The Lucky Elephant Restaurant

Saturday, October 17
Chapter 10

IT FEELS GOOD to be back on the ice, Lane thought, even though I haven’t had time to buy new skates.

The ancient figure skates had raised a few eyebrows.

So had the black-and-white helmet he’d borrowed from Harper. The rookie referees spent the morning in class learning the rules of the game. Tomorrow, if he passed the test with an eighty-five percent or better, he would be a referee.

“The key to doing the job well is being at the right place all of the time.” Bob was a referee with some international experience. Bob took pains to look the part with a short-short haircut covered by a black helmet with a visor. He wore a black-nylon sweatsuit. He was shorter than Lane and had quick feet and a sarcastic disposition. “Hey toe picks? Show me the best position for a referee if the players are crowded around the net and the puck is loose.”

Lane took a couple of quick strides, reversed so his eyes would still be on the play, and positioned himself to one side behind the net. “Here.”

“Right.” Bob didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. Lane was in perfect position. “Be sure to get a pair of hockey skates before your first game.”

Lane opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. His cellphone chirped.

Bob frowned.

Lane picked the phone out of his pocket. He skated toward the penalty box. “Hello.”

“Hey Mr. Hockey, havin’ fun yet?” Harper said.

“Remind me I’ve got to get some new skates.” Lane leaned against the boards.

“Tell me you’re not out there with a pair of figure skates! You said you’d get new skates if I loaned you the helmet. You might as well hang a ‘pick-on-me’ sign around your neck.”

“No time to buy skates. Between the case, the hospital, and going to Matt’s school, there hasn’t been any time.” Lane looked over his shoulder at the other refs in training.

“Just got off the phone with the chief,” Harper said.

Bob blew his whistle. The sound echoed off the arena rafters. Lane stuck a finger in his left ear. He pressed the phone closer to his right.

“She asked how come we haven’t closed the Reddie case. So, I explained about the inconsistencies.”

“What did she say?” Lane asked.

“There’s been some pressure on her end. A few calls from concerned citizens who think Bobbie’s been through enough. They encouraged the chief to hurry it up and close this case since the father is obviously responsible.”

“Go on.”

“Chief seems to think the calls may have some political influence,” Harper said.

“City Hall?” Lane asked.

“And the legislature. Nothing that could be nailed down, otherwise it would become political interference. The calls did come from people who are wellconnected, though.” Harper chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“The chief can smell fish a long way off. Has a nose for it. This one is beginning to stink. She said to keep on it. If there’s pressure to close this case, we may be on to something. The chief thinks the pressure might intensify.” “I wonder who’s been whispering in the right ears?”

Lane asked.

Harper said, “I was wondering the same thing. Oh, and make sure you read the paper today.”

“What?”

“Read it. Talk to you later.” Harper hung up.

It was after six by the time Lane arrived home. He anticipated that he’d feel some pain when he put the skates back on in the morning. The house was unusually quiet. Riley slept in a tiny patch of sunlight on the front-room floor. He opened his eyes and wagged his tail when he spotted Lane. Arthur said, “Supper’s in the fridge. We took the dog for a walk after we went to the hospital. Matt ate supper and went to bed. The kid’s dead tired. And, by the look of things, so are you.”

“What about you? Those pants of yours look like they’re getting a little baggy.” Lane pulled a salad plate and a beer from the fridge.

Arthur grabbed his belt and hitched up his pants, “If I’d known this would help me lose weight, I

would’ve had a kid a long time ago.”

“Did you read the paper?” Lane sat down.

Arthur shrugged. He looked even more tired. “This time it says that a woman like Bobbie Reddie shouldn’t have to be put through a long investigation. According to the editorial, it’s obvious the father killed the child and himself. Bobbie and her son have had more than enough of their share of pain and suffering.”

“Sounds like someone’s been busy. The chief’s been getting calls.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked.

“Harper called me.” Lane stabbed at some salad, maneuvered it into his mouth, began to chew. “Some influential citizens have expressed their concerns to the chief. They want a quick resolution to this case.”

“Could we talk about the case?” Arthur got up, reached into the fridge, and brought out a bottle of white wine.

“As long as we get to talk about Matt and what he’s got on his plate.” Lane pointed at Arthur with his fork.

“For instance?” Arthur’s tone of voice was immediately defensive.

“CP for starters.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur looked through a drawer for the corkscrew. It sounded more like demolition than searching.

“Cerebral palsy. Look. I like the kid. I want him here. You want him here. No need to get defensive.”

Arthur pulled out the corkscrew, and plunked it and the wine bottle in front of Lane. “So, what is the point?”

The corkscrew squeaked as Lane twisted it into the cork. “We need to talk about what’s going on. You know, discuss things.”

Arthur put two glasses on the table.

The cork popped out of the bottle. Lane said, “Like the fact that we haven’t been discussing major decisions, and what are we going to do if Martha gets sicker?

Things like that.”

Arthur sat down and asked, “What makes you think he’s got CP?”

Lane poured. “It’s the way he moves. There’s a hitch in his walk. Did you notice the way he holds his arm?”

“Shit.” Tears welled-up in Arthur’s eyes. “I thought he was just a little uncoordinated. I missed seeing the kid grow up, and I’m so far out of the loop no one bothered to tell me.”

“Matt’s dad called him a freak, and said it ran in Martha’s family. It looks like the kid needs a place where he’s accepted for who he is. Where nobody cares if he’s got CP,” Lane said.

“How the hell does he play goal?”

Lane shrugged, “I guess we’re going to find out.”

“You know, it’s funny.” Arthur looked at the legs of white wine running down the inside of his glass. “Martha told me that getting cancer was a blessing in some ways. She’d gotten used to being bullied by her husband. She even made excuses for the way he treated Matt. When Martha found out she had cancer, she told herself, ‘No more.’ She said she felt good about herself for the first time in years.”

“So, what’s she planning to do?” Lane asked.

“I helped her hire a lawyer. She’s going after half of everything her husband owns.”

“This could get messy,” Lane said.

“No kidding. Speaking of messy, Mrs. Smallway is building a glass addition to her house. She was hollering at some poor guy in her backyard. It has to be done for Halloween. Apparently, she’s having a few friends over for a party.” Arthur smiled.

“You don’t think it’s another swinger’s party?”

“I bet she’s planning a costume ball,” Arthur laughed.

“Scary.”

“Very. Now, tell me more about the case,” Arthur said.