Squeeze by Chris Rhatigan

Author:Chris Rhatigan [Rhatigan, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781530706136
Google: XRX7jwEACAAJ
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2016-04-14T12:00:00+00:00

***

I went back to that bar on Old Gate Lane, figuring I’d be more or less anonymous there. I didn’t want anybody I knew to see me drinking early on a weekday morning. Two tired, silent drunks sat at the other end of the bar. Looked like they’d been born and raised there.

Knicks-Blazers highlights on the TV. Knicks beat the spread and won me thirty dollars. Sprewell, as usual, waited ’til they were down twenty to start scoring. Should’ve put down more money. I made a note to bet that they’d cover against the Sonics tomorrow night too. Maybe throw around some real cash.

I sat at the bar, ordered a shot of Beam and a beer. Flo, the bartender, frequented the smoke shop, the tanning salon, and the tattoo parlor. I couldn’t tell if her wrinkled hide was forty or sixty.

Goddamn, that thing with Snyder went about as poorly as it could have. Weirdest part was, I believed him. Although I suppose politicians are the best liars on the planet. Maybe he has a set of tricks no one else knows about. But what did he mean by making enemies with a powerful person? That seemed over the top. I’ll admit I came on a bit strong, but I’m sure he gets asked about way worse than that on a regular basis.

Or maybe not.

The second round came. Downed the shot and drank half the beer in a gulp. I needed to slow down if I planned on going to work that day. Something about the thought of going to the office made me sick. Hated being there when Terrance was pumped about a story and Vickie was calling me every ten minutes.

My cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. `

“Hello.”

“Hey Kaspar.”

Hulas, that fuckface. “What do you want?”

“Just checking in with Wallingtown’s finest reporter. Whatcha you up to? Maybe at a bar knocking back a few eye-openers?”

I gulped down more beer, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Fuck you.”

He made that weird sound, a chuckle that was like an engine struggling to turn over. “Heard you had a tête-à-tête with the congressman this morning.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“You see I’ve got this thing I do, maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called reporting. You should give it a try some time.”

“Yeah. Clever. You have a point? ’Cause I’m more interested in hockey highlights.”

“I wanted to let you know about a story I’m working on. It’s about a local rookie reporter whose emotionally stirring, front page features are all lies.”

“Bring the goods then, Hulas. If you had anything—”

“Oh, I do have something, don’t you worry your sweet little head about that. In fact, let’s set up a meeting. You see, as a reporter I interview actual people before writing an article and make sure I balance both sides against each other. Believe me, you’re going to want your side represented in this one.”

“Fine. Be at Archie’s, one o’clock.”

He chuckled again. Freak. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

God. Fucking. Damn it.

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