Free Spotted Cats by William G. Tapply Page B

Coyne. The Totem Café? This here is our pay phone. All sorts of people use it.’
    ‘The Totem,’ I said. ‘I’ve been there. A guy named Fred used to tend bar there.’
    ‘Fred took a job up to Great Falls sometime last summer. Nice fella, Fred.’
    ‘Any idea who might’ve called Jeff Newton here in Massachusetts?’
    ‘Nope. Coulda been anybody.’
    ‘These calls were on May 20, 21, 22 and 23. One call each day. Evening, actually. All were around eight in the evening.’
    ‘Shit, that was two months ago. Sorry I can’t help you.’
    ‘Well, I appreciate it, anyway. Next time I’m out there I’ll drop in.’
    ‘Do that. Be nice to see you.’
    I hung up. All Westerners were friendly. That had been my experience.
    I found another Grolsch in the refrigerator and went back into the living-room. I finished stacking the papers on the desk. I moved the furniture back to where it belonged. I didn’t touch the glass cases.
    After I got the place cleaned up, I took my Grolsch into the kitchen. I sat at the table and lit a cigarette. Then I picked up the phone and tried the Wellesley number again.
    Gloria answered on the second ring. ‘Yes? Hello?’
    Oh, oh. I could read volumes in the way Gloria answered the phone. Or at least I imagined I could. Today she was busy, distracted, unsettled. ‘Hi, hon,’ I said.
    ‘Oh, Brady.’ Pause. ‘Where are you?’
    ‘At Jeff Newton’s in Orleans. Everything OK?’
    ‘Sure. Fine.’
    Everything was not fine, she meant.
    ‘Well, uh, Joey called me yesterday. I’m returning his call. Is he around?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Oh. Well, um…’
    ‘Your son is gone for the weekend. Where? I don’t know. With whom? None of my business.’ She laughed quickly. ‘Sorry. Joseph and I have had a few issues recently, that’s all.’
    ‘What kind of issues?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter, Brady. Not your problem.’
    ‘Is that why he called? These issues?’
    ‘I don’t know why he called. We’re not, um, communicating very well lately.’
    ‘Gloria,’ I said, ‘what’s going on?’
    ‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘you’ve got a right to know. I just—hell, Brady. He’s not doing his part. It’s as if I was his servant. He’s got a few chores, you know? Things that need to be done. No reason he can’t help out. But will he go to the dump, like I ask him to? Hell, no. Not without a big scene. Does he pick up the Coke cans and empty potato chip bags from the TV room after he and that little Debbie finish watching movies and making out in there? Shit, no.’ I heard her take a deep breath and let it out. Its accusation hissed into the telephone. ‘I’m sorry. You asked.’
    ‘Look’
    ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this. He and I will work it out. Listen, if you want to talk to him, I assume he’ll wander back tomorrow night sometime. Want me to tell him you called?’
    ‘Sure. Thanks.’ I hesitated. ‘I’ll try to talk to him, hon.’
    ‘Don’t bother. This is our problem. I can handle it.’
    ‘I’ll talk to him. He’s got to contribute.’
    ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, well maybe you could. Because I don’t seem to be getting very far. Billy was never like this.’
    ‘Billy was himself. This is Joey.’
    ‘Hey, wow. Thanks for the philosophy. Brady, you’re always so damned good at analysing other people’s problems. We clients really appreciate all your wisdom.’
    I tried to ignore her sudden burst of sarcasm. ‘He’s my son, too,’ I said. ‘That makes it my problem.’
    She snorted a short, ironic laugh. ‘Hardly.’
    ‘I’ll talk to him,’ I repeated.
    ‘That should be interesting,’ she said. ‘You should have great perspective on it.’
    Which meant that Joey, in Gloria’s mind, was becoming just like me. This did not bode well for either of them.
    ‘I’ve gotta go,’ I said, after taking in and letting out a deep breath. ‘Have a nice weekend, Gloria. I’ll try Joey again.’
    ‘OK. ’Bye.’
    I hung up the phone