So Weeps the Willow - 27. Salix Babylonica - 5 - Eternal Love

Salix 5 – Eternal Love

No matter how far back you cut a willow tree, it will never really die.

Ann Brashares

When he pulled up to the curb, Rush was surprised by how nice the storefront was. According to Twyla, this was a seedy place, filled with creeps, and not a good place to hang out. Of course, this was the place her addicted brother considered a second home. It probably had associations she couldn’t stand.

After making sure the car doors were locked, Rush shouldered his messenger bag and headed to the front door. As he approached, the smell of petunias and the bright lime color of sweet potato vine greeted him from planters posted on either side of the front doors. They were vibrant, obviously cared for, and straddled the walkway with grace. They were so young and fresh, the planters looked fake, not yet grown in, and especially new. The cold wasn’t yet gone in early spring and they were hopeful, if not overly confident.

The front entrance was glass with black metal decorations that dated the building. Rush considered this as he pushed into the dark interior.

Gallivant’s was cool, with the faint odor of cigarettes smoked in a past era. Obviously, the walls hadn’t been painted as evidenced by nicotine stains on the paint from rivulets of water making streaks running from the ceiling. They laced the walls with both time and neglect.

This was a place layered with contradictions. Pretensions filled the space.

Rush advanced through the dark space into an open area with a large canopy over a U-shaped bar in the middle of the room. Large photos of Irish scenery were hanging about the front façade of the overhang. Behind the bar was a welcoming, glowing area of warmth and invitation. There was a small man, smiling and open, waving at him casually.

Rush walked forward and climbed onto a bar stool, noticing more stains on the faux wood edge. He forced himself to lean and greet the man, who was trying to look younger with artificially dyed dark hair, that was tinged with white underneath. The lights behind the bar betrayed the bartender’s attempt.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” Rush responded. The man stood there waiting a moment, his muscles tensing and relaxing. He was acting like he wanted to move, but couldn’t. Then he sort of shrugged and moved to the well, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice.

The pause caused Romer to consider his approach. Obviously, the bartender was wary about something.

“Nice place,” Rush called out as the man dug into the ice bin. “When does it get busy?”

The man looked up. He glared suspiciously at Rush as he walked over, set the drink with a dark green lime wedge hanging from the rim, and then relaxed. The bartender seemed less tense after Rush’s question. “We don’t get busy on Tuesdays, usually. It gets hopping here on Thursday nights and Sundays.”

“Awesome,” Rush responded. “When are you here?”

The bartender looked at him and smiled. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays, with some Monday afternoons. You are a curious guy, aren’t you?”

“I’m kind of gabby,” Rush admitted, sipping lightly from his drink. The gin was so cheap it stung his tongue. “This is great,” he lied.

The bartender leaned back, his lanky body open to perusal. Rush appreciated what he saw for the first time. The detective noticed the other man’s charcoal hair, long at the crest of his head and short at the sides, gray underneath, carefully groomed. He was lean, built like an athlete, yet there was something furtive about his face. His eyes seemed to dart about.

“What can you tell me about this neighborhood?”

The bartender grinned, his face brightened and he began, “It’s a pretty cool area. The people around here are so into what’s going on. We aren’t stuck up or anything. Oh, and we hate ordinary shit. Shit that sucks.”

Rush suppressed a smile. “That sounds cool. I’m guessing people don’t really fuss about things then.”

“Of course not,” the bartender said stepping forward. “This area doesn’t put up with bullshit.”

Rush tried to decipher these incongruous statements, but then realized they weren’t facts, but impressions the man was expressing. He would never divine what was going on here without looking into it more closely. He tried a different tack.

“I have a good friend who lives in the neighborhood. A guy named Shay said something pretty weird happened a while ago, and it made me wonder. Was there a fight a couple of months ago about a girl?”

The attractive man grinned. His muscled torso rippled as he leaned over. “We always have fights about a girl. You need to give me something more than that.”

