Bronx Requiem by John Clarkson

Author:John Clarkson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

43

Beck pulled the Ranger in to an empty area in the dirt parking lot behind the tavern on Route 53 shortly before eight. He entered through a side door that opened directly into the barroom.

An L-shaped bar dominated the space, the long side facing him, the short side of the L on his left. There were two empty bar stools around the curve at the short end, both empty. Beck walked over to the stools, pushed one closer to the wall, and sat in the other, taking over that end of the bar. This gave him a view of the door he’d entered, all the patrons at the bar, behind the bar, and a seating area past the bar large enough to hold five tables for two. Two of the tables had been pushed together and three men sat at them drinking from longneck bottles of beer. One of the men was Oswald Remsen.

It didn’t surprise Beck. Rita had confirmed that Remsen was a drinker. This was where Sam Herbert said the correction officers hung out. What else was there to do on a Thursday night?

Beck looked at Remsen, but only for a few seconds, not wanting to attract his attention. He scanned everyone else at the bar. It seemed like a typical blue-collar crowd. Nearest him sat an overweight fellow drinking beer who seemed friendly enough, prematurely bald, wearing thick glasses resting halfway down his nose. Two stools past the bald guy sat a tall man in a checked shirt and jeans stained with roofing tar. He sipped straight whiskey at a steady pace, occasionally glancing at the old TV behind the bar. Past him sat a couple, both in their forties, both with mixed drinks in their hands. Beck guessed gin and tonics. They were pleasantly drunk. The woman was sloppy and overweight, wearing a faded old red sweatshirt bearing the Coca-Cola logo. Her partner had turned his bar stool to face her. He was bearded, skinny, talked with a raspy smoker’s voice, slurring his words and occasionally emitting a harsh, annoying, phlegm-filled laugh.

Beck realized every person in the bar had come here to drink until they were drunk. It both depressed him and made him feel like drinking.

He watched the woman working the bar. She moved with easy efficiency. Beck admired that, and he admired her looks. She was the kind of woman who attracted a male clientele, but wasn’t overly concerned by the attention. She dressed in jeans that fit her well and a white shirt. She had dark brown hair stacked on her head to keep it out of her way, which somehow made her look both businesslike and sensual.

She headed in Beck’s direction, gave him a quick smile, and asked, “What can I get you?”

Beck smiled back and said, “A Budweiser and a Jameson neat. And a menu.”

She dropped a menu in front of Beck encased in yellowing plastic marred by a cigarette burn in the corner. She went to pull a Bud from

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