25.04.2013 Views

The Geographer's Library

The Geographer's Library

The Geographer's Library

SHOW MORE
SHOW LESS

Create successful ePaper yourself

Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.

Jon Fasman<br />

green-checked flannel shirt, untucked over sagging blue jeans, and was serving<br />

shots and beers to a pair of skinny, sleepy-looking guys at the bar.<br />

“Sorry?”<br />

“Membership car’. This a private club. Members only.” <strong>The</strong> last time I<br />

had heard that, a gold-toothed Albanian had threatened to kill me. And when<br />

did dingy bars in New England backwaters become so exclusive?<br />

“I never noticed this place before. I used to live a few blocks over, and—”<br />

“This ain’t a student bar. Not for you here. This the Portuguese Men’s<br />

Club. You Portuguese man?”<br />

“I’m not.”<br />

“Well, there you go. Some other bar for you. This my place here.”<br />

I nodded curtly, and he did the same. <strong>The</strong>n one of the skinny guys walked<br />

over and shut the door.<br />

i crossed downtown on foot in about thirty minutes and reached the<br />

police station at around two. Two pudgy beat cops were dragging a man in<br />

cuffs up the stairs when I arrived. <strong>The</strong> guy kept listing to his right and mumbling,<br />

while the policemen carried on a normal conversation about their<br />

wives: they looked like a percent sign slowly rising up the stairs.<br />

I asked the desk sergeant where I could find Joe Jadid.<br />

“Ain’t on till four. You need to leave a message with me?”<br />

“He told me to meet him here a little early. Any chance he’s in yet?”<br />

He huffed mightily, stood up, and leaned over the desk toward me. I<br />

stepped back and caught a faint stink of whiskey coming off him. He pointed<br />

to a glass-fronted door at the end of the hallway. “See that door there? Interview<br />

Room One. Jadid likes to sit in there and read the papers when nobody<br />

else is using it. He ain’t there, you go up one flight and ask for Detective<br />

Gomes. He’ll help you.”<br />

“Thanks.” He nodded and sat back down, puffing out again as he did it,<br />

his belly jiggling and settling pouchily back onto his thighs.<br />

I knocked tentatively on the door of the interview room. A deep voice<br />

told me to come in, and I did. Sitting at one end of a long metal table was a<br />

beefy, olive-skinned man with short, curly black hair and crow-black eyes. He<br />

194

Hooray! Your file is uploaded and ready to be published.

Saved successfully!

Ooh no, something went wrong!