“It was an artistic chick, and two guys were in a fit over her.”

The bartender laughed. “That happens every fucking night, dude. There are always two dudes fighting over some female.” The graying jock was clearly amused at the question.

“What if this chick was mad about a dude?” Rush asked.

The bartender stared for a moment. His eyes were glazed over for a split second, then they cleared. He didn’t say anything, but he posed. It was obvious the man posed a great deal. He had the kind of body meant to distract. Rush didn’t let it affect him.

The man responded, “There was a fight between two guys, and it was really weird.”

“When was that?

“Oh, fuck,” the bartender said, touching his chin. “At least a year ago.”

“A year or maybe last fall, or summer?” Rush asked.

He thought. His face lit up. “I think you’re right. It was late in the summer. Some chick freaked out to some guy about something. There was a friend who tried to calm her down. Then, another guy pulled them outside. It was ridiculous.”

“Thanks,” Rush said realizing this fount of information was probably dried up. “Is your manager around?”

The bartender reacted, his wariness returned and his muscles tensed. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Rush assured him. “It occurred to me your manager may know more about this situation.”

“You know, I think she was in love with him,” the aging, handsome hipster said, leaning over the bar. “It was pretty obvious.”

“Thank you,” Rush responded. He gave the bartender a smile he knew was both friendly, and cold and dismissive at the same time.

The man backed off and quickly darted from behind the bar and down a dark back hallway. Rush poured a little of his horrible gin and tonic into an abandoned glass at a table behind him. He quickly got back into his barstool and waited, hoping there was more, a lot more coming.

It wasn’t too long before a woman approached him. She appeared business-like, and stern. He liked that. Trailing behind her was the bartender, looking more like a puppy dog, a chastised one. He separated and seemed to cower at the other end of the bar as the woman approached Rush.

“Des said you are prowling around the place. Is there something I can help you with?”

Rush assessed the woman coolly. She was heavy-set and hard looking. Her jaw was set, steady and firm. He could tell she was steeling herself about this situation and that intrigued him.

“I have a friend; his name is Dave, and he saw a couple of guys and a gal fighting about something six months ago.”

“Dave?” she asked. “Do you mean Wade?”

“That’s what I said,” Rush answered.

When fishing, you use bait that will trick the fish. He didn’t know anyone named ‘Shay’ and none of the ‘Daves’ he knew would frequent this dump. He was trolling for someone who may have witnessed the event and most names were shortened to either a simple one syllable sound or something else completely different. He tried the most common mispronunciation.

Rush nodded vigorously. “Wade said he was in here in August sometime, and there was an argument about a woman and a couple of guys. Two men were pissed at each other.”

The woman crossed her arms and scowled. “I don’t know nothing about that,” she said.

“Wade was telling me Jake and Eddie really got into it. By the way, I’m Rush. And you are?”

The woman’s arms relaxed a bit, and her facial muscles eased. “I’m Heather,” she said. It took her a minute and then she continued, “I was here that night and it was a shit-show. Eddie really made a scene and then Nats got him calmed down. I was sure Jake and that chick were gonna to get physical, so I called the police. Everyone left before they arrived, thank God.”

Rush saw Heather was very nervous, not because of him, but because she was reliving the event. It wasn’t a little thing, that he could be assured of. People are impacted by emotional events. Flashbulb memories create impressions of traumatic events. Those events live on until the end. Heather was experiencing it again, quite intensely.

“How well did you know Jake?” he asked, softly, almost sadly.

“We loved Jake. It was so bad finding out he’d died.” She paused and then added quickly. “We sent flowers to his memorial. We thought it was the least we could do.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Rush said. “What about Eddie? Did you know him as well?”

Heather was still thinking about Jake. He could tell she was lingering on him. Then she jolted and looked around. She answered him finally, “Eddie and Jake weren’t a good combo. Oil and water.”

She paused and thought about something. Heather continued with, “They fought a lot. I didn’t think it would have lasted.” She stopped, realized the impact of her words, and then said, “Of course they both loved each other so much.”

