Page 107 of Water's Edge

“I heard you talked to Bonnie out at the Alibi.”

I don’t say anything.

“Now that you know who did all this, there’s no reason for her name to come up.”

“No reason I can think of, Larry.”

“Does Tony know?”

“I didn’t tell him and it’s not in the police reports.”

Yet.

He’s all smiles again and puts a big paw out.

“You’re okay. Darned okay in my book. If you ever need anything in Clallam —and I mean any little thing—you can count me in.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I like being owed favors, but I’m not sure if Larry will deliver.

“So,” he says, putting a hand beside his mouth, hiding his words, “what are we here for?”

“Let’s go inside. I have some news you’re both going to want to hear.”

“Okay. Surprise it is.”

Larry, being the gentleman he sometimes is, holds the door for me as I enter. Clay and Ronnie are sitting in chairs that he arranged for our meeting. Ronnie is clutching her ever-present cell phone. Larry tries to hold my chair for me, but I beat him to it.

“I can do it, but thank you. I’m not as sore now.”

It hurts like hell, but my mother taught me never to show weakness.

“Oh. Okay. I didn’t know you got so banged up. I should have been there. I’da never let anything happen to you little gals.”

“I know, Larry. I appreciate you saying so.”

Even if it’s just lip service.

I sit on the front edge of the chair trying not to show my agony.

Clay looks more relaxed than usual. He sits with one arm over the back of the chair, the Colt Model 1912 prominently displayed under his arm. Unlike Larry, he doesn’t ask why we’re here.

“I’m sorry about Jimmy,” I say.

Clay doesn’t move. His expression stays the same. “He got what he deserved. I’m glad it was him and not you. Either of you.”

Me too. But I expected him to be a little more broken up over his chum’s brains being turned into, well, chum.

“Did you ever meet Jimmy?” I ask Larry.

He seems to be thinking.

“No. I don’t believe I ever did,” he says. “What was his last name?”

“Polito. From Little Italy in New York.”

Larry shakes his head. “I don’t hold truck with crooked cops. Maybe someone not writing a ticket, but what he did wasn’t human. I’m with Clay on that. The asshole got what was coming to him.”

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