Archie Goes Home

Chapter 19

After two helpings of my mother’s roast chicken, I paged through the telephone directory and found Charlie’s Tap, the place Katie Padgett had told me was Eldon Kiefer’s hangout. I was on my way.

Charlie’s turned out to be a typical — if there is such a thing — neighborhood drinking spot: neon signs in the front window advertising beer brands; polished ebony bar running the length of the room that was longer than wide; half a dozen tables; tiny dance floor, currently unused; and a jukebox that was playing a Johnny Mathis ballad as I stepped in. A couple of heads turned my way and then returned to their drinks. Less than half the stools were occupied. I took a spot at one end of the bar and ordered a draft beer. The bartender, a glum, tight-lipped sort with droopy eyes, slid the foamy stein to a halt in front of me without spilling a drop.

“Is there a guy in here named Kiefer, by chance?” I asked.

“Eldon? Yeah, that’s him down there,” the barkeep said, indicating a burly man with a crew cut and a scowl. I picked up my beer and walked to an empty stool next to him. “Nice evening, huh?” I said, my version of snappy repertoire.

He grunted something unintelligible. “It’s a long time now since I’ve been back here, in what passes for my hometown,” I told him. “Seems like it’s about the same as I remember.”

He shrugged broad shoulders and drank his beer. “Things don’t ever change much around here.”

“I suppose not. Since I’ve been back, all the talk I’ve been hearing is about that Mulgrew banker shooting himself. Damnedest thing, eh?”

Kiefer didn’t respond, so I pushed on. “What do you think would drive a successful old fellow like that to kill himself? Maybe bad health, eh?”

“You tell me,” he mumbled, obviously not interested in conversation.

“Quite a puzzler,” I pushed on. “Did you know him?”

He glared at me. “Yeah, I knew him, as much as I wanted to.”

“I’ve heard rumors about Mulgrew, and not very nice ones. It seems that he was, well...” I let it trail off.

“Well, what?” Kiefer barked, turning to me with a fierce expression. I had awakened him.

“It seems he had a habit of taking advantage of young women, or so I have been told.”

“Is that any of your business?” he growled, causing others to look in our direction.

“I’m just commenting on what I’ve been hearing.”

“Well, keep your goddamn commenting to yourself!”

“Sorry,” I said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to get you all riled up.”

“I will show you just who’s riled up,” Kiefer said, giving me a hard shove that knocked me off my stool and onto the floor on my rear end. As I got to my feet, he reared back and delivered a roundhouse punch in the direction of my jaw that I saw coming. It turned out to be a glancing blow as I backed away, and I delivered a right hand to his chest, which seemed to be made of armor.

Kiefer threw a second punch, which caught me in the shoulder and spun me around. I squared up and aimed a left jab at his face, staggering him. A second left to his gut, which wasn’t made of armor, doubled him over and sent him to the floor with a retch. During our flurry, the others along the bar had backed away and the bartender, as I was to learn, got on the telephone to the police.

It seemed like only seconds had passed, although it must have been longer, before a pair of young officers in uniform, one tall and skinny and the other short and well-fed, walked in, tensed and with hands hovering above their holsters. “Okay, what’s going on here?” the taller one demanded of the barkeep.

“These two,” he said, pointing at Kiefer and me, “they started mixing it up. They went at it before I even knew what was going on.”

“All right, you brawlers, get over there against the wall. Hey, wait a minute, it’s you again,” Shorty snapped, aiming his comment at Kiefer. “This is the third or fourth time you’ve gotten into a scrape with somebody. You need to control your—”

“It’s the first time anything’s ever happened with Eldon in my place, Officer,” the bartender interrupted. “There hasn’t been any trouble in here in years. You can check your records.”

“Yeah, Eldon’s always pretty quiet when he’s here,” one of the regulars put in. “Maybe it’s this other guy that caused the trouble,” he said, pointing at me.

“You, I’m sorry to say, I know,” the chubby cop told Kiefer and then turned to me. “You, I don’t know. Let’s see some identification.” I handed him my wallet.

“Goodwin, eh? Related to the Mrs. Goodwin who lives out on the Portsmouth Road?”

“My mother. I’m in town visiting her.”

“You’re in town stirring up trouble, is more like it,” he said with a sneer. “Hold on — you are a private cop?” He fingered my license and looked at me to see if my face matched the photo.

“In New York.”

“Maybe brawling is common where you come from, Mr. Goodwin, but we don’t take kindly to it here in what you probably think of as the sticks.”

“For the record, if anybody’s keeping score, I did not throw the first punch.”

“He’s right,” another of the onlookers said. “I saw Eldon shove him off his barstool and onto the floor. It was the start.”

“What do you have to say to that?” the beanpole asked Kiefer, who was wiping blood off his nose.

“I got nothin’ to say.”

The officer turned to me. “Okay, let’s hear your story. What did you tell Kiefer that got him all worked up?”

“I just started talking about some of what’s been going on around town.”

“Do you know Kiefer?”

“No, I just happened to sit down next to him.”

“That’s not true, Officer,” the bartender said. “When this man — Goodwin, isn’t it? — came in, he asked if Eldon was here, and I pointed him out.”

“Had Mr. Goodwin ever been in here before?”

“Not to my knowledge, and I’m behind the bar ninety-five percent of the time we’re open. Now I happen to run a peaceful place, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you made your point before, don’t push it,” the tall cop said. “Mr. Goodwin, why did you specifically seek out Eldon Kiefer?”

“I’d heard, I can’t remember where, that he knows a lot about what goes on around here.”

“And just why are you interested in ‘what goes on around here’? Does it have something to do with you being a private detective?”

“I’d prefer not to say any more here.”

“Kiefer doesn’t want to talk, and you don’t want to talk. Well, that’s just fine, because we’re going to be taking you both down to the station to meet Chief Blankenship. Maybe he can loosen up your tongues.”