Bar None

Chapter One

Somebody had to do it and that somebody was me. The Corner Lounge was my bar and cutting fruit was my job. Even the satisfying heft of the big steel blade slicing through soft skin and pliant flesh like a guillotine chopping off a head didn’t make a difference. Cutting fruit was a horrible job, and I hated it. I had bags of it to get through. Mounds of oranges, lemons and limes all needing the deft touch of my knife to turn them into a pile of colorful wedges and curls destined to garnish Margaritas, Cosmopolitans, Martinis and the like. All so they could finally disappear in the garbage with the toss of a wrist. Work that left me with nicked fingers still stinging hours later. Really, it was a lost cause. One that I got to repeat every day.

It was ironic when you thought about it, given that my name was Jude. I couldn’t imagine what my parents could have been thinking, well, my Catholic school-reared mom that was. Did she believe saddling her baby girl with the name of the saint people call on when all else fails, when they’re desperate, when they literally might not have a leg to stand on, would trick fate and keep me safely out of harm’s way?

I had to say it didn’t work out exactly according to plan. Not with life, so far, or for my bar and restaurant either. The Corner Lounge wasn’t a lost cause; it just seemed that way sometimes. Like when I tried to keep my partner happy, the tables full and my creditors at bay.

I loved the bar business, really I did, and I was pretty good at it. When I opened The Lounge, I had a vision of a comfortable, friendly spot where people could hang out at the bar, get a good meal and listen to some live music on the weekends. A vision? Okay, maybe a bit of that St. Jude vibe did rub off on me. After all, everyone needed a little help now and again, right? Especially when three o’clock rolled around and it was time to cut fruit. I usually had company while I performed this chore, my buddy Sully, who occupied his favorite bar stool while I got the place ready for business. Today he was a no-show. Now, where was St. Jude when I needed him?

After I finished my cutting chores and the fruits of my labor were stored in the covered containers at my station and at the service bar on the other end, I moved on to the rest of my daily pre-opening tasks. Next up was checking the bottles on the back bar and in the speed rack and replacing the empties while Jimmy, my barman, brought up ice and new kegs from the basement for our beers on tap.

When all of the booze was accounted for, it was time to wipe down my beautiful carved wood and brass bar extravagance. It held pride of place in The Lounge and I’d designed my décor around it.

The back bar was fashioned from a series of antique mirrors supporting glass shelves and lit with pin lights that showcased our premium brands of vodka, tequila, gin, rum, whisky and Scotch as well as the more trendy spirit offerings. I’d had the walls painted a soft, pearl gray with randomly placed hand-rubbed streaks of silver that cast a subtle shimmery glow over the space. The room was finished with a mix of plush gray, high-backed banquettes with sleek black tables and soft post-modern floor lamps and sconces that made The Lounge feel just different enough to be cool, yet comfortable enough to make my customers want to linger for a while.

Sully walked in just as I finished polishing the bar before the after-work crowd arrived for the five to seven Corner Lounge Social Hour.

You’re late. My fruit and I missed you. I tossed him an errant lemon that had escaped the block. Sully caught it and sat down on his stool—the corner one nearest the window—and I reached for the bottle of Jameson behind me. What kept you? I poured a good measure of the Irish into a rocks glass and placed it on a coaster in front of him.

Had to stay late at Big City. He was referring to his place of business, the Big City Food Coop. One of the trucks conked out just as it pulled in after the late deliveries. I waited with the driver until the mechanic showed up. It’s always something.

Sully was in charge of deploying the trucks and vans that transported the Food Coop’s largess from its base at the Hunt’s Point Terminal in the Bronx to points all across the city. It was a volunteer job, but he did it with a precision and perseverance that bore witness to his former days in the Marines. To hear him tell it, no needy, hungry person in the five boroughs would get fed without him. He drove his beat-up old Toyota up to the Bronx five days a week like clockwork. Sully’d been doing it for a few years now and, despite his grousing about the admin, obviously thrived on it.

As he picked up his drink and took a sip, his cell beeped. Work. He pushed the button to answer it. See what I mean."

I moved down the bar to give him privacy while he spoke then returned a few minutes later when he clicked off and noticed the look of irritation on his face. Trouble? I tilted my head toward the now quiet phone.

