you something from the bar?” he said, indicating the chilled empty glass in front of me. “How ‘bout a nice cream soda?”
I sat down across from him.
“Just coffee,” I said. “You drinking anything?”
“Everything,” he said. “Which is why I stick with cream soda.”
Kowalski leaned in, lowered his voice. “Obadiah, I’m seven years sober today. Christ, I’m tickled pink about that.”
“Congrats,” I said.
Again the wave: “Who gives a shit?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Obadiah, I shared that information with you because I believe that you and I are going to become friends.”
“That’s probably overstating things,” I said.
“Oh, not today,” Kowalski continued. “Hell, probably not even next year. But what I’m going to tell you about your father... Well let’s just say that he and I came from different worlds. Circumstances brought us together, changed both our lives. We were partners for nearly thirty years.”
By now I was profoundly uncomfortable. I turned, hoping to find a waiter—or a runaway bus to throw myself under.
“Your mom told you part of a story that began before you were born,” Kowalski said.
I nodded. “That you and my father were some sort of spook detectives.”
Kowalski winced. “Monster killers, son. Marcus Grudge and I were monster killers.”
“Listen, Mr. Kowalski,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of sick stunt you’re trying to pull over on my mother, but I came here today to tell you: It’s over.”
Kowalski looked up from his salad as if he hadn’t heard me. “How’s that?”
“I don’t know what kind of twisted though perfectly acceptable sexual relationship you and my father had and frankly, I don’t care,” I said. “I want you to stay away from my mother.”
“Sexual relationship?” Kowalski growled. “ Sexual relationship? ”
Kowalski laughed.
I clenched my jaw to control the flow of outrage that seeped around my teeth. Something about Kowalski set my nerves on edge.
“You’ve filled her head with a lot of fairy tales and somehow, perhaps because of closet alcoholism or some undiagnosed mental disorder, she’s come to believe them. But whatever the reason: It’s officially done.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my checkbook.
“I’m going to write you a check for more money than you’ve ever seen back at whatever trailer park you came from. I’m going to give you this check, and then you are going to disappear, just like Count Dracula or the Invisible Man or whoever else you’d like to invite to your indictment, which I will personally guarantee if you come within fifty yards of me, my mother, or anyone in the tri-state area who bears a passing family resemblance. Capische?”
Kowalski stared at the check.
“I’ll take that as a “yes,”” I said.
I stood, feeling like a righteous defender of the mentally defective. I reached into my wallet and threw a five dollar bill onto the table.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
I spun on my heel and walked away from the table.
“Why do you think your books are so successful, Mr. Grudge?” Kowalski said.
I stopped. “Oh, I don’t know, Mister Kowalski,” I said. “What say you just chalk it up to dumb luck and fuck off.”
“You believe her.”
I turned back.
“What did you say?”
“You believe every word of what Lenore said and it scares the pistachios outta you,” Kowalski said, tapping the side of his blue-veined nose. “I can smell the fear comin’ off you in waves . Hell, you’re scared shitless; because you believe and you don’t even know why.”
He grinned. “Why didn’t you look in the black box?”
“How did you…?”
Kowalski smirked. “Look at you,” he said. “You’re one cocky son of a bitch. You dance across the bestseller lists and tell yourself that it’s because of raw talent and hard work when the truth is you’re a hack. “What’s worse? You know you’re a hack.”
“You arrogant
I sat down across from him.
“Just coffee,” I said. “You drinking anything?”
“Everything,” he said. “Which is why I stick with cream soda.”
Kowalski leaned in, lowered his voice. “Obadiah, I’m seven years sober today. Christ, I’m tickled pink about that.”
“Congrats,” I said.
Again the wave: “Who gives a shit?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Obadiah, I shared that information with you because I believe that you and I are going to become friends.”
“That’s probably overstating things,” I said.
“Oh, not today,” Kowalski continued. “Hell, probably not even next year. But what I’m going to tell you about your father... Well let’s just say that he and I came from different worlds. Circumstances brought us together, changed both our lives. We were partners for nearly thirty years.”
By now I was profoundly uncomfortable. I turned, hoping to find a waiter—or a runaway bus to throw myself under.
“Your mom told you part of a story that began before you were born,” Kowalski said.
I nodded. “That you and my father were some sort of spook detectives.”
Kowalski winced. “Monster killers, son. Marcus Grudge and I were monster killers.”
“Listen, Mr. Kowalski,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of sick stunt you’re trying to pull over on my mother, but I came here today to tell you: It’s over.”
Kowalski looked up from his salad as if he hadn’t heard me. “How’s that?”
“I don’t know what kind of twisted though perfectly acceptable sexual relationship you and my father had and frankly, I don’t care,” I said. “I want you to stay away from my mother.”
“Sexual relationship?” Kowalski growled. “ Sexual relationship? ”
Kowalski laughed.
I clenched my jaw to control the flow of outrage that seeped around my teeth. Something about Kowalski set my nerves on edge.
“You’ve filled her head with a lot of fairy tales and somehow, perhaps because of closet alcoholism or some undiagnosed mental disorder, she’s come to believe them. But whatever the reason: It’s officially done.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my checkbook.
“I’m going to write you a check for more money than you’ve ever seen back at whatever trailer park you came from. I’m going to give you this check, and then you are going to disappear, just like Count Dracula or the Invisible Man or whoever else you’d like to invite to your indictment, which I will personally guarantee if you come within fifty yards of me, my mother, or anyone in the tri-state area who bears a passing family resemblance. Capische?”
Kowalski stared at the check.
“I’ll take that as a “yes,”” I said.
I stood, feeling like a righteous defender of the mentally defective. I reached into my wallet and threw a five dollar bill onto the table.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
I spun on my heel and walked away from the table.
“Why do you think your books are so successful, Mr. Grudge?” Kowalski said.
I stopped. “Oh, I don’t know, Mister Kowalski,” I said. “What say you just chalk it up to dumb luck and fuck off.”
“You believe her.”
I turned back.
“What did you say?”
“You believe every word of what Lenore said and it scares the pistachios outta you,” Kowalski said, tapping the side of his blue-veined nose. “I can smell the fear comin’ off you in waves . Hell, you’re scared shitless; because you believe and you don’t even know why.”
He grinned. “Why didn’t you look in the black box?”
“How did you…?”
Kowalski smirked. “Look at you,” he said. “You’re one cocky son of a bitch. You dance across the bestseller lists and tell yourself that it’s because of raw talent and hard work when the truth is you’re a hack. “What’s worse? You know you’re a hack.”
“You arrogant
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