Yes to Maybe Read online

  “Maybe,” said Tim.

  “Say yes to the maybes,” Mickey said. “If you say no then they’ll become the might have beens.”

  Over the next several months the property was purchased, house remodeled to fit the needs of the business, and ready for opening with the help of Mickey Russo. In completing this feat Tim found himself a decent businessman when it came to running his own place, and the newest member of Mickey’s flock.

  The Middle

  The pain was searing through him as the pressure seemed to grow with each passing second. Tim squirmed in his 1985 Ford Taurus as he searched for any type of container he could find in the back seat floorboards. The only item he found was an old Styrofoam coffee cup with the bottom crushed out of it. He wasn’t sure just how long he sat in his car having forgotten to check the clock when he locked up. The first time he remembered looking at his watch it was 1:30 a.m.

  “It’s been at least three hours,” Tim said to the empty car.

  Even though Maybe’s was technically a bar, Tim decided to always close the doors at midnight. He thought this would offer him the chance to go out and party with friends after closing up his own business. This practice was soon abandoned, but closing the bar at midnight stayed in effect. He liked the idea of getting home earlier than 3 a.m. It also afforded him the opportunity of managing business, personal or professional, while the rest of the waking world was conducting itself in its usual 8 to 5 workday.

  The thermos of coffee he prepared before closing down the bar was empty, but even with Tim’s condition he was not willing to return the processed remains of the liquid to the container.

  “I could piss in this thing,” he said to the thermos, “go outside the car and risk being seen, or go into the bar.”

  A minute went by as he contemplated his choices. He unbuttoned his jeans in hope of relief that did not come. His brow was glistened with sweat. The lower part of his abdomen swelled as he leaned his seat back as far as he would allow. He cursed as he felt a few drops dampend his underwear and jeans as he grabbed his groin. Unable to hold it any longer he opened the car door and sprinted toward his business with his keys held firm in one hand, his crotch in the other. As he crossed the street he felt a few more drops dampen the already wet area and knew he would not make it inside. Instead of fumbling with keys, fumbling for lights, making his way through an obstacles of chairs and tables to get to the restroom he headed for the back of the building. His pants already unzipped and behind his place of business in the darkness he let loose the fickle stream of urine. He forced himself to be quiet as tears formed in his eyes as he relished in the relief while the rest of his body began to relax. Moments before he zipped up, he listened for any sound coming from inside only to be fooled by his own breathing. He returned to his car to retrieve a small Louisville Slugger he kept in his trunk. Making his way back across the street with the bat in his hand he began to psyche himself up for whatever could be inside.

  Was it possible they came in through the side door, he thought. Maybe they saw him earlier and were waiting for him to leave. Maybe, they saw him across the street and called the whole thing off. Maybe they were waiting for this very moment to sneak up behind him and knock him out cold so they could do their job. At this thought Tim stopped a few feet from the door and turned quickly. Nothing.

  “A whole lot of maybes,” he said to no one.

  He opened the front door, stepped inside, and closed the door as quietly he could. Crouching down in the corner Tim waited for his eyes to adjust while listening for the slightest noise. He only heard his own breathing, which he was trying to control. Ten minutes past, before his legs cramped to the point where he needed to stand. As he stood both knees popped. He cringed at the sound and reprieve this brought remaining motionless a few moments more. He stepped slowly into the main room gazing through the shadows. He could make out certain objects, and areas, but nothing much more. He could see the bar, but not past it. He could see most of the tables and chairs, but not in the dark corners where most of them sat. Reaching over with his left hand he felt around for the light switch, found it, and clicked it on. The first places he looked were the dark corners in hopes of flushing out any would be hiders to his seeking. Again, he found nothing. He sighed in relief having felt that if someone were there, then he would have a fight on his hands. He walked to the bar, placed the bat on the surface, and took in what was before him. Without thinking he turned and walked to the cooler in the back. He opened the door, stood in the doorway as he flipped on the light and appraised the situation. He headed for the safe with a sinking feeling in his gut. Tim’s hands shook as he dialed in the combination. When he reached the final number and turned the handle with it’s familiar click he swung open the door. He reached in and pulled out a piece of folded paper and read the note scribbled on it.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said. Tim returned to the bar and opened all the coolers inspecting the contents. He opened the cash register and found a similar note like he found in the safe. He grabbed the receiver of the phone. For a slight moment Tim wasn’t sure if he was going to make a phone call or beat the telephone into the bar until it splintered into a thousand pieces. His emotions raged with stuttering inconsistency as one moment brought on rage while the next he wanted to burst out laughing. He absently dialed in the number with the hand still holding the notes. On the fourth ring there was a sleepy hello said from the other end of the line.

  “Well,” said Tim, “You did it. You got it all.”

  “What?” said the man. “Who is this?”

  “It’s ‘Your Guy,’” said Tim. “You know him?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Mickey “How is My Guy? I take it not too good since I’m getting a phone call from you at this hour.”

