Chapter 18

On a seedier side of town, in a dive of a gin joint, two new acquaintances sat in a bar. They had first met each other only a moment ago when Jake Keller had seated himself next to the stranger, nodded and asked, "How's it going?"

Hank Wilson was the drunker of the two men, having started drinking nearly an hour earlier. He was not a pleasant drinking partner.

"Who the fuck wants to know?" he spat at the other barstool, not bothering to see who was sitting there.

"Hey pal, sorry, I was just making conversation."

"Well, drink quietly if you want to sit there asshole."

Jake was a master on the pool tables and he often liked to pick up a few easy bucks playing pool with drunks. Hank was primed for being an easy mark.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to shoot a few games of 8-ball."

Hank now looked at Jake, sizing him up.

"You a fucking hustler or what?" he asked.

"No, I ain't no fucking hustler. Man, what's eating you?" Jake started to get up to go and sit somewhere else.

"Don't get so fuckin touchy. Yeah, I'll shoot some pool with you. Rack em up while I go take a piss."

"Sure, ok." Jake said.

Hank slid of his stool and walked to the men's room. He was drunk, but still not drunk enough to stagger, and he sure wasn't slurring his words yet. Hank Wilson was a veteran drinker and a Viet Nam vet too. He also had no friends.

When Hank returned Jake was waiting for him, the pool balls racked into a tight triangle.

"You wanna break em?" Jake asked.

"Naw, you go ahead." said Hank. He figured if Jake had given him a loose rack that he'd let him break them up and look like a fool. Hank was big on making people look like fools.

"What are we playin for?" asked Jake.

"Make it easy on yourself, name it."

"Five a game ok?"

"Fine with me."

Jake broke the rack cleanly. He was a good enough player to not try any tricks this early in his hustle. Jake was good at nearly all sports, or he thought he was. He was a three handicap golfer and made plenty off the rich guys at the country club. He made two striped balls on the break. His next shot sunk another. His third shot rattled a ball in the corner pocket but it didn't fall.

Hank walked around the table, sizing things up. He stopped and pulled up his stick and shot without aiming. The six-ball fell in the side but he didn't leave himself another good shot. He was only able to bank the cue ball off the rail and make a good hit on the 3 ball. It had no chance of going in.

"Tough shot," said Jake, "you'll catch up though. So are you married?"

Jake walked around the table and waited for Hank to step aside so he could shoot.

"What the fuck are you now?" Hank said in a venomous voice, "A fucking social worker?"

"Shit no," he said, "I ain't no social worker. If anything I need a social worker." He chuckled and sank another ball.

"Yer ol' lady fuck you over too?" asked Hank.

"Yeah, she left cuz I was out late with the boys. No fucking sense of humor. She was a great fuck too, would have done anything for me."

"Well, ain't you just the unlucky bastard," grunted Hank.

Jake shot again and made it.

"Sounds like we both have women troubles. What happened?"

"She fuckin took off. I got drunk and cuffed her around. Didn't hurt her, but the bitch deserved it. I hear she moved in with her brother. Fuck her."

Jake finally missed a shot. He made it look hard. Hank thought now was the time to make his move.

Hank said, "Step aside sonny, let a man show you how."

Jake just laughed and said, "Be my guest 'Fast Eddie'!"

Hank sunk the first ball and then easily ran the table. "Eight in the side." He said, and made it to win the game. He started to rack them up when Jake took the rack from him.

"Your break," he said.

"So this wife of yours... do you think she'll ever come back?"

"Naw, at least I hope the fuck not. She's a tight ass cunt who thinks her pussy's made of gold or some fuckin thing. She hates to fuck and I hate to fuck her. She can go to hell. And if she thinks she'll get anything in a settlement she's got another thing coming. Fuck the bitch."

Hank took his shot and made the 13-ball. "Still five a game?" he asked, and then he missed.

"Sure," said Jake and then fired in the 3-ball and then the seven and five on a combination shot. The next shot he deliberately missed.

Hank was getting pissed now. He forgot that he was shooting the big balls this game and took aim on the 6-ball. Jake never said a word as Hank sunk the six.

Hank started to line up for his next shot as Jake grabbed the cue ball from the table.

"Hey, what the fuck you think yer doin?" Hank growled at Jake.

"My shot, ball in hand. That was a bad hit you just made,"

Hank saw red now. "No fucking way asshole. I'm shooting the little ones. Gimme that fucking cueball."

"Yer wrong shithead," said Jake. He was looking straight into Hank's eyes now. "It's my fucking shot and ball in hand."

"Why you fucking little cocksucker, I'll show you something."

"Back off you son of a bitch. Look, here's your five bucks and we'll call it a night, huh."

Jake could see that things were getting real ugly real fast.

Hank rushed at Jake. "Oh yeah, we'll call it a fucking night all right. Right after I kick your fuckin ass."

Hank lunged and Jake side stepped him. Hank tumbled to the floor. When he got up his hand grabbed a beer bottle from the edge of the pool table. He broke it against the side of the table and held it menacingly up in Jake's face.

"I'm warning you motherfucker, put down the bottle!" said Jake.

"Yeah, I'll put it down your smartass fucking throat. C'mere you sumbitch!" Hank lunged again and Jake had had enough of this shit.

As if by magic a.38 revolver appeared in Jakes hand. Hank saw the gun and kept coming. Jake's aim was deadly, hitting Hank in the right eye. Hank stumbled forward at Jake and fell heavily on the floor as Jake sidestepped him and ran out the door.

