The waitress gave Mickey a kiss on the cheek, handed him another beer, and said, “Congrats, old man.”
Mickey asked her to sail away with him and then smacked her on the bottom.
“Can you even get your mainsail up?” she said with a wink. Those within earshot howled with laughter.
Everyone stopped over to pat Mickey on the back, ask him to describe his boat - just one more time - or just to thank him for the beer. After an hour or so, Mickey grabbed his hat and stepped out into the night to start his last job. The sky had opened up and a cold rain was pounding the pavement. Mickey yelled good-bye, held the day's newspaper over his head, and jogged to his car. The bar crowd gave him a cheer as he left.
Chapter Four
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The pounding on the door shook Henry from his dream. Nearly falling off the couch, he yelled, "What?"
"My name is Officer Brently. May I come in? There has been an accident."
Henry opened the door and held it for Officer Brently, "What sort of accident?"
"It looks like a hit and run, but that is not why I'm here. I was sent by Thompson; he said you should get down here right away. The vic is..." his voice trailed off. Officer Bentley had a habit of speaking very quickly realized the gravity of the situation. "The man who was killed is your friend Mickey."
Henry was stunned. He hadn't talked to Mickey in a couple of years and, suddenly, he was gone. "What happened?"
"I was told to bring you down to the scene. I'll tell you along the way."
Henry grabbed his overcoat and hat and didn't bother to lock the door behind him. The officer explained that Mickey had been hit after leaving The Dublin Rogue. It had just happened, and he had rushed over to get Henry. Officer Bentley gave his condolences and said that everyone who knew Mickey loved him. That was all there was to say, so they walked through the chilly night in silence.
Henry's mind raced. He checked to see if he had his notebook. He did. The memories of Mickey's teachings seemed to flood back to him. Henry remembered the saying Mickey used daily: "There are no coincidences and accidents are seldom accidental." Henry picked up the pace of his stride.
After six blocks they rounded the corner. The lights of the squad cars cut through the dark and damp. The street was wet and lined with cars; a few lights on in the buildings. A crowd of people stood outside of the bar. Henry passed from the sidewalk to the street through a gap in the parked cars. He was greeted by Officer Carl whom Henry had known since he was a boy. The look on Carl's face was of profound sadness. He had loved Mickey like a father much like Henry did. "It was raining pretty hard, and it looks like the driver didn't see him. We were inside, and a couple who left a few minutes after Mickey found him."
"The driver didn't stop?"
"Nope, looks like a hit and run. We are going to canvas the neighborhood and find out if anyone saw anything, but, with the rain, I doubt anyone could have seen much. Maybe if they happened to be looking, a make and model, but I don't know."
Henry didn't have anything to say. He walked over to the body, lifted the corner of the sheet, and looked at his friend. The peaceful look on Mickey's face seemed out of place. Henry expected anguish or terror but didn't find it. He badly wanted Mickey to offer him one more rule to live by. Something inane that would bring comfort at this exact moment. The noise from the city and the crowd seemed to fade away. Those who were standing about gave Henry and Mickey a moment to be alone.
This made it easier for Henry to slip Mickey's notebook out of his breast pocket. He took the pen as well not because it was important but because Henry knew that the pen without the notebook might draw attention.
“Always think about how things go together,” popped into Henry's head. Promises were taken seriously by Mickey, and he had instilled this in Henry. He could hear Mickey clear as a bell. He was still speaking to him. Henry covered Mickey back up and stood slowly. "I hear you. I will find out who did this."
The rain was still falling though it had slowed. Henry walked up the street to the spot where he had crossed from the sidewalk. He stood there. The emptiness was out of place. He looked up and down the street. The rest of the street was lined with cars bumper to bumper. This spot was just five cars behind where Mickey had parked. Henry looked down at the pavement. A tiny stream of rainwater passed across the middle of the spot. Against the rear tire of the car in front, water was pooling. Henry looked closer.
A small wet pile of cigarette butts gathered between the edge of the tire and the curb. Henry walked up the street a ways. The rest of the gutter was wiped clean from the hard rain. Somebody had been sitting in their car smoking, and, by the number of cigarettes, they had been there a long time. This wasn't a hit and run. It was murder.