Chickadee Chickadee Bang Bang by J.R. Ripley

Author:J.R. Ripley [Ripley, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

14

I’d spent the day running errands, working in the store, trying to catch a minute alone with Paul, and failing to meet with the coroner. My lack of success wasn’t doing much for my mood, so it wasn’t surprising that I was knocking rather loudly on Paul’s door once again—just as I had done to no avail that morning.

I knocked a second time, then a third. I had already tried the biergarten, and the staff said he was home. His vehicle in the lot seemed to confirm that.

I pressed my ear to the door—this was getting to be a habit. I thought I heard a cough, so I banged on the door again.

After some rustling noises and a lot of muffled cursing, Paul answered the door and peered out at me through bloodshot eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”

I looked him up and down. His face was haggard and unshaven. He looked slovenly in a faded blue-and-black checked bathrobe that was frayed at the sleeves. “Nice robe. Can I come in?”

“It’s the crack of dawn.”

“It’s the crack of six o’clock, Paul,” I replied. “In the evening.”

Paul stepped away from the door. “Is it?” He rubbed his face. “Okay, sure. Come on in.” He squeezed his head between his hands a moment. “What’s up?” He padded off to the tiny galley kitchen. “Let me start the coffee.”

I waited at the counter, arms crossed, while Paul went through the motions of loading up his coffee machine. He scooped several oversize tablespoons of ground coffee into the bowels of the machine and added water. A moment later the machine was hissing like an angry squirrel.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day.”

“It’s been a rough one.” Paul handed me a relatively clean mug and I carried my coffee to the window and looked out over the street.

Paul slumped into an aged blue recliner that faced the television. He smelled of beer.

Several chickadees weaved in and out of the branches just out of reach. These were Carolina chickadees, with distinctive black caps and bibs and white-sided faces. In the fall, they tended to flock together. Hopping spryly from branch to branch, they were no doubt searching for insects. It was suppertime. Before long, the insects would all but disappear for the winter and seeds and berries would become the mainstay of their winter diet.

I heard Paul yawn behind me as if to get my attention. I took a bracing sip of the strong, black brew. It wasn’t bad. The man had been haphazard in his approach. Why didn’t my coffee taste this good?

“You lied to me,” I said, moving closer and setting my cup down on a coffee table littered with sports magazines and empty beer glasses. Several crusts of pizza held place of honor on a pale green plastic plate that hung over the edge of the table, ready to fall at a moment’s notice.

Paul sat straighter. “What are you talking about?”

“We had a deal. You came to me asking for help.”

“Yeah.” Paul dumped some cream from a pint container into his coffee.

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