The Last Quarter (A James Bishop short story) Page 2

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  She smiled and, despite the few added wrinkles, her face immediately lost five years. ‘To a woman, it is.’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘I prefer simplicity in all things, which includes decor. Besides, I’m not here that often.’ He took a sip of his black, sugarless tea. ‘You know, I haven’t seen Eric in almost twenty years.’

  ‘Was that back when you were in Kuwait together?’

  ‘That’s right. You know all about that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I know all of it,’ she said, glancing out the window at the backyard. It wasn’t much of a view. The grass had died long ago, so a few months back Bishop had gravelled it all over for easier maintenance. ‘Eric doesn’t tell me much about his time in the Marines, but he has spoken of you more than once. He always said you were the only man he ever felt totally confident about covering his back.’

  ‘He was being generous. There were plenty of good men in our squad. Not just me.’

  ‘Now it sounds like you’re being generous. He also mentioned that he helped get you out of a very bad spot once, although he never went into details about it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ Bishop said. ‘Bragging was never Eric’s style. But what he actually did was save my life.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the impression I got.’

  Bishop could still remember it, as clear as day. His first tour in uniform. That bombed-out hospital on the Iraqi border that he and Eric and two others from the squad had been ordered to search. Then the sudden ambush by the half-dozen heavily armed fanatical Saddam supporters hiding inside. The shouted warning from Eric and the hard shove that had allowed Bishop to avoid the 9mm rounds meant for his head. Yeah, Eric had saved his life that day all right, even though he’d never mentioned it again.

  But Bishop had never forgotten it. How could he?

  And now, twenty years later, Eric’s wife was sitting in his house, drinking coffee. Funny how the past rarely stayed where it was supposed to.

  Bishop sat back and scratched at the last remnants of oil on his fingers. ‘Where did you drive from? Upstate?’

  ‘No, from just outside of Haddonfield, in Jersey.’

  Bishop nodded. ‘I know it. So what’s Eric doing these days?’

  ‘You mean work? Oh, he’s got his own distribution company outside of town. He supplies basic health-care products to pharmacies and some of the smaller hospitals. Everything from ampule accessories and pharmacy stamps to vial holders and prescription stands. That kind of thing. I help out with the accounts sometimes.’

  ‘So you guys must be doing okay for yourselves.’

  Cassandra made a face. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, the recession’s hit the business pretty hard over the past couple of years. Eric depends on bulk orders to even out the quiet months, and he hasn’t been getting them. We’re not in the poor house or anything just yet, but we’ve had to tighten our belts a little in recent months.’

  ‘I hear you. So, the two of you been married long?’

  ‘We had our eighth anniversary last month.’

  ‘Congratulations. I assume you’re both happy.’

  ‘Mostly. We have our ups and downs like any couple, but we make each other laugh a lot, which tends to cancel out the few bad spells. I love Eric, and I know he loves me.’

  ‘Nice to know one of us got it right. So tell me what kind of trouble he’s in.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Cassandra said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know.’

  Bishop stared at her. ‘You don’t know.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know something’s badly wrong, but Eric won’t talk about it, and I’m worried and don’t know where else to turn. Naturally, he doesn’t know I’ve come here to you; I’m not sure how he’d react if he found out.’

  ‘Why did you come to me?’

  ‘I remembered what Eric said about you, then went through his old notebooks until I found an address with your name next to it. I just hoped you still lived here.’

  ‘Doesn’t he have any other friends you can talk to about this? Friends more current than me, I mean.’

  ‘That’s just it. For the last few years, his three closest buddies have been Gene Spurgeon, Darren Frederickson and Mike Padgett. They’d always get together once or twice a week for poker evenings, often at our place, sometimes at one of theirs. But for some reason those evenings stopped about six weeks ago. Eric wouldn’t tell me why, although he started going out a lot more, often not coming back until the early hours. He always said he was going to see the guys at the bar, but when he came to bed I never smelled any beer on him. Not once. I started to think maybe he was seeing some girl, but then three weeks later he stopped going out altogether. Just stayed home every night, which was fine with me, of course. Except a couple of days after that, Darren, who was a retired policeman, died from a heart attack at his home. Then last week we heard that Mike had been killed in a hit-and-run accident on the way to a convenience store.’

