Free Bermuda Schwartz by Bob Morris Page B

long gone.”
    We order more drinks. It’s a good thing they don’t let tourists drive in Bermuda because this one can’t.
    â€œZack, may I ask you a question?”
    â€œYou may.”
    â€œIt’s a bit touchy.”
    â€œThere’s no one I’d rather get touchy with than you.”
    Barbara smiles.
    â€œOK, then,” she says. “Do you ever stop to think where your money came from?”
    â€œYes, believe me, I think about that all the time. It came from bad guys. Very bad guys.”
    â€œAnd you don’t have a basic moral issue with that?”
    â€œNo. Because I worked for that money. I worked hard. I obtained it honorably. And at great sacrifice.”
    â€œAnd is that money any less bad because it came into your possession?”
    â€œYes, I think it is less bad because of that. I redeemed it, purified it.”
    Barbara laughs.
    â€œOh, you did, did you?”
    â€œYes, I did.”
    â€œYou don’t think it’s just a massive rationalization on your part?”
    â€œOh, of course, it’s a rationalization, but I don’t think it’s a massive one.I think it’s tiny and, all things considered, pretty benign. And I really do think that money was made good again by its association with me.”
    â€œI do, too,” she says. “I believe everything is made good by its association with you.”
    â€œI believe maybe you’re getting a little carried away there,” I say. “Plus, we’re both more than a little drunk.”
    The band starts playing “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?” The blond woman is no Van Morrison, or Rod Stewart, but she isn’t that bad.
    â€œLet’s dance,” Barbara says.
    We’re the only ones on the floor, but even when it’s crowded that’s the way it always feels with Barbara. She rests her chin on my shoulder. We move without even thinking. It feels right.
    Barbara says, “Whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”
    I nuzzle her hair, pull her even closer.
    â€œThink Aunt Trula can recommend a good attorney?”
    Barbara stops dancing. She looks up at me.
    â€œYou call that a sweet nothing?”
    â€œSorry,” I say. “I’m preoccupied.”
    She puts her head back on my shoulder. We sway with the music.
    â€œI’m sure Aunt Trula can recommend an attorney, Zack. But why? You aren’t in some kind of trouble, are you?”
    â€œNo, not yet,” I say. “But I’m getting ready to stir the pot.”

18
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    I don’t sleep worth a damn. Too much to drink, too much on my mind. It’s still dark when I slip out of the bed in Barbara’s room—to hell with Aunt Trula and her bunking arrangements—throw on clothes, and tiptoe down the hall toward the kitchen.
    I’m just passing Aunt Trula’s bedroom when I hear her door creak open behind me. Aw, hell. Having a hangover is punishment enough. I don’t need Aunt Trula on my case.
    When I turn around, it’s not Aunt Trula who is stepping into the hall. It’s Teddy Schwartz. Well, well, well …
    Teddy flashes a conspiratorial grin.
    â€œAppears I’ve been caught,” he says.
    â€œAppears we both have.”
    He gives me the once-over. If the outside of me looks half as bad as the inside feels, I’m a horrifying sight.
    â€œI know where they keep the coffee,” he says.
    â€œYou’re a righteous man,” I say.
    â€œAnd the aspirin.”
    â€œA living saint.”
    â€œI’ve found that some cheese toast also helps.”
    â€œIf there’s none of that,” I say, “I’ll settle for a morphine drip.”
    Teddy leads the way. He’s a spry old guy, certainly spryer than me atthis particular moment. I resolve to limit all further inquiries into the nature of Gosling’s to three drinks or less. Surely no more than four.
    A peculiar odor—imagine sweat socks boiling in