  “You’re God damn right,” said Tim. “I’ve spent the entire night at my bar waiting for Desmond to show up.”

  “And how did that go for you?” said Mickey. “He ever show?”

  “I don’t know how the hell he did it, but no. I haven’t seen him.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Mickey. “Because you owe me money.”

  “Fuck you,” said Tim. “I’m coming to your place to get my booze, and my money.”

  “What?” said Mickey. “Hold on a second, I thought you said he didn’t show. You said you’ve been there all night. Why the hell are you even calling me?”

  “Because you have all my shit you heartless bastard.”

  “I do?”

  “God damn it Mickey,” said Tim. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

  “I’m not you dumb shit,” he said. “Just tell me what the hell is going on. You say you’ve been there all night, then you say all your shit is gone. How the hell am I supposed to keep up? Just calm your ass down and talk to me.”

  Tim took in a deep breath before he continued. “When you called me earlier I decided to stick around and wait for Desmond.”

  “Uh huh,” said Mickey.

  “So I parked my car across the street and camped out in there while I watched the place. I figured they would need a truck of some type to move my stock so I figured I’d wait for them to pull up and I’d pop in and scare the shit out of them.”

  “And?” said Mickey.

  “And, no one ever showed,” said Tim. “So I decided I’d have a look around since it was four fucking thirty in the morning, and I come inside and look around.”

  “And?”

  “And, everything is fucking gone.”

  “Everything?” said Mickey.

  “My cooler is empty,” said Tim. “All my liquor is gone, money in the registers and safe. Hell, the fuckers even took all my napkins, straws, and plastic shot glasses. The only thing I have is a note that says ‘Paid in Full.’ What the fuck are you laughing at?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mickey. “It’s just funny.”

  “Well it’s not,” said Tim. “I told you I’d pay you, but you’re the one who brought this on. Now you have it all and I’m fucke
d.”

  “You’re not fucked,” said Mickey. “Go home and get some rest.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

  “Just quit your bitching,” said Mickey. “There’s no reason for you to stick around, all your shit is gone, so go home and get some rest. I’ll track down Desmond and get him to put everything back. But Tim…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You come to me sometime today so we can settle up and put this thing behind us.”

  “Fine,” said Tim and hung up the phone. He walked around the bar again taking in its bare shelves, let out a bellowing grunt of disgust and searched the rest of the building looking for any clues Desmond would have left behind. Other than the note and vacancy of booze, the place looked normal. Unsatisfied with his detective work he walked out the door he entered minutes before. He locked the door, walked over to his car, got in, started it, and drove off.

  Inside Maybes Bar and Grill the sound of a door opening came from somewhere in the back followed by footsteps heading toward the front of the building toward the bar. The swinging door behind the bar opened and Desmond stepped out like he belonged there, sipping a beer in the darkness. He picked up the phone and dialed a phone number.

  “I figured you were looking for me,” Desmond said to the man on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure how I feel about being set up like this Mickey.”

  “Ah, kid,” Mickey said, “you can call this a test. That’s all.”

  “Uh huh,” said Desmond. “Well as you know, I have everything of your boys. What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Where are you?” said Mickey.

  “Does it matter?” replied Desmond.

  “I suppose not,” said Mickey. “How did you get everything out of Tim’s place without him noticing?”

  “I guess that’s for me to know and you not to know,” said Desmond.

  Mickey chuckled before responding. “You know kid, I think we’re going to do well together.”

  “Maybe,” said Desmond, “as long as you’re not giving everyone a heads up before I do my job.”

  “Like I said kid this was a little test. I wanted to see how you did under pressure.”

  “Well, I have everything, and then some,” said Desmond. “The question is what do you want me to do with it?”

  “Put it all back the way you found it,” said Mickey. “Then come see me today around noon at the office.”

  “At your bar?” said Desmond.

  “Yes, at the saloon.”

  “OK,” said Desmond. “See you then,” and hung up the phone.

  Desmond took another pull off the beer in his hand and sighed. He was tired. He was irritated, and now he had to put everything back.

  “Yo Des,” said a voice from the back of the house.

  “What is it Sean?” said Desmond.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “The deal is we put everything back.”

  “What the fuck?” said Sean.

  “I know,” said Desmond to his younger brother.

  “This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” said Sean.

  “Just shut the hell up,” Desmond said through the opened door by the bar. “You’ll get paid just like me, now get to work. I’ve got to break back into the safe. Once I’ve done that I’ll help you with the rest.”

  “We’re putting back the money too?” said Sean.

  “Did I fucking stutter? I said we’re putting everything back. Now get to work.”

  Tim’s Conclusion

  He toweled off the water from the shower. When he got home he decided to get the night’s funk off of him before trying to rest. Even now, he contemplated the mystery of how Desmond was able to get everything out of the bar without being noticed.

  “I know I didn’t fall asleep,” he said.

  He pulled on some pajama pants and a Maybe’s T-Shirt, then lie in the bed with his arm draped over his head and eyes blocking out any light.

