For You (The ‘Burg #1)(139)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I knew George. He was the kind of man you knew in town because no one could escape spending some time at his business. I knew him but he rarely came into J&J’s. He liked to golf and would drink at the clubhouse. Though, when Dad was running J&J’s, George would come in from time to time to shoot the shit.

Therefore George being there, and looking like he was coming direct from a funeral, meant something was up.

I sidled down to George and Dee followed me. Dad felt us coming, started to turn and George and Joe-Bob’s eyes came to us as we got close.

“Feb, darlin’,” Dad said, “before the crowd hits for the night, maybe you should show Dee how to restock.”

“I already know that,” Dee replied, obviously wanting to know why George was there too. “Feb taught me last Sunday.”

Dad looked at Dee wanting to say something but biting his tongue.

I looked at George.

“Ain’t no secret, Jack,” George said to my Dad.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Joe-Bob shifted on his chair. I saw it out of the corner of my eye but I kept my gaze on George.

“Got Angie at the home, had her for awhile. Talked to her parents twice, they say they got no money for a funeral. I don’t find someone who’ll help, Angie’ll be buried –”

“I’ll pay,” I said instantly, cutting him off and kissing that kickass vacation good-bye.

I knew why he was there. Firstly, Angie spent a lot of time in J&J’s but secondly, and more importantly, Dad had a way. Years ago, the town had a little league team that was so good they made it to some championships that meant the entire team had to fly to Japan. Problem was half the kids on the team didn’t have parents who could afford to send their kids to Japan to play baseball. Therefore Dad fleeced every customer out of a donation to help the kids go and gave a hefty donation himself besides. Same with Whitey West when he lost his insurance and couldn’t afford his chemo treatments. Same with Michaela Bowman, who used to work at J&J’s, when her juvenile delinquent son fell asleep in bed smoking pot and burned out half the inside of her house luckily escaping before he got too injured himself, but insurance wouldn’t pay so Dad collected.

“Feb,” Dad said.

“Morrie and I’ll kick in too,” Dee said.

Dad turned his attention to her. “Delilah, darlin’, you and Morrie got two mouths to feed.”

“So?” Dee asked Dad.

“Don’t got much but I could give you a little,” Joe-Bob put in.

“What’s this about?” Lanie Gilbert, a stool down from Joe-Bob, asked.

“Lookin’ for money to help pay for Angie Maroni’s burial,” Dee informed her.

“I’m in,” Lanie said and I stared at her. Lanie came into J&J’s a lot, not to get trashed mostly because she was social and liked the selections on the jukebox. Though I’d never seen her spend time with Angie, in fact, like most women, she gave Angie a wide berth.

Before any of them could have second thoughts, I asked George, “How you wanna play this?”

George glanced around and said, “Anyone wants to contribute, they just bring it down to the home and the boys and I’ll sort it.”

“What about her headstone?” Lanie asked.

“We’ll figure somethin’ out,” George told her.

Lanie got up from her stool. “I’ll come down, got my checkbook with me, and I’ll look at some catalogues of headstones.”

I had no idea if there was such a thing as headstone catalogues and I looked at Dee who was pressing her lips together. She caught my eye and shrugged her answer to my non-verbalized question.

“We’ll get the word out, George,” Dad said as George moved toward Lanie who was moving toward the door.

“‘Preciate it, Jack,” he said. “Angie, she was…” he trailed off then said, “no matter what, town should take care of their own.”

“Yeah,” Dad replied, George nodded, gave a little wave and followed Lanie out the door.

George was so right; a town should take care of their own. And they would, Dad would see to that.

I looked at Dee and asked, “Bud draft is gettin’ low. You wanna learn how to change out a keg?”

“Highlight of my day, hon,” she replied, though this was a lie. We both knew her highlight of the day was watching Morrie play basketball, even if he lost. For me, watching Colt play was the bottom of three top highlights for my day and, we danced horizontal tonight, it’d be kicked down to four.

On that thought, I grinned at Dad then at Joe-Bob and then Dee and I changed out a keg.

* * * * *

As he walked from the bar down to the Station, Colt’s phone rang. He pulled it out of the back pocket of his jeans, looked at the display, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Yeah, Sully.”

“You close to the Station?”

“Walkin’ there from J&J’s now.”

“Double time, man, Evelyn and Norman Lowe just showed with a big, ole box. We put ‘em into interrogation one and we’re gettin’ ‘em some coffee.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Good, but not waitin’, man, want them fresh. I’m goin’ in.”

Colt flipped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He was one hundred percent certain he did not want to know what was in the box that Denny Lowe’s parents had brought to the Station. He still hoofed it double time.

He hit the Station and it was strangely quiet. This was because it was Saturday, a weekend, so the day would be relaxed. It’d get busy in the night.

This was also because a serial killer’s parents were on the premises carrying with them a box and it was likely the observation room next to interrogation one was shoulder to shoulder.

Colt’s eyes hit Connie through the windows in dispatch and she was watching him. She was talking into the microphone that curved around to her mouth but she also pointed to the ceiling, pumping her hand twice then she gave him a thumbs up.

Sully was already in with the Lowes.

Colt took the stairs two at a time, dumped the cup with the dregs of his Meems’s in the trash and hit the observation room.

He was right, it was packed. Without a word, everyone shifted aside so he could have a bird’s eye view.

“You understand this is difficult,” Colt heard Norm Lowe say when he hit the one-way window.

Norm was standing behind and beside his wife’s chair, his hand on her shoulder. Evelyn Lowe was seated, handkerchief sandwiched between both her hands and her face, her neck was bent, her shoulders shaking.