Could be. One of the guys in accounting, Ed Molina, asked if he could meet tonight to talk. Wants to discuss something important he discovered in the office. Sully toyed with his glass. Said he just missed me this afternoon and it’s important he see me. He shook his head. He sounded nervous, scared even. I tried to get him to tell me what’s on his mind, but he insisted we meet in person. He checked his watch. He’s driving down from the Bronx and coming to the apartment a little later. I need you to do me a favor. Sully knocked back the rest of his drink. I’ve got to go down to Saint Ann’s and see Aunt Mary tonight. It’s her ninety-second birthday.

Sully’d been taking care of his mom’s sister for a while and tried to visit her whenever he could. St. Ann’s Home was downtown a little ways on the end of Grand Street.

What do you need?

I told Ed to stop in here and you’d give him my key so he could let himself in if he gets here before I get back. He took his key ring out of his pocket, removed his house key and handed it to me. I should be home by eight, but if I’m not, he can wait upstairs. He turned his glass upside down on the coaster and rapped his knuckles on the bar, signaling he was finished—something he’d done ever since I’d known him. Ed sounded really antsy. SoSo, be nice, okay?

Sure, but do you trust this guy? I studied Sully’s face for a sign. He’s not just looking to make trouble? Every business had its malcontents and maybe this Ed was one of them. If not, what could be going on at the Food Coop that could be so dire?

Yeah, I do, which is why I’ve got to hear what he has to say.

I nodded in sympathy and tried to keep my skepticism out of my voice. Alright. Stop in after he leaves and let me know what’s going on. I’ll buy you a night cap.

He walked away from the bar and a shiver passed through me like someone had just walked on my grave. Sully reached the door, turned around and looked straight at me, almost as if he felt it too.

Chapter Two

It was Thursday night, one of our busiest. My head bartender, Dean, joined me at eight, the start of the real cocktail hour and took over the main bar while I concentrated on the service area. The bar was three deep and the banquettes filled to overflowing. My long-gone Social Hour crowd were amateurs compared to all the young Lower East Side singles here now. They were the heavy hitters and serious partiers, out getting a head start on the weekend, texting on their smartphones like their lives depended on it, watching the door and straining their neck muscles to see who showed up next. No one seemed to date anymore, just had a series of casual hook-ups instead.

From my vantage point, I listened to it all, observed them texting, e-mailing and IMing. I could only imagine the contents. Probably all about hooking up. I’m such a throwback. I liked having a real boyfriend. Although, I could have done without a few from my past. It was nice going to dinner and a movie and actually talking. Of course, at my advanced age of thirty-four, I was the old woman in this crowd and one with a tough job: managing a bar.

Deciding to open the restaurant and bar is how Pete, my partner and I met Sully. Right from the start, Thomas Sully Sullivan, our landlord, had been good to us. Better than good. Letting us slide on the rent every once in a while when we were just getting started. Telling us he was happy to have a thriving business in his building, especially one that served unlimited Jameson. And, since I also rented an apartment upstairs, we became good friends, then more like family. We helped each other out. So, giving his buddy Ed his key, and maybe a drink, was no big deal.

Ed showed up in the middle of this mayhem and introduced himself. He seemed nervous and jumpy, like Sully mentioned, looking over his shoulder and eyeing the door. I offered him a drink, but he refused and told me he’d wait for Sully in his apartment. Since the man was nowhere to be seen, I handed over the key and got back to work.

It was nonstop movement with cocktail orders shouted over the heads of those lucky enough to have a seat and passed into the crowd from hand to hand. What can I tell you, these people liked to drink as much as they liked to text? Lucky for me, I guess. And lucky that I had Dean, who could mix up the best Whiskey Sours, Shanghai Mamas and Golden Handcuffs all while having a running conversation with four or five customers and never miss a beat.

Dean, six foot two with blond hair, and blue-eyed handsome, lived over on 9th Street and Avenue A, just a few blocks away. He loved being behind the stick. Said it was a rehearsal for his real career as an actor, or better yet, movie star

We were a good team. With my long, lean five foot nine body, I wasn’t winning any prizes in the curves department. My looks were more Goth than glam—pale skin, short spiky black hair, dark gray eyes, black clothes, but Dean and I complemented each other. We looked good working together, and we played it up for the customers.