“I see.” Rush nodded and smiled with a look he hoped reassured. He continued, “Who was this woman causing problems that night?”

“Nats,” Heather said, without thinking. “She was instigating as usual. That woman can’t stop riling things up and she really did a number to his head.”

“Natalie Howe?” Rush asked, surprised.

“I don’t know her last name. She’s a pottery person too.” She stopped and smiled obliquely, “Like my brother. Nats worked with Jake and was always around causing trouble.” Heather paused and considered. “Oh, she’s alright normally. We haven’t seen her in a while now. But, back in the day, it was quite the group hanging out and drinking until close.”

“I know Nats.” Rush prevaricated. “I can see that.”

“I remember the first time I met Jake,” the manager continued. “He was such a catch. He was always popular here, because he was cute and smart.” Heather leaned close and whispered to Rush, “People liked him, for good reason. We were almost like a family here, Jake, Eddie, Nats, and Stevie.”

At the name, “Stevie”, Rush perked up. “Steve?”

Heather laughed, and continued. “He was such a joker, always hilarious and so handsome, in a rugged way. Jake was classy. Eddie was like a cute nerd. He was so, well, hot in a weird way. He was so sexy, you know, attractive … exotic.”

Rush kept reaching for his notepad, hidden in his coat pocket. However, if he started writing things down, Heather would shut up quickly.

He noticed Des, the bartender was now loitering around them edging closer to their side of the bar. His attention was riveted on Heather, and back and forth, to him.

“Tell me about Stevie,” Rush said.

It was at that point Heather stopped smiling. “What?”

“What did Stevie do that night?”

Heather’s demeanor turned cold, her eyes like stone, and with lips pursed tight, she answered, “I thought you wanted to know about the argument. Why are you asking about Stevie?”

Rush had to quickly regroup, and answered. “You were telling me about the group, about Jake, Eddie, and Nats. I was, um, curious.”

“I remember in August, Jake and Eddie got into an argument. Nats tried to stop it, like she always did, and I made them leave. Perhaps you should as well.”

Rush could see he was done here. Heather’s eyes were now slinging darts. The detective had crossed a line, but he didn’t understand how or where. The bartender looked confused, and somehow annoyed at the same time, peering over the detective’s shoulder.

Quickly, Rush scanned the room, now noticing other people grouped in the kitchen doorway. He also noticed a couple of people over at the pool tables were looking at him, assessing him, dissecting him, and finding him wanting. The temperature in the warm room had grown suspiciously cold.

Rush took a sip of his drink, realizing he was done here, set the glass down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heather bristle and then move closer. “I have some work to do.” She pursed her lips. Then, she leaned closer and whispered. “Stevie’s my brother. Don’t talk about him to me. What they are doing to him is making me sick.”

Rush nodded reflexively and saw her walk away. This wasn’t the look of a woman angry at a situation, but of a person defeated, deflated, and resigned. It made him sorry, but also aware.

There were depths to plumb here. And yet, somehow, he’d managed to alienate this source. He was screwed, royally, because he thought here was where Jake and Steve had somehow found their ends.

Rush paid the bartender, who was still looking at him oddly, and left.

As he walked to his car, he felt eyes watching him. He looked around, but there were few other cars in the parking lot. The area was mostly abandoned, and felt empty. The detective continued walking, but something aroused his attention again.

Rush peered over to the corner of the building, trying to look at the dark space beyond the wall, but it was fruitless. He swiveled and listened, absorbing what he could. There were no signs of another person around, but he still felt he was being observed.

It was then he saw the camera at the front door of the bar move slightly. It wasn’t an ordinary security device, it was a sweeping cam, taking a broad view of the parking lot. Was that what disconcerted him? Had he seen it from the corner of his eye?

Rush slid into his vehicle and again glanced around. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being tracked. Someone was around and something was amiss here. It wasn’t the camera that alerted him. So what could it have been?

Why? What had he missed?