Last Known Position

5. Strong Arm

83 strong arm “Henry J. Lippman!” a gruff, smoker’s voice bellowed across the stretch of empty tables in the Iron Kettle Restaurant and Bar. “I’ll be shot and stuffed if that ain’t Henry J. Lippman!” From the corner booth where a disinterested hostess had parked him moments before, Henry Lippman adjusted his glasses and searched for the source of the voice. He did not expect to recognize its owner since he knew very few people and was, after all, waiting for a woman. He certainly did not expect to see the tall, barrel-chested man threading his way between the tables, still laughing with amazement and familiarity. With a nervousness that comes from knowing very few people, Henry fidgeted in his seat and began to fiddle with the buttons of his rumpled, rust-colored suit. On the table in front of him lay a vinyl photo album. He considered hiding it, but realized there wasn’t enough time so he simply pulled it closer to his chest. As the man drew closer, past the restroom entrance and a dartboard bristling with red and blue plastic darts, Henry could see the man’s bulk was considerable and not a trick of early evening light. He wore a tweed sports coat over a polo shirt that was buttoned to the collar. A stylish mass of black hair framed a rigid, 84 LAST KNOWN POSITION deeply tanned face. The man was carrying a manila folder. When he reached Henry’s table he thrust out an enormous hand and said, “Henry, my main man . . . how in the hell are ya?” Henry shook the man’s hand and nodded dumbly. It was only after the stranger slid into the booth that Henry was absolutely certain the two had never crossed paths before. “I’m waiting for someone,” Henry said. “You and me both, cowboy.” The man glanced around and snapped his fingers into the air. “Service! Who do I have to see to get a little service around here?” “Excuse me, but—” “There she is!” the man said to the approaching waitress. He squinted in an effort to read her name tag and said, “Let’s see, who do we have here? Judith. You don’t mind if I call you Judy, do you? Judith sounds too old for a pretty young thing like you.” The waitress was smiling by the time she reached the table and clearly did not mind. “Judy,” the man said, pursing his lips in a contemplative manner . “My good friend and I are suffering from a serious lack of spirits, to the extent that we have outright forgotten the meaning of a good tip. Can you help a couple of poor patrons get their memory back?” The waitress crossed her arms and frowned, hamming it up. “Well, I can sure give it the ol’ high school try,” she said. “That’s my girl. What’s your poison, Hank?” “Listen,” Henry said, “I really think—” “Wait, don’t tell me.” The man shut his eyes and pressed his fingers into the base of his tanned scalp before exclaiming, “Long Island Iced Tea! Am I right?” “I don’t—” “Let’s make it two, Judy. And be a peach and go real easy on the teasy.” Strong Arm 85 The stranger examined the waitress’s rear as she turned to walk off and for a moment, Henry thought the man might actually reach out and grab it. Instead, the man leaned back and smacked his lips. “Now that’s a fridge I’d love to raid at midnight , eh?” “Look,” Henry said. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I don’t know you. Now, please. I’m waiting for someone.” “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, brother,” the man said. “You act like you’re waiting for a movie star or something.” He hooked his thumb back toward a flickering television set perched above the bar. “You’d think Lisa Williams herself was going to get up from behind the news desk, walk right out of the screen and plop down in this booth with you.” Henry started to speak, but stopped. He stared across the table at the man. “Who are you?” he said. “Who am I, who am I,” the man muttered. “Who’s anybody in this crazy make-believe world, huh?” The waitress reappeared carrying a tray with two drinks. The man winked at...