila.

The drummer was shaking his head and whistling. “Man, she was a bitch—but a
hot
bitch, I’m tellin’ you
that
right now.”

“What’re we talkin’ about?” Dean asked as he took a seat on the stool next to Sam, which was the only free one at the table.

Manfred said, “We was just wonderin’ ’bout this old lady’a Aldo’s, Roxy, the one I mentioned to you.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Tommy was just talking about her.”

Tommy, the drummer, threw back some of his drink. “Wish I knew what happened to ’er, man.

’Cause if she wasn’t Aldo’s old lady, I woulda done

’er in a heartbeat, I’m tellin’ you
that
right now.” Even more curious as to the answer to the question, Dean asked, “So what happened to her?”

“Nobody knows,” Manfred said. “Aldo told us they broke up, and we never saw ’er again.” 188 SUPERNATURAL

Tommy started pounding the table and laughing. “God, Manfred, ’member how she used t’get when we went t’your place?”

“How’d she get?” Sam asked.

Raising the pitch of his voice to sound girlish, Tommy said, “ ‘Oh, wow, Manny, I wish I could marry somebody with a house like this.’ Surprised you didn’t propose, ‘Manny.’ ”

Manfred shuddered. “I couldn’t marry nobody that called me ‘Manny.’ ”

They chatted awhile longer, and then Manfred and Tommy went back to the stage to set up for the second set.

Once they were gone, Dean filled Sam in on what he’d gotten from Aldo.

Sam had his fist on his chin. “So you’re thinking maybe Aldo killed Roxy?”

“What, and you’re not? C’mon, Sammy, it’s the same old story. And things only become same old stories ’cause they happen all the time. They have a fight, he kills her, and he buries her somewhere.”

Sam nodded. “And she comes back to haunt—

Manfred? See, that’s the part I don’t get.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe Manfred’s the one who killed her.”

Shaking his head, Sam said, “Manfred didn’t even remember her until this morning.” Nevermore

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“He said it himself: He doesn’t remember
last
week
.” He got up. “I’m gonna get another beer.

Let’s see if Roxy comes back tonight. Maybe if we call her by name, she might respond.” It was a long shot, but some spirits were communicative, at least to some extent. Unfortunately, her only words to date—“Love me!”—weren’t very helpful, though they supported his working theory of death- by-spurned- lover, which kept Aldo as prime suspect number one.

He went over to the bar, muscling his way between two older guys who looked like they went to grammar school with Manfred, and signaled Jennifer.

She mouthed the words
one sec
at him as she prepared several drinks at once. Conveniently, Aldo had just started the solo to “Born to Be Wild,” so Dean occupied himself by enjoying the music by the person he considered most likely to be a murderer.

My life is seriously screwed up,
he thought with amusement.

Jennifer gave the drinks to the old guys, who cleared out for their own table, each holding two drinks.

“Another Brooklyn?” Jennifer asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Something seemed off in Jennifer’s tone.

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She poured the drink in silence, then said as she put it on the napkin, “Dean, listen—I really appreciate what you been doin’, but I gotta ask you somethin’, okay?”

Shrugging, Dean said, “Shoot.”

“Where you goin’ with this?”

Dean frowned. “Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean, where you
goin’
with this? You said you’re from outta town. I assume you’re goin’
back
outta town soon, right?”

“Yeah, I guess, I just—”

“So, basically, the only place this can go is a one-nighter? Or maybe a two-nighter if you’re in town long enough.”

Dean found he had nothing to say to such brazen honesty. For starters, honesty wasn’t usually a big component of his flirtation methods (or a lot of the rest of his life), so its use was unfamiliar to him.

“Look, Dean, you’re sweet, you’re bright, you’re
incredibly
good- looking—” At that, Dean couldn’t help but beam.

“—and you’re totally aware of it, but not in a vain way.”

“Uh, thanks—I think.”

“Oh, it’s a compliment, believe me. But—” Jennifer let out a long breath. “Ten years ago I’da been right there with you, but now? I’m too old for one-nighters, Dean. I’ve been there and I’ve done that, and if I’m gonna be with a man, I wanna
be
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with a man, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Then she broke into a huge smile. “Dean, you look like I ran over your cat.”

Blinking furiously, Dean tried to wipe that look off his face, though he had no idea how it had gotten there. “Look, Jennifer, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Christ, Dean, do
not
apologize! Hell, you’ve made my
week
. Trust me, I’m gonna dine out on this with my girlfriends for a
year
. You know how long it’s been since someone even
half
as hot as you hit on my fat ass?”

“Jennifer,” Dean said, “of all the words I would use to describe your ass, ‘fat’ is the absolute
last
one.”

“Thank you.”

Then, deciding he had nothing to lose, he added,