Vague Remembrances

VAGUE REMEMBRANCES

Noel Raymond Bodenmiller

For my son Roman, a bright and creative young man.

Copyright (c) 1996 Noel R. Bodenmiller

Smashwords Edition

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Cover: Morro Bay California,

(c) 2003 Noel R. Bodenmiller

THE OFFICER IN CHARGE

Grave? What Grave? I don’t remember anything about an unmarked grave or missing persons associated with the Striker case.

I’ve got Jameison out looking for it right now, he’ll find it.

The tall desk sergeant leaned back in his chair and then folded his arms across the front of his uniform. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He glanced over at another officer and then shot another question at Detective Harkness.

And just who’s supposed to be in this grave?

Charlie, you know procedure, we’ll just have to wait for the autopsy to be sure about that.

Harkness had responded in a very quiet voice, trying not to breathe too deeply, avoiding as best he could not to have the constant dull ache in his side develop into a larger, sharper pain. He already knew too well, how the slightest change in his position would cause the chain reaction. A small movement brought about a muffled, almost silent grunt, soon accompanied by a pound of his fist on the desk and then an instant grimace of deep pain on his face.

Harkness! Get in my office…Now! shouted a short, stout man who, dressed in a navy blue suit, strode quickly through the group of policemen and then toward an office at the far side of the station, interrupting what had been an hour-long discussion about an ongoing investigation.

‘You know better than to pull a stunt like this! he shouted as he waved a newspaper in his hand. I’m not having any ‘lone rangers’ working in this department! Bring your badge and gun and get in here! he shouted behind him as he slammed the door shut. Both guns!" they could hear him continue, yelling through the closed door.

Man, you didn’t tell him? inquired the desk sergeant.

His phone was busy all night, he must have left it off the hook or something explained Detective Harkness to the pair of officers who were still looking toward the door at the end of the room.

Hey Harkness, the third man interjected, just start out like you always do, with that business about how you always admired him when you were a rookie, he always eats that up. Butter ‘em up, you know how to do that.

I don’t think that one’s gonna work this time. You saw how mad he is. Besides, you guys know how much he wanted to solve this case himself. I’ll see you guys around, see you down at old George Farris’… nothing’s gonna get me out of this one, this time.

Yeah, see you around Harkness. Better luck next time.

Hey, make sure you mention that grave that Jameison’s out looking for. Maybe that’ll save your butt. suggested the sergeant.

That’s just gonna make him madder.

Well, ‘the whole truth and nothing but’ Harkness, that’s what they always say in court.

Yeah, you got it coming this time Harkness, go get it! scolded the third man.

Have a nice one, boys, the detective replied as he painfully pushed his way out of his seat, collapsing back into it on the first try. After pounding on the desk once more, he made it to a standing position on the second effort. Groaning aloud and grasping his side, he slowly made his way toward and through the door marked ‘Private.’

Close it! were the last words heard clearly by the officers in the adjoining room.

UNUSUAL BUSINESS

-10:00 P.M. Sunday, December 22

Styrofoam stars hung in the air above the clientele at Amy's and one of the waitresses busied herself on the relatively dead night by cleaning the brass rails that separated the booths. Private conversations were few, as the crowd had diminished to just a few couples that were finishing their dinners.

At one end of the bar a few single patrons were looking at each other, some being quite boisterous, as sort of a self-endorsement to sell their personalities to another. Some of the help decided to get up and play a few songs on the new disc player. Advertisements flashed across the digital display boards. One cautioned against unsafe driving, while another spoke to computer dating. Christmas wreaths and bells were spaced neatly along the walls and upside down spittoons had been electrified and made into light fixtures that hung from the double-vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, as the night wore on, business picked up again. Most of the late crowd had frequented Amy's in the past and some were quite familiar with one another, having dated each other over time. Yet many were unfamiliar with some of the relative newcomers of the tavern.

A short, double-chinned lady came in and consorted with the bartender, and the waitress who had been killing time by shining brass railings began to work the growing crowd, taking orders, delivering drinks, smiling and trying her best not to reveal her tired state of mind. Waitressing wasn't the same as she remembered and now that she was a few years older, people seemed to be more demanding and less polite.

Meanwhile, the lady with the weak-chin was still pumping up the bartender with compliments about him and complaints about her husband.

The lateness of the hour was beginning to wear on Joe Stanton. He'd been at Amy's a few years before, but it had never been a popular place with him. He preferred a few other places around town, places where bands began to play in the late evenings, places where he had some success with meeting women who liked to dance and where a verbal and non-verbal conversation could lead to a date and further exploration of the opposite sex.

He disliked places like Amy's. But he'd been to most of the other places often enough and had already met everyone worth meeting there. He had decided to give Amy's one last try.

It was time to change his turf, to develop new skills in meeting people. He'd frequented all the blue-collar establishments he'd cared to. Joe thought he was worth more than the average guy and just needed a change of surroundings and attitude, and a little good luck.

With the exception of the brass cleaner, so far prospects looked pretty bleak and his attitude wasn't getting any brighter. Things just seemed to continue as they had. Finding a mate with the characteristics he liked seemed impossible, and he certainly wasn't about to open his life up to computer-dating. Joe considered that to be the last-ditch approach. He didn't want to go through a long series of disappointing meetings with blind dates, leaving them wondering about themselves, as he remained picky about his quarry.

Certainly no saint, Joe was just not willing to commit to something that he didn't believe in, because he thought that would be unfair to himself and to the other person. He glanced over at the other waitress, a somewhat chunky lady who couldn't begin to satisfy his requirements. To him Shelly seemed less than ordinary, short with long brown hair, five foot-two and one hundred-sixty pounds.

The night had dragged on and the place was getting ready to close; it was a Sunday night and shutting down at ten-thirty wasn't unusual.

A pair of couples wandered in and sat at the bar and soon after a big surly fellow walked in and began to speak loudly. It wasn't bad enough that it was past closing time, but Pete had been too quick to serve the two nicely dressed couples, and so was now obliged to serve the latest arrival.

Joe glanced down the long bar and noticed how lovely, and even somewhat familiar, the first barmaid might look without her glasses. She had recently acquired them to try to reduce the number of unwanted passes she had to endure in her waitress job. To his disappointment she only adjusted the glasses with her hand after rubbing the bridge of her nose, and was much too busy with her own world to notice him. Again, his attention was diverted by the loud voice of one patron.

He was the typical large-jawed, broad-foreheaded giant, who really doesn't have to say much to impress anyone. So far he had only spoken a salutation to the bartender and then ordered a specific brand of beer. This time he had asked for an ashtray. His thick black eyebrows served to emphasize his intense stare as he looked at Joe.

Joe quickly avoided the eyes of the giant and refocused onto the shining reflective circles of glass that covered the barmaid's eyes. He certainly didn't