  “How the hell did he do it?” he said to the empty air of his two-bedroom house.

  Twenty minutes went by, then another thirty, and sleep escaped him. He rolled over in bed until he decided to try sleeping in his recliner. More time went by with the same result. Maybe it was the coffee, maybe it was the shock from what he found. Either way, he couldn’t sleep. As the morning light began to seep into the world, Tim decided to go back to his bar and take another look around. Maybe he missed something.

  He sat up in his chair, looked at the clock and saw it said 6:30 a.m. He put on his house slippers, retrieved his wallet and keys, left his house and drove back to his bar a few blocks away. He pulled in and noticed the bare parking lot, the empty look of the house, and noticed the faded appearance of the paint.

  “I’m going to need to vinyl side this place,” he said to no one.

  At the front entrance he slid his key into the lock and sighed. His exhaustion was starting to sink in from the lack of sleep. He decided to come back to see if he could find more clues as well as to see if there was anything else he missed that may have been taken. He unlocked the door and shuffled inside. When it closed behind him the sound of the door gave him a jump. He rubbed his eyes and refocused his gaze behind the bar. He saw the outline of bottles against the back wall as though they had never been missing. As he stepped closer to the bar, he could see that everything that had once been gone along the shelves was back.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  He made his way around the bar and checked the coolers. It was completely stocked as though he were ready for the next day’s business. Tim made his way to the cooler and found the same result. Everything that had been gone was now magically back. The contents of the safe had also returned with another note. “Full Refund,” it said. He walked around in a daze taking note the items previously missing now resting in their usual homes as though they never left. He went back behind the bar to close the coolers when he noticed two empty Bud Light bottles sitting on the bar, ten dollars sitting under them with another note. He picked up the note and read aloud.

  “Thanks for the beers,” Tim read. “Have a nice day.”

  The After

  “So how did you two do it,” Mickey said between puffs of his cigar. The office inside Mickey’s Saloon was cramped, littered with papers, and reeked of cigar smoke with the hint of soured whiskey. Mickey sat in his chair sporting his usual uniform of button up Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. The brothers sat across the desk from Mickey stifling coughs while trying to control their eyes from watering.

  “I told you,” said Desmond. He looked over at his brother who sat wide-eyed as though he had been called into the principle’s office. Desmond nudged him in attempts to change his brother’s obvious shock. “That’s for me to know, and you not to know.”

  Mickey let out a gravelly laugh. The small room continued to fill with smoke as he took another puff. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll tell you something you want to know if you tell me how you did it.”

  Desmond contemplated the offer and looked at his brother who stared blankly back.

  “So what’s it going to be?” said Mickey.

  “Sean, step outside. I’ll meet you in the truck,” Desmond said.

  Sean rose, shook Mickey’s hand, and did as he was told. Desmond waited to speak until he was sure Sean was far enough away.

  “Why did you murder David Hahn?” said Desmond.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mickey.

  “You can cut the shit Mickey,” said Desmond. “You forget that I was sitting right across the table from him when you slit his throat.”

  Mickey shifted in his seat. Desmond could tell the old man didn’t want to relive, or talk about, that night.

  “You forget how you put a revolver on the table before he got there?” said Desmond. “It’s kind of a funny thing what you did. If I would have grabbed that gun, and pulled the trigger he probably would have still pissed himself. But, I could tell som
ething was off. So as much as I wanted to, I didn’t pick up that gun. Instead, David comes in to see me. Then you make him pick up the gun and put it to his head. You made it sound like that was what he owed me, like that was what he owed everyone. So he pulled the trigger, and the gun went click and, he pissed and cried all over himself. What was all that for? Was that to show me something? Then you cut his throat, and I have to watch this guy bleed to death while you tell me to sit down. So why did you kill him? Why wouldn’t you let me kill him? He killed my mother. Why wouldn’t you let me do that?”

  Mickey sat silent for a moment before he cleared his throat and extinguished his cigar. “I did what I did because I know getting revenge doesn’t solve anything. I’ve had that experience. It only makes that hole inside you bigger. No matter what you do, it only grows. I hadn’t seen the shit you have at your age. You actually watching your mother die like that… Seeing her get run over and… Nobody should have to go through that. I did what I did because I wanted you to know that justice was done. David was my guy. I’d known him for longer than you and your brother have been alive. What he did… Even though it was an accident… He had to pay for his sins, just like I will when it’s my time. But I did what I did, so you could move on. You may be a little wet behind the ears to know why I did what I did, but you’ll figure it out one day.”

  “Uh huh,” said Desmond.

  “I’m telling you this because you asked. You deserve an answer. But, from this day forward I don’t want to ever discuss this again.”

  “Understood,” said Desmond. The answer wasn’t satisfactory, but Desmond realized any answer would not suffice. He wanted David Hahn dead, and Desmond wanted to be the one controlling the situation in David’s suffering. Mickey took that away from him, but, at the same time, Mickey freed him from the obsession David had become for Desmond.