  ‘That’s rough.’

  ‘More than just rough,’ she said. ‘I think the two deaths are connected in some way.’

  Bishop put down his mug with a furrowed brow. ‘Wait a minute. You missed out a piece there. So you not only believe these two deaths were actually planned, but that they’re somehow linked to the poker evenings? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Cassandra crossed her arms on the table. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess anything’s possible, although it seems a little unlikely.’ Bishop scratched his forehead. ‘What sort of money are we talking about here?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The poker evenings. What was the house limit?’

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, they only ever played for pennies. Occasionally I’d see some one-dollar bills, but nothing higher. To be honest, I think it was just an excuse for the four of them to smoke cigars, drink Scotch, and tell bad jokes for hours on end.’

  Bishop was still frowning. ‘I still don’t get it then. What makes you think something’s off about these two deaths?’

  ‘I don’t have anything concrete to give you, I’m afraid. I just think the four of them may have gotten involved with something bad and now it’s coming back to haunt them. Call it woman’s intuition if you want. But first the poker evenings stop, then a few weeks later two friends die within days of each other. Now I don’t know about you, but that all seems a little too coincidental to me.’

  Bishop gave a long exhale and looked out the window. Now that she’d put it all in clearer terms, it did seem a little odd. And he’d never believed in coincidence. ‘What does Eric say about this? I assume you’ve brought it up with him?’

  ‘Sure, but he just says I’m imagining things, and that the situation is bad enough, what with two of his friends dying so close to each other, without me looking for dumb conspiracy theories.’

  ‘I have to say he’s got a point, Cassandra. What about this other friend of his, Gene Spurgeon? Have you talked to him?’

  ‘For all the good it did me. He reacted the same way as Eric. He was nice about it, but said I was getting a little carried away. He even showed me the police reports of each—’

  ‘Wait a second,’ Bishop interrupted. ‘This guy’s also a cop?’

  ‘A police detective, yes. Sorry, I should probably have mentioned that. Anyway, he actually showed me copies of the accident report for Mike and the coroner’s report for Darren, and they seemed kosher enough, but I’m still not convinced. Besides, what if I’m right? That means either one of them could be next.’

  Bishop rubbed a palm back and forth over his buzz cut. He still didn’t know what to think about all this. ‘So what is it you want from me exactly?’

  ‘We-e-ll, what I’d really like is for you to look into it yourself and see if I’m overreacting or not. Eric won’t take me seriously. Nor will Gene. And I thought . . . well, I thought since Eric did save your life once . . .’

  ‘.
. . you figured I owed him one and would want to return the favour,’ he finished for her.

  She looked him in the eyes, unabashed. ‘Yes.’

  Bishop got up from the chair and took his now empty cup through into the kitchen. He placed it in the sink, turned on the cold tap and filled the cup all the way to the brim. Then he turned the water off and walked slowly back to Cassandra. She was still sitting in the same position, both hands around her mug. He liked her tenacity. It was refreshing. And despite her story, she seemed pretty level-headed for the most part.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I do owe Eric. More than you can know.’

  ‘So you’ll help?’ Cassandra let out a long breath and said, ‘Oh, thank you so—’

  ‘Hold it,’ Bishop said, raising a hand. ‘Hear me through first. Now I admit I’m a little intrigued by what you’ve said, but that’s all I am at this point. Intrigued. I’m willing to look into this, but I’ll tell you right now, it won’t be behind Eric’s back. I don’t work that way. Especially not with people I respect.’

  Cassandra’s face fell. ‘You mean you’ll tell him I came to see you?’

  ‘That’s the way it’s got to be. If I’m about to involve myself in Eric’s affairs, then he has to know. It’s that simple. And if once I talk to him he tells me to get lost and mind my own business, then that’s the end of it. I’m gone. That’s all I can offer you.’

