Free Scar Tissue by William G. Tapply

cheese on pumpernickel for me, two bags of potato chips, and two Pepsi Colas. Each sandwich came with a giant kosher dill pickle.
    I got back to the office a little after three. Jake still hadn’t showed up, nor had he called. Julie turned on the answering machine, and we ate our sandwiches off waxed paper on the coffee table in my office.
    After we finished, I lit a cigarette and said, “Jake had something important to tell me. He said it would blow my mind.”
    â€œIf you’re worried about him,” Julie said, “you should call him.”
    â€œHe’s not living at home. I don’t know how to reach him.”
    She grinned. “We got that caller ID, remember?”
    â€œOh, right. So you could keep track of all my calls, make sure I didn’t overlook anything billable.”
    â€œI logged the phone number he called from yesterday.”
    â€œYou’re amazing.”
    â€œI know,” she said.
    She went out to her desk and was back a minute later with a phone number written on a scrap of paper. I took it over to my desk and dialed it.
    â€œKing’s,” answered a man’s heavily accented voice.
    â€œI’d like to speak to Jake Gold,” I said, wondering who or what the hell King’s was.
    â€œWho zat?”
    â€œMr. Gold.” I spelled it for him.
    â€œOkay. Hang on.” He put me on hold, then came back on the line a minute later. “No Gold, sorry.”
    â€œWhat is this place?” I said.
    â€œWha’ place?”

    I took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “King’s. What’s King’s?”
    â€œMotel, man. Wha’d you think?”
    â€œAnd there’s no Jake Gold staying there?”
    â€œI tol you, no.”
    â€œWhat about yesterday? He might’ve checked out last night or this morning.”
    â€œYou want me to look?”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œSure, man. No sweat.” He put me on hold again. This time he was gone for close to five minutes. Then he said, “Sorry, man. Nobody name Gold.”
    â€œCould someone not staying there have used your phone?”
    â€œNot this one. Maybe in one of the rooms, huh?”
    â€œDo you keep a record of calls made from the rooms?”
    â€œOh, sure. Gotta charge’em. Outgoing calls, they come through the switchboard here.”
    â€œThen I want you to check your records and tell me about a phone call that was made around twelve-fifteen yesterday afternoon.” I gave him my office number. “Do that for me, okay?”
    â€œListen, man—”
    â€œIt’s a police matter,” I said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
    â€œLike I got nuthin’ else to do,” he grumbled. But he put me on hold again. When he came back on, he said, “Yeah. Unit Ten.”
    â€œWho’s staying in Unit Ten?”
    â€œMr. Silver.”
    Real clever, Jake. “John Silver, right?” I said.
    â€œYeah, tha’s him.”
    â€œSuppose you ring Mr. Silver’s room for me, okay?”
    â€œYou got it, man.”
    I let it ring a dozen times. Jake didn’t answer, nor did my friend at the switchboard pick up, so I disconnected and hit the redial button.
    â€œKing’s.”

    â€œNo answer from Mr. Silver,” I said. “He is still registered there, isn’t he?”
    â€œOh, yeah. Paid by the week. You get good deal for a week.”
    â€œWhere are you located?”
    â€œRoute Nine.”
    â€œWhere on Route Nine?”
    â€œFramingham, man. Practically next to Ken’s, you know?”
    â€œKen’s Steak House?”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œListen,” I said, “do you know who Mr.—um—Mr. Silver is?”
    â€œOh, sure. Tall old guy, funny hair. I check him in. I see him come and go.”
    â€œDid you see him come or go today?”
    â€œNo, man. I been here since eight. Din see him all day. But he don’ have to check