Summer in Eclipse Bay (Eclipse Bay #3) 5

"Back in the big city, folks would probably say that Eugene and Dwayne are the products of dysfunctional families. But around here we just call them bums."

Nick pushed open the door and stepped into the perpetual gloom of the Total Eclipse. He removed his sunglasses and let the smell of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and rancid grease envelop him. The combination brought back a lot of memories.

Some things were a given in Eclipse Bay. A guy bought his first condom from Virgil Nash, not because Grover's Pharmacy didn't stock them, but because it was too damn embarrassing to buy a box from Pete Grover. The pharmacist knew everyone's medical history from date of birth and did not hesitate to make his opinion of your sex life clear. And he always tried to get names. Even if you got up the nerve to risk his beady-eyed scrutiny, you faced the very real threat that he would notify your folks or, worse yet, the girl's folks that the purchase had been made.

Showing up here at the Total Eclipse on the day you were finally old enough to buy a legal beer was another rite of passage for young males in Eclipse Bay. By the same token, if you were, still buying a lot of your beers here at age twenty-five or beyond, it was understood that you were never going to amount to much and that you were probably doomed to live out your life at the bottom of the town's social ladder.

Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne were shining examples of the accuracy of that hypothesis. They were in their mid-thirties and still bought their beers here.

Nick gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the shadows. The only lights in the Total Eclipse were the narrow spots over the pool tables in the room at the back, the green glass lamp next to the cash register at the bar, and the weak candles in the little red glass holders on the tables. The candles were Fred's notion of ambience.

The place was nearly empty at this time of day. Being seen at the Total Eclipse at any time invited unpleasant comments from the more high-minded members of the community. The comments were always a lot more scathing if you hung out here when there was daylight outside.

But the prospect of societal disapproval did not worry guys like Eugene and his buddy, Dwayne.

Eugene Woods had been born to bully. In high school his size and weight issues had ensured that he went on to become a local football legend and a known thug at Eclipse Bay High. Eugene's post-football years had not gone well, however. The layer of padding that had stood him in good stead on the field had increased in volume, and his brutish ways had earned him an extremely limited circle of friends. Sooner or later his poor work ethic screwed up any job he managed to land.

Dwayne was his constant companion. Dickhead was not really an accurate descriptor, at least not when applied to Dwayne's features. He reminded Nick more of an oversized insect.

Dwayne was thin and brittle with spidery legs and arms. He looked as if he'd crunch if you stepped on him. He twitched a lot, too, like a bug that had been hit with a dose of pesticide.

Bar stools were uncomfortable for a man of Eugene's proportions. Nick looked for his quarry in one of the booths.

Eugene was there, sitting at a grimy table with Dwayne. The big man faced the door, in true Old West gunslinger style. There was just enough light coming from the little candle in the red glass holder to reveal the meanness in his eyes and the ragged tears in the grimy tee shirt stretched over his belly.

Interviewing Mean Eugene was not going to be easy.

Nick went toward the booth. He nodded once at Fred when he went past the bar.

"Fred."

"How you doin', Nick?" Fred did not look up from the little television set he had positioned behind the bar. He was watching a long-running soap opera. Fred was addicted to the soaps.

"Doin' okay, thanks," Nick said.

Civilities completed, he moved on to the booth and stopped. He looked at Eugene and Dwayne.

"Can I buy you gentlemen a beer?" he asked.

Dwayne, who'd been concentrating on a dripping cheeseburger, started and looked up with a startled expression. Clearly the word gentlemen had confounded him. And with good reason, Nick thought.

But Eugene, always the faster of the two, chortled. "So we're gentlemen now, huh? Hell, yes, you can buy us a couple of beers. Never say no to a free beer. Besides, it ain't every day a Harte wanders in here and makes an offer like that, now, is it? Sit down."

"Thanks." Nick considered and discarded the prospect of sharing one of the torn, orange vinyl benches with either Eugene or Dwayne. When you dealt with guys like this you did not want to find yourself wedged into a tight place.

He glanced around, spotted a scarred wooden chair at a nearby table, and grabbed it. He reversed it and sat down astride, resting his folded arms on the back.

Eugene swiveled his head, an amazing feat considering that he lacked any sign of an actual neck.

"Hey, Fred," Eugene called loudly. "Harte, here, is gonna stand me and Dwayne to a coupla beers. Give us some of that good stuff you've got on draft."

Fred did not reply, but he reached for two glasses without turning away from the television screen, where someone was dying bravely in a hospital bed.

Eugene squinted malevolently. "You didn't come here to be friendly, Harte. Your type doesn't hang out with guys like us. Whatcha want?"

"Yeah," Dwayne said around a mouthful of burger. "Whatcha want?"

Nick kept his attention on Eugene. "Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, Eugene?"

"You can ask." Eugene polished off the last of the beer he had been drinking when Nick arrived. He wiped his mouth on the back of his shirtsleeve. "I'll decide if I feel like answering."

"I hear you've been speculating openly on the question of who might have taken that painting that's gone missing from the gallery up the street," Nick said casually.

"Hell, I knew it." Eugene uttered a satisfied little snort, savoring his own brilliance. "So you're playing detective, huh? Just like the guy in your books? What's his name? True?"

Nick raised his brows. "You read my books, Eugene?"

"Nan. I don't read much. I'm more into the sports channel, y'know? XXXtreme Fringe Wrestling is my favorite program."

"Mine, too," Dwayne volunteered. "That's the one where the women fight almost buck-nekked. They just wear those little leather thong things, y'know? You oughta see those tits flapping around in the ring."

"Hard for a book to compete with that kind of upscale entertainment," Nick said.

"Yeah," Eugene agreed. "But I seen your novels down at Fulton's when they come out in paperback. They got that little rack next to the checkout counter, y'know?"