  She blew air into her cheeks. ‘I guess I can’t really ask any more, can I?’

  ‘Not really. So where will he be today?’

  ‘At the depot. I’ll give you the address. It’s off the Jersey turnpike, just before you get to Cherry Hill. Are you planning on seeing him right now?’

  Bishop nodded. ‘Just as soon as I’ve got my vehicle working again.’

  FOUR

  It was 13.34 when Bishop arrived at the address Cassandra had given him. And the BMW’s transmission had behaved throughout the whole sixty-mile journey. Just went to show that a good spring-clean was sometimes all that was required.

  The address was for a small industrial park on Springdale Road in Cherry Hill. It was made up of two long, flat buildings running parallel to each other, each one containing about two dozen individual units with large rolltop shutters out front. Various cars and loading trucks were parked directly outside about half of them.

  As Bishop drove slowly between the buildings, he noticed that each unit was clearly numbered. Odds on the left, evens on the right. When he reached Unit 34, he saw that the rolltop shutter was open. Next to it was a small door with a sign above that read ACADIA PHARMACY SUPPLIES. Two cars were parked outside. One was a tatty-looking tan Chevy Malibu, and the other a newer Honda Civic. Bishop parked next to the Civic, killed his engine and got out. Through the open shutter he saw numerous cartons and boxes stacked against both walls. A woman in cap and overalls perched on one of the cartons, paging through sheets on her clipboard. She had a heavily lined face, and steel-grey hair peeked out from under the cap.

  She looked over at him and said, ‘Help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Eric. He around?’

  ‘Check the office. He was there last time I looked.’ She went back to her inventory sheets, no longer interested in him.

  Bishop walked over to the door to the left of the shutter, pulled it open and stepped into a small, well-lit unmanned reception area containing a desk, a phone, a lamp and not much else. There was a hallway leading towards the rear. He followed it, passing a restroom, another stockroom filled with more gear, an empty office, until he reached a door at the end.

  He rapped his knuckles against the door and a muffled voice said, ‘Come on in.’

  Bishop opened the door and stepped into a large windowless office with promotional trade posters covering almost every inch of wall space. There were a few metal cabinets and a water cooler against one wall, and a large desk directly ahead. Sitting behind the desk, staring at a computer monitor as he worked on the keyboard, was a muscular man in his late thirties, wearing an old blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and a faded New York Knicks logo across the chest. His light brown hair was thinning and cropped close to the skull and he wore lightly tinted steel-framed spectacles.

  ‘Be with you in a sec, Penny,’ he said, glancing down at the keyboard as he typed. ‘Just let me finish up this email.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bishop said. ‘I mean, it’s only been twenty years. What’s another couple of minutes?’

  The man stopped what he was doing and looked up at his visitor with wide eyes. ‘Christ on a crutch,’ he whispered. ‘I know that voice. Damned if I don’t.’

  ‘And damned if you do,’ Bishop said, stepping closer with his hand extended. ‘How you been, Eric?’

  Eric jumped up from his seat and was already grinning as he came round the desk. Ignoring Bishop’s hand, he grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed. ‘Bishop,’ he said, shaking him back and forth. ‘Sergeant James Bishop. Goddamn, it is you.’

  ‘It’s me all right. Glad to see your grip’s as lethal as ever.’

  Eric laughed, released Bishop’s shoulders and shook his hand, nodding his head in disbelief as he inspected his old comrade-in-arms. ‘Man, you haven’t changed much in twenty years.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ Bishop said. ‘I got calluses. You just can’t see them.’

  ‘Yeah, you and me both.’ Eric finally let go of Bishop’s hand and said, ‘Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Hey, wanna grab a beer or seven and catch up? I know a place close by that ain’t too bad. We can be there in . . .’ He stopped mid sentence and his smile lost some of its intensity. ‘Hey, wait a minute. I only started up this here business five years back, so how’d you know where to find me? And why now?’

