The Hauntings of Hood Canal

Petey Plays Cupid

Those happy folk who have never owned a bar may feel surprised to learn that reliable and honest bartenders are harder to find than a cat’s bellybutton. Reliable bartenders are one of the world’s diminishing resources, a valuable commodity, and Bertha would hire one in an instant if she could afford it. As it is, Bertha opens early, stays late, and exhibits the Norwegian’s ability to work herself to death. Bertha needs a man to help, and no one on the Canal would deny that, especially Bertha.

Most mornings at Beer and Bait remain quiet. The joint opens at eleven. This early in the day the parking lot usually holds a couple of cars or pickups, guys taking a break for coffee, or sport fisherman after frozen herring. On most mornings Bertha has plenty of time to sweep floors, brush down pool tables, and restock coolers. On some mornings, though, routine shatters; a water heater busts, or half of the house cues need new tips, or a cop drags in out of the rain.

When Petey pulled onto the waterlogged parking lot at Beer and Bait, a cold chill grabbed the back of his neck, while hot fury entered his heart. The cop was back. The cop that checked out Bertha, and who Petey knew was going to run a scam on Bertha, was, right now, inside making all kind of important noises. Petey could feel it happening.

He sat in his old Plymouth and looked over the parking lot. An unmarked cop car sat beside a red wrecker, all lights and hook, but towing a flat bed trailer. The kid who hauled wrecks was also inside. If the kid showed up it meant a car had dunked. By now, maybe two or three had dunked.

A deep sigh came from the back seat. Jubal Jim lay snugged up, his nose propped on an armrest. His wet fur placed a comforting but doggy smell in the steamy car. As rain pounded on puddles in the parking lot, and danced on the hood of the Plymouth, Petey felt grateful for the tow truck kid. The kid had a sense of humor. He would help keep the cop humble.

Sitting beside the cop car and the wrecker, two local cars showed a guy who owned a grocery, and a guy who sold insurance were inside tanking up on coffee. Petey cussed, and tried to decide whether to go in, or turn around and go home. He told himself he needed a cop like he needed his head drilled for more nostrils.

Then he told himself he’d better go in. Bertha was smart, but Bertha did not have much experience with cops. In Petey’s world experience counted. A slick cop could run the best hustle in the world if that cop wanted to talk you out of something. A slick cop would tell you somebody else’s life story, pretending the story was his own. He’d seem like such a good guy that innocent people confessed to stuff so they could also sound like good guys.

Still, Petey sat. Rain turned the Canal into a surface every bit as pebbled as sharkskin, and gray light lay over the water so close it was hard to tell where air ended and water began. He told himself that, if he went in there with hatred in his heart and fury in his gut, something real, real wrong would happen. He sat listening to rain, to Jubal Jim’s light snoring, and the sound of a truck engine somewhere behind him. Petey reached for the calmness of the hustler, the patience a guy needs to drop a half dozen games while waiting for the right opening.

A knock sounded on the window of the passenger side, the door opened, and Sugar Bear edged into the car. Sugar Bear’s hair hung matted and straight. He wore ratty old rain gear, and he dripped.

“Feel free,” Petey said. “The seat covers are plastic.”

“Makes a guy feel better.” Sugar Bear’s voice sounded hoarse as the flu. He looked at the unmarked car. “I mean the rain, not mister cop.” Then he sort of giggled as Jubal Jim sat up, looked around, and licked Sugar Bear behind the ear.

“If I was you,” Petey told him, “I’d bail out of here and take a vacation. If you need a beer get one at China Bay. Even with all that hair you got a guilty look.”

“This dog ain’t made for serious conversation.” Sugar Bear reached back over his shoulder to rub Jubal Jim’s ears. “I’m feeling scary. That guy’s car washed ashore.”

“For hellssake…” Petey drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Lay off,” he said to Jubal Jim, but said it quiet. Jubal Jim stretched, yawned, lay down and once more began to snooze. Rain pounded puddles. “When did this happen?”

“Last night. Late.”

“And you did what?” Petey sounded like he spoke to someone hopelessly retarded. “That’s a different kind of cop in there.”

“Nothing to do,” Sugar Bear told him, and said it sad. “The body ain’t in the trunk. Trunk’s sprung open. Car is mangled like those others.”

“At least,” Petey said in disgust, “it’s raining.”

“That’s supposed to mean something?”

“You’ve seen what things look like after a couple of months in the water. That guy is mush, if crabs and fish have even left mush. Maybe cops can connect him to the car, but not to you.”

“I dunno,” Sugar Bear said. “I can’t quite get wrapped around the idea of getting away with it. If I turn myself in and explain what happened…”

“You ain’t never been in jail,” Petey told him. “Did you ever go to jail you’d sing different.”

“Have you ever?”

