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“Wes?”
“Yeah, I’m sure you won’t remember him. Hardly anybody does, you know. He was this real quiet old drunk with no friends or family. Never said ‘boo’ to nobody and he worked here for twelve years—checked his records.”
“What about him?”
“Well, like I said, he was a loner, a, oh what’s the word?
Yeah, a recluse.” He emphasized the last syllable. “Guy worked here for years, never said nothin’ to nobody, never missed work though.
Can’t say he performed too well when he was here. Nothin’ remarkable or memorable about that guy. Turns out he lived in these rooms downtown above the bakery. Been livin’ there for years. A serious drunk. Used to go down to this little bar, Vinny’s, walkin’ distance from his apartment, and get waxed every night.”
This story was going nowhere fast. I tried to urge Lenny to get to the point using my facial expression, but he was looking at something over my shoulder now and lighting up another smoke.
“Well, on Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve he’s just goin’ out drinkin’ like any normal night. Real sad if you ask me. If I’da known I’da invited over to my place. Well, he goes down there and drinks ‘til the joint closes, right? Walkin’ home, along Main Street, headed back home to an empty apartment on Christmas morn’ and he passes out, right there in the snow.”
I was interested now.
“So he’s just layin’ there in this snow bank, musta headed into somebody’s yard because he wasn’t right on the sidewalk or nothin’ Oh yeah, I forgot.” He paused to take a drag and offered me another cigarette, which I took and lit, waiting for the rest of the story. “We got a pretty heavy snowfall that night. Looked beautiful just glistenin’ away on Christmas mornin’. Kids thought it was the greatest thing. Anyway, it was near seven inches I think. So, after the holiday, we all come back to work like normal, and after a couple days, somebody notices that Wes hasn’t shown up for a coupla days.
Well, I had Irma check it for sure, and he’d been out for a full week an’ a half. Course it was a holiday, but still. We had his home phone number and all, so we called. Got no answer for three days so we called the cops.”
He looked at me just to gauge my response. I must have looked interested enough to satisfy him. He went on.
“Well, the cops conducted an official search of Wes’s house and all. Get this, though—they didn’t find nothin’. Not a trace of him. Just like a ghost. They come back to me, and says they didn’t turn nothin’ up. Maybe he just took off on a vacation or somethin’.
Strangest thing, but I tried to put it out of my mind. Well, that Saturday, I’m out to dinner with my wife, and I run into Mackey— this friend of mine who’s a cop. He knows I made the call, so he starts talkin’ about the case and how strange it is and all. Well, I asked him, did they bother to check that strip of Main Street between Vinny’s place and the bakery. He says no, so then I tell him they better go back and check closer, because they’re goinna find a big clue between them two locations—these are the only places he goes to, remember. So, next day, they go back, and check real close and all that. Well, would you believe that they found the poor bastard lyin’ face down in a snow bank about halfway between home and that tavern, covered in the Christmas Eve snow, dead and frozen solid.”
This was certainly not one of Lenny’s run-of-the-mill stories.I let him finish it off because I could tell he was eager to do so.
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