  ‘Simple answer: your wife showed up on my doorstep this morning and gave me the address.’

  Eric lost the smile completely and stared hard at Bishop. ‘Cassie came to see you? Why?’

  ‘Take a guess.’

  Eric grew still for a few beats, then groaned. ‘Oh, shit. Don’t tell me this is about Mike and Darren again. Cass hasn’t been filling your head with her theories, has she?’

  ‘She just told me a story about a bunch of poker buddies who recently lost interest in cards, only for two of them to suddenly die within days of each other. And she seems to think you’re next on the list. You or this Spurgeon guy.’

  ‘Gene,’ Eric said, absently. ‘But I don’t get why Cass came to you in the first place. Especially as she’s never even met you before.’

  Bishop repeated what Cassandra had told him, and Eric said, ‘Yeah, that sounds like Cassie. It’s like being married to Columbo sometimes. So you’re still at that old place twenty years on?’

  ‘Well, it was willed to me by my folks. I’m rarely there, though I was today. She also played on the fact that I owe you a pretty big favour, which is true enough.’

  ‘Hey, that’s ancient history. You don’t owe me anything, man.’

  ‘That’s not the way I see it.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think it would be.’

  Eric turned away and went back to his chair behind the desk. He motioned towards the only other chair in the room, and when Bishop sat down, he said, ‘Look, Darren died from a bad heart and Mike was killed in a straight hit-and-run. Thousands of people die from the same things every year. We’re pretty sick about it, but that don’t add up to a conspiracy, no matter what Cassie thinks.’

  ‘Uh huh. So how come you guys stopped the poker evenings?’

  Eric tilted his head and smiled. ‘Giving me the third degree, Bish?’

  ‘Just curious is all. I’ve never been one for coincidence, and two friends dying so close to each other raises my antennae.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s just none of your business. You ever think of that?’

  ‘I did. In fact I made it clear to your wife that if you told me to quit meddling, I’d leave with no hard feelings. That still stands. If you want, we can simply catch up on old times over
a few brews, like you suggested. Or we can talk about the current situation. It’s completely up to you.’

  Both men were silent as they watched each other.

  Eventually Bishop said, ‘For what it’s worth, whatever you told me wouldn’t ever have to leave this room. But then you already know that.’

  ‘Even if I’d done something illegal? Something very illegal?’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘To be honest, I’d already assumed that much. Besides, I’ve crossed that line more than a few times myself in recent years.’ Looking around the office, he asked, ‘Anyway, how’s business?’

  ‘I’ve had better years. Cassie fill you in at all?’

  ‘She hinted that the recession’s hitting you guys pretty hard. She didn’t go into details.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t about to either. It’s boring shit. You feel up to a drink?’

  ‘Sure, why not.’

  ‘Good.’ Eric opened a drawer, pulled out a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey and set it on the desk. ‘Grab a couple of cups from the cooler over there, will you?’

  Bishop went over and extracted two empty cups from the dispenser, placed them on the desk and sat down again. Eric unscrewed the bottle, poured five or six fingers into a cup and handed it to Bishop. He half filled the other cup and raised it. ‘To those who wish us well.’

  ‘And the rest can go to hell,’ Bishop said, completing the ancient toast. They both drank. The liquid singed its way down Bishop’s throat and settled nicely in his chest area. It had been a while since he’d tasted bourbon, and he’d forgotten how easily it could go down.

  ‘Not bad, huh?’ Eric took another sip of his and said, ‘So tell me what you been doing with yourself for the past twenty.’

  ‘This and that. I was in the close protection business for a while, until things went sour.’ Bishop decided not to go into his three years spent behind bars for another man’s crime. It was too long a story. ‘Now I do occasional contract work for an outfit that gives aid to domestic abuse victims. Planning and fieldwork, mostly. I manage to stay busy.’

  Eric smiled. ‘And I assume the fieldwork you do for this outfit isn’t always strictly legal?’