Live Bait

12

Jack Gilbert was sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the nursery parking lot, a cooler full of beer at his feet. Some customers actually took him up on his offer of free Bud, but most gave the man in the pink sunglasses and neon yellow shorts a wide berth.

Marty stormed over for the third time in the past two hours, but now he was dragging a heavy-duty garden hose behind him, brandishing the power-wash attachment like a gun. ‘Come on, Jack. Get up. Time to relocate.’

‘Don’t aim that thing, ’less you mean to use it,’ Jack drawled with a lopsided grin.

‘Don’t tempt me. Jesus, what the hell is the matter with you? You’re scaring the customers.’

Jack peered up at him from behind pink lenses. ‘I’m not scaring anybody. In fact, I’m probably boosting sales by ten percent. I’m telling you, you get somebody buzzed and they buy twice as much. See that fat guy over there, the one with the sweat stains down his back? He came to buy a few basil plants, but after a couple brewskies, I convinced the son of a bitch to buy a whole flat so he could make pesto. Best part is, I don’t think he knows what pesto is.’

‘Just what are you doing here, Jack?’

‘Well, gee, Marty, I don’t know. I always thought relatives were supposed to get together and support each other when they were grieving, but now that I think of it, that was pretty dumb since it sure as hell didn’t work that way the last time somebody in this family got murdered.’

Martin felt as if he’d taken a hammer to the gut. Every sober moment of every single day he saw his wife bleeding to death in his arms; but seeing it and talking about it were two different things.

Jack eyed his expression with bleary interest. ‘Christ, Marty, what do you think? That if we never mention Hannah was murdered she’ll be less dead?’

‘Shut up, Jack.’

‘Oh-h, I get it.’ Jack was gesturing with his can, sloshing beer all over the place. ‘Hannah’s another one of those things this family never talks about, because if you don’t talk about it, it never happened, right? Well fuck that. Fuck all of you, because Hannah happened. Hannah was here, and it’s too goddamned bad you all want to forget about her, because she was the only Gilbert worth a shit.’ He pushed his silly pink sunglasses down his nose and glared defiantly up at Marty. ‘And you’re not the only one who misses her.’

And that was the one thing about Jack you had to remember, Marty thought. He was loud, obnoxious, in-your-face, and possibly the most irritating human being on the planet – but he loved unconditionally, even though few ever loved him back – and Hannah he had loved most of all.

Marty let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Where’s Becky?’

‘Becky, my wife? You mean the one no one in this family has ever met? Well, I think she’s getting Botox injections in her armpits today. Keeps you from sweating, did you know that?’

‘You know what I mean. Why isn’t she here with you?’

‘You mean like, loving wife supporting grieving husband, that sort of thing? Well, first of all we’re not talking, which precludes her being supportive in any way; and second of all, Lily would probably shoot her if she ever set foot on the property; and third of all, frankly, Becky just doesn’t give a shit.’

‘Oh. Sorry, Jack. I didn’t know it wasn’t working out.’

‘Hell, don’t be sorry, Marty. I got exactly what I wanted from this marriage. So did Becky, for that matter. You should see her new boobs.’ He popped open a new beer and drained half the can.

‘You sure you should be doing that, Jack? I thought you were supposed to be in court this afternoon.’

He shrugged. ‘No big deal. It’s just this stupid bicycle messenger who claims he got whiplash when a UPS truck hit him. Weasel-faced bastard. He sees deep pockets, and suddenly he broke his fucking neck.’

‘So you’re blowing off court? Jesus, Jack, you’re going to get yourself disbarred.’

‘They’re not going to disbar me. They can’t. I’m on grief leave. My father was murdered, for chrissake… man, that is just too bizarre, isn’t it? I mean, the guy was almost eighty-five and I kind of expected him to keel over one of these days, but Jesus. Shot in the head? Who could see that coming? So what do you think, Marty? Got any ideas, any clues? Anything we can work with here?’

‘Just let the cops handle it, Jack.’

‘Well, hell, Marty, you are a cop.’

‘Ex-cop.’

‘Don’t give me that. Once a cop, always a cop. It’s in the blood, or something. I’ll bet that little gumshoe brain of yours is going about a hundred miles an hour trying to figure this out. So who do you think did it?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘That is such bullshit.’

‘No, it’s not, Jack. I haven’t thought about it.’

Jack tried focusing on him for a long moment. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you? He was your father-in-law, for chrissake. Aren’t you at least curious?’

Marty took three seconds to examine whatever feelings he had left, and decided no, he wasn’t curious at all. ‘It’s not my job, Jack.’

‘Right you are, Marty. It’s not your job. It’s just your goddamned family, is all.’ He turned away, disgusted. ‘Christ. You’re even more fucked-up than I am.’

‘You want to ease up on the language a little, Jack? There are nice people here.’

Jack snorted. ‘You want to ease up on the holier-than-thou shit a little, Marty? There are smart people here, and they can see right through it… hey, you!’ He waved his beer can at a woman examining flowers at one of the outdoor tables. ‘Yeah, you in the tent dress! You want to stop fondling those pansies? And then come on over here, meet the biggest fuckstick on the planet.’

The woman gaped at him for a minute, then turned and hurried toward her car.

‘Okay, Jack, that’s it. You’ve got to get out of here.’

‘Fuck you, Marty.’

‘Goddamnit, Jack, Lily is ready to call the cops if you don’t get out of the parking lot. One last time, I’m asking nice.’

Jack finished his beer and crushed the can against his leg. ‘Listen, you tell Lily if she wants her son out of the parking lot, she can come out here and ask me herself. Otherwise, I’m staying right where I am until the beer’s gone.’

For all of his life, Marty Pullman had been a man who got things done, who saw things wrong, and made them right. That Marty Pullman would have grabbed Jack and jerked him out of the chair and carried him away bodily, if necessary. It made him feel a little strange to realize he wasn’t that man anymore, and probably never would be again. ‘You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be, Jack.’

Jack regarded him for a moment, then smiled. ‘Gee, really? And I always thought things like this were supposed to be a little hard, and all I’m doing is having myself a little wake, Marty. A little private wake for Morey Gilbert, the nicest goddamned man in the world, the man everybody loved, the man who loved everybody, except his son, of course. And isn’t it funny? I’m the only one who showed up. I mean, really, Marty, look at what’s happening here. This place shouldn’t even be open today, but here you all are, business as usual, life goes on, gee, think we can take out five minutes tomorrow to get him in the ground?’

Marty threw the hose down in disgust, grabbed a can from the cooler and stalked back toward the greenhouse. ‘I give up.’

Jack laughed, and then hollered after him, ‘So what else is new?’