A half hour later an assistant coroner pronounced Hank Wilson dead of a bullet to his brain. Patrons of the bar had identified Jake Keller as the shooter and two hours later he was arrested while driving south about seventy-five miles from town.

At Joel's house Janie and Joel had finished supper and were relaxing in front of the TV. Janie was about to tell Joel about her visit to their mother. There was a knock at the door.

Joel got up to answer it and found a policeman there.

"Officer, can I help you?" asked Joel.

"Good evening sir. Does a Mrs. Janie Wilson live here please?"

Janie heard her name and jumped up and ran to the door. She stood slightly to the right and behind Joel.

"I'm Janie Wilson. Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry to bother you Mrs. Wilson. I'm Officer Bradley. Is Hank Wilson you're husband?"

"Yes, Hank's my husband. What has he done?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this ma'am. Hank Wilson is dead. He was shot in a barroom brawl. I'm very sorry. The coroner asked if you could come downtown to identify him. I can drive you if you like."

"Oh my God," screamed Janie. What happened? "Oh my..."

Joel caught Janie as she began to sag. She felt faint. Joel helped her to the couch as he invited the officer inside.

Joel turned to the policeman. "Can I bring her down in a few minutes? I need to call our mother. I know Janie will need her. I'm Janie's brother, Joel."

"Sir that would be fine. Take as much time as she needs. Hank isn't going anywhere. If you'll excuse me I'll be going now. No need to show me out."

After the cop had gone Joel went to the kitchen and got Janie a glass of ice water. He returned to the living room and sat next to her and put his arm around her.

"Janie, drink this," he said.

Janie took a sip of the water, and then pushed Joel's hand away.

"I'm ok Joey. This is a shock. I wanted him out of my life, but not this way. I always wondered how he'd end up, but I never ever expected this. I was always worried that he'd have a car crash while drunk, but never this."

Janie broke down and sobbed. In a few minutes she stopped crying and stood up.

"I'll be ready in ten minutes," she said as she headed to the bathroom, "In the meantime, call Mom, and ask her if she and Uncle Dan can meet us at the hospital morgue. I know I'll need help with this."

Joel was already reaching for the phone.

When Joel and Janie arrived at the hospital their mother, Sara Adams, and uncle, Dan Poston, were waiting for them outside.

Sara rushed to her daughter and embraced her.

"Janie, are you all right?" she asked, holding her daughter tightly.

"I'll be ok Mom; I just want to get this over with. Will you help me Mom? I have no idea about how to handle all this. Hank had no real family left. So I guess it all falls on my shoulders."

"You know I'll help all I can," replied Sara. "This will be the worst part. You'll have to identify Hank's body. After the police are finished with their investigation, the body will be released to you to make funeral arrangements. Then it'll be all over sweetheart."

They went into the hospital and Dan went to the information desk.

"Excuse me," he said to the cute Candystriper, "we're here to identify a body. Could you direct us please?"

She looked up and smiled. "Yes sir, take the elevator to the basement. There will be someone at the desk to help you find the morgue."

Dan thanked her and returned to Janie, Joel and Sara.

As the elevator doors opened they saw a much starker view of the hospital than they were used to. The huge room was cold and caused Janie to shiver. Joel kept his arm around Janie, both for warmth and support.

A man was seated at a desk. He rose to his feet when he saw the family get off the elevator. He walked around the desk to greet them.

"Good evening folks. I'm Mr. Bates, assistant coroner." He extended his hand to Janie but she did not offer her hand to him.

"I'm Janie Wilson. Can we just get this over with?"

"Yes ma'am," replied Bates, "But I will need to see identification."

Bates knew he didn't really need to see Janie's ID, but the fact that she didn't offer to shake his hand pissed him off. No one ever wanted to shake hands with the fucking coroner. He'd do his job by the book now rather than make things easy for the snooty little bitch.

Janie fumbled in her purse for her wallet, retrieved her driver's license, and handed it to Bates.

Bates looked at the license and returned to his desk. He took out a long form and copied the information from the license to the form. The only sound was that of his pen on the paper. When he had finished he turned the form around and told Janie where to sign.

Janie scribbled her signature on the dotted line and dropped the pen on the desk.

Bates got up and told the group to follow him. They went down a long hall with cold concrete walls. At the end of the hall there was a wide double door. As they approached the doors Bates banged a large push button on the wall and the doors swung open. They all felt a rush of colder air and a strong chemical smell come from the room. It was the smell of death.

Had Bates been in a better mood, had Janie offered her hand to him when he greeted her, things would have gone differently. Hank's body was the only one in the room. It lay on a stainless steel gurney, covered by a green sheet. Bates had seen Hank's body when it was brought in. He knew the right eye had been shot out. He had washed the blood from Hank's head and face so the ID could be made. He had the option for showing the body from the "good side" or from the side with the gaping bullet hole where Hank's eye had been. He chose the latter.

"Please step around here with me ma'am."

Janie followed dutifully, with Joel still holding her. When they were standing beside Bates at the gurney Bates reached for the sheet and pulled it back.

Janie shrieked, grabbed her stomach and turned away. She wretched once and then deposited her half digested dinner all over the floor.

Joel held Janie as she bent over vomiting. Sara had rushed around to help.

Dan walked up to Bates and glared down at him. "You son of a bitch, you did that on purpose! You heartless son of a bitch." Bates managed to hold his grin inward, but he was delighted with himself.

Janie's stomach had emptied all over the floor of the morgue. Joel and Sara helped her to the door.

Bates called out to Janie, "Mrs. Wilson, you haven't ID'd the body!" He said it almost gleefully.