Page 99 of Never Flinch

“I’m asking you.”

“We haven’t identified him. Staties, either, and the Feebs make three. Going through aliases—the computer guys are on that—and also spinning through the voter registration rolls. We’ve found Trigano, Trigelgas, Trigwell, Trigham… I won’t bore you, there’s sixty or seventy more, many of them Greek. I’m sure the State Police are duplicating our work.”

“What about recovery meetings?”

“It’s hard getting a handle there because of the anonymity thing, but I’ve found two cops who go to meetings, and Tom has got another one. So far, no one has heard of a Trig. Or Briggs, for that matter.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Sure. When I’m not busy finding out if I can still throw a dropball.”

Lewis lets her have the last word, and she leaves, feeling a little better. Afternoons at the park, chili dogs, spring sunshine. Good-looking cops (some of them, at least). What could possibly go wrong?

2

While Izzy Jaynes (dressed in her new blue shorts and new blue tee) is playing long toss at Dingley Park, John Ackerly is attending the afternoon Straight Circle meeting in the basement of the Buell Street Methodist Church. It’s always good to get a meeting, but he has another purpose this afternoon. He listens closely as the attendees identify themselves. No one calls himself Trig, but John could swear that someonedid, not too long ago, and maybe at this very meeting. And maybe talking to Big Book Mike afterward? It’s hard to be sure if it’s a real memory or a false one. He goes to meetings all over the city, and there’s certainly no face to go with the name.

He usually skips The Flame coffee shop—what alkies and druggies call the meeting after the meeting—but today he goes down there. A scrawny older man is leaning against the bricks outside, smoking a cigarette.

“Telescope!” John says.

“How ya doon, Johnny?”

“Hanging in there. Good meeting, wasn’t it?”

“You know what they say, the worst meeting I ever went to was fuckin great.” Telescope gives a phlegmy laugh.

“Shame about what happened to the Rev.”

“Oh, man—I saw him just last month. Had a good convo. Last month was April, right? About how to handle my brother. Fuckin Jimmy’s always comin over, trine to get me to go out drinkin with him. Like in the old days, you know. I needed some tips on how to handle him. And then someone offed him! The Rev, I mean, not my brother. How fucked up is that?”

“Totally.”

“You know what they say: Only the good die young. Billy Idol even wrote a song about it.”

John doesn’t bother telling him he’s got the wrong Billy. “Have a question for you. Ever been in meetings with someone calling himself Trig?”

Telescope squints one eye in an effort to remember, then shakes his head. John isn’t surprised; Telly isn’t even positive last month was April, after all. “Ask 2-Tone, why don’t you? She’s in there havin a coffee. Hey, you wouldn’t buy me one, would you? I’m a little light this week.”

“Sure.” He gives Telescope a couple of bucks and goes inside. The woman he’s looking for is sitting at the counter, sipping coffee. Her hair is now back to its original brown, but she still IDs herself in meetings as Cathy 2-Tone. He sits down next to her and they talk for awhile about the Rev.

2-Tone says she also saw the Rev for counseling in April (at least she’s sure of the month), but doesn’t tell John what she wanted counseling about, which is okay with him. That’s not what he’s after.

“I’m curious if you know a guy named Trig who goes to meetings.”

“Why’s that?” She brushes hair back from her face.

“I just want to get with him. Need some advice.”

“Can’t be advice about coke,” Cathy 2-Tone says. “Trig’s an alkie.”

A lead! A lead! He hopes his face doesn’t show his excitement. “You know him?”

“Don’tknowhim, know him. Saw him a couple of times at Straight Circle and once at that closed meeting in Upsala last year, you know the woo-woo one where they turn off the lights and spark up candles?”

“Sure,” John says. He’s never been at any meeting where they light candles, but so what. “Don’t know his last name, do you?”

“Man, I don’t even know hisfirstname, unless it’s Trig. That would be a fucked-up first name, wouldn’t it?” She laughs. “What’s the deal, John?”

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