Gone, Baby, Gone by Dennis Lehane Page A

his seat, he unlocked the door and walked out of the bar.
    “Quite the orator, our Ray,” I said.
    “Let’s go,” Angie said.
    “Sure.” I pushed my bar stool away with my leg.
    The two pool players stood just off to my right as I turned toward the door. I glanced at the one who’d spilled beer on my shoe. He held his pool stick upside down in both hands, the hilt resting on his shoulder. He was stupid enough to still be standing there, but not so stupid he was going to move any closer.
    “ Now ,” I told him, “you have a problem.”
    He glanced at the stick in his hands, at the sweat darkening the wood below his hands.
    I said, “Drop the stick.”
    He considered the distance between us. He considered the butt of the .45 and my right hand resting a half inch away from it. He looked into my face. Then he bent and placed the stick by his feet. He stepped back from it as his friend’s stick clattered loudly to the floor.
    I turned away and took five steps down the bar and then stopped. I looked back at Big Dave. “What?” I said.
    “Excuse me?” Dave watched my hands.
    “I thought you said something.”
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    “I thought you said that maybe you hadn’t told us everything you could have about Helene McCready.”
    “I didn’t,” Big Dave said, and held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
    “Angie,” I said, “you think Big Dave told us everything?”
    She had stopped by the door, her .38 held loosely in her left hand as she leaned against the doorjamb. “Nope.”
    “We think you’re holding out, Dave.” I shrugged. “Just an opinion.”
    “I told you everything. Now I think you both should just—”
    “Come back when you’re closing up tonight?” I said. “That’s a great idea, Big Dave. You got it. We’ll come back then.”
    Big Dave shook his head several times. “No, no.”
    “Say about two, two-fifteen?” I nodded. “See you then, Dave.”
    I turned and walked down the rest of the bar. Nobody would meet my eyes. Everyone looked at their beers.
    “She wasn’t over at her friend Dottie’s house,” Big Dave said.
    We turned and looked back at him. He leaned over the bar sink and fired a spurt of water into his face from the dispenser hose.
    “Hands up on the bar, Dave,” Angie said.
    He raised his head and blinked against the liquid. Heplaced his palms flat on the bar top. “Helene,” he said. “She wasn’t over at Dottie’s. She was here.”
    “With who?” I said.
    “With Dottie,” he said. “And Lenny’s kid, Ray.”
    Lenny raised his head from his beer and said, “Shut the fuck up, Dave.”
    “The skeevy guy who manned the door?” Angie said. “That’s Ray?”
    Big Dave nodded.
    “What were they doing in here?” I said.
    “Don’t you say another word,” Lenny said.
    Big Dave glanced at him desperately, then back at Angie and me. “Just drinking. Helene knew it looked bad enough she left her kid alone in the first place. If the press or the cops knew she was actually ten blocks away at a bar and not next door, it would look even worse.”
    “What’s her relationship with Ray?”
    “They do each other sometimes, I think.” He shrugged.
    “What’s Ray’s last name?”
    “David!” Lenny said. “David, you shut the—”
    “Likanski,” Big Dave said. “He lives on Harvest.” He took a gulp of air.
    “You are shit,” Lenny told him. “That’s what you are, and it’s all you’ll ever be, and all your retarded fucking offspring will be and everything you touch. Shit.”
    “Lenny,” I said.
    Lenny kept his back to me. “You think I’m going to say a word to you, boy, you are on fucking angel dust. I might be watching my beer, but I know you got a gun, and I know that girl has one too. And so fucking what? Shoot me or leave.”
    Outside, I could hear the sound of a siren approaching.
    Lenny turned his head, and a smile broke across his face. “Sounds like they’re coming for you, don’t it?” His smile