“Assault,” Petey told him. “I bopped a guy with a pool cue. About to do it again.” He grinned. “Get out of here. Take Annie on a trip. Barring that, go to Olympia and get your ashes hauled. They got nice hookers when the legislature sits.” Petey figured he gave good advice, and gave it easily. For some things, like giving advice, experience can be a hindrance.

“I’m trying to get straight on this,” Sugar Bear said. “What I did is wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s serious,” Sugar Bear said.

“I agree,” Petey told him. “It’s wrong and it’s serious. So what?” He looked at the unmarked car. Jubal Jim gave a little snore. Rain increased, pounding, driving, obscuring the windshield so the cop car looked vague and fuzzy. If raindrops are the tears of heaven, then heaven had a case of blue miseries. “You’re a guy who wanders,” Petey said. “You stay around here, and you’ll wander right into that cop’s lockup.”

“Seems like there’s a price on everything,” Sugar Bear said. “I might go along for a while, but sooner or later it’ll cost.”

“So does going to jail,” Petey advised. Then he thought about it. “A big guy like you could probably run the whole damn prison, up until you got stabbed.” He again drummed fingers on the steering wheel. “Nope,” he said, “do your time outside the walls.” He turned to Jubal Jim. “That’s the way they talk in Chicago.”

Jubal Jim snored. Rain pounded. Sugar Bear sat solid as a lug nut. Petey fretted about what went on in Beer and Bait. He told himself he was too smart to smack a cop, but something better happen.

Sugar Bear sounded pensive, but a little bit hopeful. He sniffed, rubbed his forehead, “I think I’m coming down with something. You really think I should get out of town?”

“Either that, or get invisible. Go with Annie, or without.”

“Without,” Sugar Bear said quickly. “She’s not part of this. The cops would think she was in on it.” He searched around in his beard, found his nose, rubbed it, then gave a little sneeze. “Olympia,” he said. “I know a place to crash. I’ll check into China Bay from time to time. Let me know what happens, willya?” He cracked open the door, slid into the rain, and walked toward his truck. Through misted windows he looked like a real bear hulking through gray light. Petey sighed, thinking of his own problems and only resenting Sugar Bear a little. Petey once more reached for his hustler’s calm. Jubal Jim, sensing something joyful, gave a happy little woof.

A knock sounded on the passenger side. The door opened and Annie stepped from the driving rain and snugged into the seat. Annie wasn’t even mildly damp, and her long hair gleamed and smelled pretty. Jubal Jim bounced like a pup. Petey told himself he sat in Grand Central Station, or was attending somebody’s old home week, or maybe a murderer’s convention.

“You just missed Sugar Bear,” he told Annie.

“I know.” Annie turned around in the seat, leaned over the back, and rubbed Jubal Jim’s nose against her nose. There seemed to be some communication. Jubal Jim quieted, wagged his tail, controlled his impulses.

“Down to Olympia,” Petey told her. “Down to China Bay. That car washed up.”

“I know about the car.” Annie’s voice sounded like she tried to stay neutral. “The dead guy’s gone. They’ll never find him. Probably.”

“I think so too,” Petey told her. “That don’t seem to be the problem. The problem is we’ve got a guy who takes this too hard, and a cop who’ll spot him.” He looked at Annie and responded to her fear. Her lips trembled. “If it was me,” he told her, “I don’t know how I’d feel. Not good, probably, but not that damn bad.”

“I can help him. That’s one thing I know.” Annie pursed her lips, making decisions, wondering, maybe, if she could trust Petey. “Nobody except Bertha knows this. But, I like Sugar Bear a lot. A whole lot.”

“This is getting comical,” Petey told her. “Sugar Bear is driving every guy he knows completely nuts because he’s sweating over you. He’s can’t propose for fear he gets busted. You’re both living in a sitcom.”

Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled. She touched her hair, held her fingers to her mouth, took three quick breaths. “I got to go to him. Got to do it now.”

Jubal Jim, responding to all the action, gave three quick woofs. “I gotta catch a ride,” Annie said. “Nope. I got to go home and pack some stuff. Nope. I gotta catch a ride.”

“Go home and pack,” Petey told her. “You’ll have to sooner or later.”

“Later,” Annie said. “I gotta catch a ride.” She reached to touch Petey’s hand. “You’re such a good guy. You really, really are.”

Petey told himself that when someone called him a “good guy” the world was warped. “You can’t catch a ride from me,” he told her. “I got a little problem of my own. Go on inside.”

“That’s the trick,” Annie told him. “There’s always someone driving south. It’s the quickest way.” She opened the car door, whistled, and Jubal Jim jumped across the back of the seat and into the rain. Petey watched them head for Beer and Bait. Petey felt about ready to follow. He did not have his hustler’s calm in place, but Annie might cause enough stir that he could get by without slugging a cop. He reached for the door handle, then paused. From the passenger’s side, there came another knock on the door.