to me than anybody's except Maxine's. Woody and I had been buddies since junior high and he'd just about lived at our house most of the time. The years I'd spent mooning around with Caroline, Woody had been my right-hand man at the parking garage, helping me to keep it going after my dad died. When I'd left Pittsburgh, he was the bouncer at O'Reilly's down in the Strip District, on the east side of the Golden Triangle....the hub of downtown Pittsburgh. Woodrow Bloom was my best friend in the world.
In spite of the pain in my knuckles and stiffness in my knee, I fell asleep with a smile on my lips. Woody would soon be here.
Chapter 7
The sky had cleared by Thursday morning, at least by eleven thirty, when I rolled out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. Bright sunlight poured through both windows and landed on the yellow table. The red vinyl chairs didn't match the table, but I liked them and the wash of the morning sun made them look even better. I'd been too tired last night to set up the coffee pot and put the timer on for morning, so I had to wait five very long minutes for my first jolt of caffeine. I sank onto one of the kitchen chairs and folded my arms while I tried to plan my day, but soon realized that coffee and planning were a team of sorts, so I just sat and waited.
My leg complained when I tried to flop it up onto the next chair, reminding me of the parking lot encounter of the night before. It really had been kind of invigorating, I thought, pouring a big mug of the coffee. It reminded me of that time that Woody and I...Woody!
I'd almost forgotten. It would be about one o'clock back in Pennsylvania, so Woody should still be in bed. That was as good a time as any to catch him, maybe better than most.
He answered with the gravelly sound of sleep. "Yeah."
"Hello," I said. My name is Arnold Butterworth of Mrs. Butterworth's Syrup. You have won a truckload of pancakes and if you'll just drag your fat ass over here..."
"Rudy, hey man." He was awake now, at least.
"So you're coming to Iowa for Thanksgiving, huh? I'll be so glad to see your ugly face again. What's the idea not telling me that you were coming? Max never even mentioned it."
"Yeah, well, I guess it's supposed to be kind of a surprise for you, but, hey, your sister should know by now that I can't keep a secret."
"Is your mom coming with you?" I asked. Mrs. Bloom, who had been our junior high geography teacher, was quite a character and would be an interesting addition to anyone's holiday experience. Her home was only a mile or so from Wood's apartment and, being an only child, he checked on her almost daily.
"Nah. She's goin' over to her brother's for the day...my uncle Ed and Aunt Lucy's place. I told them I was gonna be out of town so I wouldn't be able to make it. I thought you and me would shake things up in Iowa instead."
"Aha," I said. "So there never was an aluminum dinner tray with your name on it for turkey day?" Woody laughed.
"Hell, Rudy, I shoulda known I couldn't fool a big time detective. Anyway, I'd rather be with you any day," he added.
"So what's new, Wood?" I asked. "How's things on The Strip?"
"Lots more people are comin' down all the time, Rude. I mean, if I stick around after the club's closed, shooting the breeze with some of the guys and I'm still there at four in the morning, look out, man! The trucks are pullin' in with vegetables and fruit and fish and meats and...cripe," he laughed, "the streets are so damned crowded you can't walk between the semis. The yuppies are starting to show up earlier and
In spite of the pain in my knuckles and stiffness in my knee, I fell asleep with a smile on my lips. Woody would soon be here.
Chapter 7
The sky had cleared by Thursday morning, at least by eleven thirty, when I rolled out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. Bright sunlight poured through both windows and landed on the yellow table. The red vinyl chairs didn't match the table, but I liked them and the wash of the morning sun made them look even better. I'd been too tired last night to set up the coffee pot and put the timer on for morning, so I had to wait five very long minutes for my first jolt of caffeine. I sank onto one of the kitchen chairs and folded my arms while I tried to plan my day, but soon realized that coffee and planning were a team of sorts, so I just sat and waited.
My leg complained when I tried to flop it up onto the next chair, reminding me of the parking lot encounter of the night before. It really had been kind of invigorating, I thought, pouring a big mug of the coffee. It reminded me of that time that Woody and I...Woody!
I'd almost forgotten. It would be about one o'clock back in Pennsylvania, so Woody should still be in bed. That was as good a time as any to catch him, maybe better than most.
He answered with the gravelly sound of sleep. "Yeah."
"Hello," I said. My name is Arnold Butterworth of Mrs. Butterworth's Syrup. You have won a truckload of pancakes and if you'll just drag your fat ass over here..."
"Rudy, hey man." He was awake now, at least.
"So you're coming to Iowa for Thanksgiving, huh? I'll be so glad to see your ugly face again. What's the idea not telling me that you were coming? Max never even mentioned it."
"Yeah, well, I guess it's supposed to be kind of a surprise for you, but, hey, your sister should know by now that I can't keep a secret."
"Is your mom coming with you?" I asked. Mrs. Bloom, who had been our junior high geography teacher, was quite a character and would be an interesting addition to anyone's holiday experience. Her home was only a mile or so from Wood's apartment and, being an only child, he checked on her almost daily.
"Nah. She's goin' over to her brother's for the day...my uncle Ed and Aunt Lucy's place. I told them I was gonna be out of town so I wouldn't be able to make it. I thought you and me would shake things up in Iowa instead."
"Aha," I said. "So there never was an aluminum dinner tray with your name on it for turkey day?" Woody laughed.
"Hell, Rudy, I shoulda known I couldn't fool a big time detective. Anyway, I'd rather be with you any day," he added.
"So what's new, Wood?" I asked. "How's things on The Strip?"
"Lots more people are comin' down all the time, Rude. I mean, if I stick around after the club's closed, shooting the breeze with some of the guys and I'm still there at four in the morning, look out, man! The trucks are pullin' in with vegetables and fruit and fish and meats and...cripe," he laughed, "the streets are so damned crowded you can't walk between the semis. The yuppies are starting to show up earlier and
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