Page 67 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“Emerald is sitting up all by herself,” I said—mostly to avoid saying all the things I shouldn’t, like they’re talking, they’re drinking, the baby’s in a playpen even though?—
“Oh, she’s been doing that for days. You’ve been running around so much you missed it. It’s your play.”
There were two cards sitting in the middle of the table. I picked up Barbara’s hand, five cards, and said, “I have no idea what to play.”
Bev looked at my hand, and said, “Play the king of hearts.”
I actually had two kings of hearts, which seemed wrong, but then I didn’t know the rules. I played the king, and Bev said, “There, you won the trick.”
“With your help,” Nana Cole said.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He never does.”
“Hey.”
Barbara interrupted with, “Henry, would you like a glass of wine?”
Given the Ativan in my system, I’d likely fall right to sleep. I said, “Absolutely.”
“It’s your lead,” Nana Cole said.
“My what?”
“You play first.”
“Play the ace of trump,” Barbara said, as she poured my glass of wine.
“What’s trump?”
“Barbara, he can get his own pizza, sit back down and play.”
I gave Barbara her seat. I leaned against the counter next to the stove making faces at my sister and sipping wine.
“Where’ve you been all night?” Nana Cole asked.
I was sure she thought I’d staged the whole thing to get them all talking again and had probably just gone to a movie, so I was pleased to say, “Oh, yeah, Brian Belcher is the one who really killed Bobbie LaCross. I’m going to go and explain that to Detective Lehmann in the morning. And Denny Hazzard died of an overdose. I found his body.”
That stopped the card game. The women just stared at me for a moment. Finally, Nana Cole said, “And you’re just sitting here playing cards and not saying a word?”
Apparently, she’d forgotten the part where she made me sit down and play a game I didn’t know the rules to.
“Poor Joe,” Barbara said.
“It’s been coming,” Bev said.
And that made me wonder if anyone in this place knew what a secret was. Obviously, no one kept them.
“Was it murder?” Nana Cole asked. “Did someone kill Joe’s boy?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“You just asked me. Why ask me if you’re not going to believe what I say?”
“If you found him, you must have seen something. Bruising, scratches, blood, bullet holes.”
