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“I didn’t like him,” Bunny repeated.
The lawyer slapped his hand on his desk. “Bunny, I can’t take your case. I got a busy practice and I’m already overbooked.”
Bunny glowered.
“I’m expensive,” he said to me, shrugging. “Your mother can’t afford me.”
Bunny flicked her head in my direction. “Martha, will you leave us, please.”
I went out and sat down again on the couch in the waiting room. Mrs. Vernon was going to be worried, I knew. I’d already been gone two hours.
The sound of voices rose and fell in the inner office. I listened hard, but couldn’t make out what was being said. After a while, the voices got lighter and I heard an occasional laugh. Finally, Mr. Beach opened the door. He was holding a cigar, and smoke spilled out of the room behind him. “Do us a favor, wouldja, honey,” he said to me. “Run down to the Buffalo and get us a glass of ice.”
The Buffalo Tavern is on the first floor of the hotel, set off from the lobby by a pair of swinging doors. I’d never been inside, but I’d paused, once or twice, to peek through the crack between the doors. There was a long, curving bar, rows of bottles lined up in front of a huge mirror and bright-colored beer signs breaking the darkness. Men you’d never otherwise see around town were always going in and out.
I walked down to the lobby, then stood by the swinging doors for a few seconds before pushing on through. The room was bigger than I’d imagined. The bar swept off in a slow curve and disappeared in darkness, far at the other end. A few tables were scattered to the left, and, at one of them, someone was hunched over. There was a mop of tangled gray hair, beer bottles all around—whoever it was seemed to be in disarray, and I didn’t dare stare. To the right, on the wall above the mirror, someone had hung a buffalo’s head and decorated it with a giant pair of earmuffs. The buffalo’s blank, glass eyes looked down on the bar. Two men in suits were sitting on stools, talking to the bartender.
“It’s all numbers,” the first man was saying. He had a bald head and a crisp, efficient look. “They do it by numbers, and if the numbers don’t add up, that’s it.”
“Yeah,” said the second man. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We just listen to the numbers guys.”
“It’ll be real hard,” said the bartender. He had on a green knit shirt with a little palm tree over the pocket. “This town lives off that factory.”
“Hey, I know,” said the bald man. “I grew up in a factory town.”
In the back, suddenly, there was a clumping sound, followed by the crash of breaking glass. A bottle had been knocked to the floor.
“Christ,” said the bartender.
The two men in suits turned and gawked. The drinker slumped at the table straightened up groggily. I recognized Edith, an old woman I see around the square. In the summer, she likes to sit on a bench with her skirt pulled up and her stockings rolled down, getting a little sun on her knees.
“Jack, I shpilled it,” she mumbled.
“I heard,” said the bartender. “I’ll get it.”
“What’s she doing in here?” asked the bald man. He made a face.
Edith’s head rolled around her shoulders and she plucked absently at her gray curls.
“Look at her,” said the bald man. “She’s a mess.”
“She’s all right,” the bartender said. “She’s been sobering up for the last hour, just napping. She’ll go home and go to bed now.”
“No, I mean it,” the man insisted. “Why do you let her in? She’s disgusting.”
“Hey, cool off,” said his companion.
“Yeah,” said the bartender quietly. Lifting the flap to get out from behind the bar, he noticed me. “How long have you been there?” he asked irritably.
“Just now. I came for some ice. A glass of ice for Mr. Beach.”
“Ohhh,” he said, putting down the flap. He scooped ice out of a big, open tray and handed me the glass. “Ice for the little lady,” he said.
“The big lady!” said the bald man, leaning over to grin at me.
I thanked the bartender and hurried out.
Bunny and Mr. Beach stayed in the office for another hour or so. I could hear them laughing and the ice tinkling in their glasses. I considered using the secretary’s phone to call Mrs. Vernon, but I was afraid Bunny would hear me and get mad. While the room got darker, I just sat on the couch and waited, hoping Bunny knew what she was doing.
