The Spellmans Strike Again Read Free Page B

o’clock?”
    “Six thirty,” I replied, only to assert a share of control.

UNHAPPY HOUR
    It was still light outside, even though the fog had rolled in, but the interior of the bar felt like the night was nearing its end. I spotted Henry at a booth in the back. He was easy to spot, being the most well-groomed patron in the establishment.
    He’d already started drinking, but there was a glass of some kind of whiskey and another glass of ice waiting for me.
    “I ordered for you,” Henry said. “Hope you don’t mind. I just got the booze you usually steal from your brother’s house. 1 Wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
    “The question is: What do you want?” I said.
    I took a sip of the excellent whiskey and studied Henry, trying to get an angle on him.
    “All I want is to have a drink with a friend,” he said.
    “Then you should have called one.”
    “We were friends.”
    “Were,” I repeated.
    “Well, I would like to be friends again. What will it take?”
     
    I drained my bourbon and contemplated the scratched wood table for the answer. It wasn’t there.
    “Another drink wouldn’t hurt,” I replied.
    Henry slid a twenty across the table and told me to order whatever I wanted. He still wasn’t halfway finished with his whiskey, so I didn’t even take his order.
    At the bar I considered the most expensive options, but then I chose the house label, because I didn’t want Henry to think that his bribe had worked. I returned to the table with ample change.
    Henry sniffed my drink and instantly got the message.
    “How can we work this out?” he asked.
    “My brother says I should start making friends my own age.”
    “Ouch,” the inspector replied with mock injury.
    “We’re not enemies,” I offered, thinking that was friendly enough.
    “I want to be more than enemies.”
    “Archenemies? I suppose we could head in that direction. But you’d have to do something pretty awful for us to drive down that road.”
    “I was thinking in the other direction,” Henry answered, not amused.
    “We can be friendly acquaintances,” I suggested, realizing that I had found myself in the midst of negotiating the terms of a friendship. How odd. Although it’s something my sister and Henry have done on numerous occasions.
    “No,” Henry flatly replied.
    “Well, that’s my best offer,” I said.
    “No, it isn’t,” Henry said with an interrogation-room stare.
    I was unprepared for this type of meeting. I figured I held all the cards. Therefore, I would control the conversation. Something was going on here—the power had shifted but I couldn’t trace when it had happened.
    “I’m going to leave now,” I announced.
    “See you soon,” Henry answered.
    “Not that soon.”
    I left my half-empty drink on the table and Henry opened the book he had been reading when I entered. He made no move to leave, which I found odd since this wasn’t his kind of bar and at the moment the smell of hops mixed with something sour was harsh. When I exited, it was dark outside. I didn’t have to adjust to the light and therefore didn’t have to adjust back to the darkness when I returned to the bar five minutes later.
    I stood beside Henry, casting a shadow over his literature. He looked up and smiled.
    “Forget something?”
    “I want my keys and my wallet back,” I demanded.
    “Have a seat,” Henry calmly replied, “and we’ll talk about it.”
    “No,” I said. “Just give ’em back.”
    “Or what. You’ll call the cops?” Henry chuckled at his little joke.
    I sat down in a huff and glared at him.
    “Have you gone mad?” I asked.
    “Nope,” Henry replied. “I’ve just figured out the Spellman way of doing things.”
    It was then I realized that this particular tactic—the coercion/blackmail/threat technique of reviving a friendship—was exactly what Rae did to return to Henry’s good graces. It had worked on him; why wouldn’t it work on me? I had to admit that I was both impressed and