He gave me a high sign, and I flipped him the extra cocktail shaker just the way we practiced. It spiraled through the air, across the length of the bar, light arcing off its silver metal, and he caught it one-handed while shaking another cocktail in the other. His theatrics made his admirers—mostly hot young women in low-cut dresses who somehow managed to press their bosoms up close against the bar—lose their self-imposed cool and ooh and aah as they ordered another round. Dean flashed them his megawatt smile and poured their drinks. And yes, Cocktail staring Tom Cruise was one of his favorite movies. I didn’t miss his wink.

A few minutes later, my cell rang and the caller ID flashed Sully’s name. Hey. How’d it go with Ed? I thought you were going to stop by when you were done. I figured Sully had made it back and already been upstairs with his pal.

That’s why I’m calling. I’m not home yet, and I can’t reach him. I’m stuck here. Frustration filled his voice. We had cake followed by a rousing game of Bingo, which is still going on. These nonagenarians take a while to fill up their cards.

I bit my tongue, suppressing a laugh, and managed to mutter a brief uhhuh. The idea of Sully sitting through a very slow game of Bingo with a room full of seniors was too delicious.

I’ve been trying him for an hour, but Ed’s not picking up his cell. He paused, and his voice took on a serious tone. I’m getting a little worried, Jude. Afraid he got cold feet and left. Think you could run up and if he’s still there, tell him I’ll be back in about a half hour or so?

Sure. Meanwhile, maybe you’ll get Bingo. What’s the prize, a six pack of Ensure? I clicked off before Sully could respond and signaled to Dean I was taking a five-minute break. He nodded and kept working. I didn’t think the customers would miss me, not with handsome Dean around.

Chapter Three

Ileft the bar and walked to the entrance of our apartment building a few doors down. The newly renovated elevator was waiting in the lobby, and I hopped in. I started to think about Sully as it made its way to the top floor.

Sully, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corp fought in Operation Desert Storm in the first Gulf War with the Marines and saw action in the battle of Kuwait. He retired with a chest full of medals and ribbons, plus a full pension, which he combined with what he’d saved over his twenty-five years of service. It added up to quite a tidy sum, and he purchased my apartment building and the one next door, two ten-story Renaissance Revival fixer-uppers most people would have steered clear of. Sully’d seen their potential and bought when property in our neighborhood was still cheap and squatters still occupied Tompkins Square Park across the street. He renovated the apartments and gambled that the neighborhood would ultimately change for the better. It had paid off.

I knocked softly on the door of Sully’s 10th floor apartment, not wanting to spook his pal. Ed? I knocked again. It’s Jude, Sully’s friend from the bar. He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry he’s late. He’ll be here soon. Ed? No answer.

I felt like an idiot standing in the hallway speaking to a closed door. Better go in and check if he’d been here and gone. Maybe left a note. Then I could call Sully back and tell him not to rush home.

I pulled out my keys from my pocket and found the spare Sully had given me for emergencies. This didn’t qualify as an emergency, just a good deed. I put it in the lock and the tumblers turned over. When I pushed the door open, it was dark, with only a little moonlight coming in through the living room window. Ed? I walked in the room and flipped on the light, bathing the space in a warm glow.

A half second later, I was sorry I had. A scream worked its way up from my chest and flew out my mouth. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Then I screamed again. Ed’s body was draped on the couch under the living room windows. It looked like he’d shot himself in the temple and took out the left side of his head. Blood was everywhere, sprayed across the couch and pooled on the floor underneath, like some bright red abstract painting. Its metallic tang made my stomach lurch. And right in the middle of it all was the big black revolver that had done the job. I backed away, hand over my mouth, to keep back more screams and the bile rising in my throat.

Ed was there all right, and he was as dead as the empties from the bar at last call.

Sully made it home in record time. The detectives from the 9th Precinct were waiting, and so was I. I’d gone over my story with the two who responded to my frantic 9-1-1 call, Detective Delmonico and his partner, Detective Ortiz. Now Delmonico was questioning Sully in my living room, while I paced back and forth in the kitchen with Ortiz watching. I’d seen enough cop shows to know they liked to separate the witnesses, or would-be suspects, to avoid contaminating anyone’s story.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they seemed satisfied with what we’d told them, and Sully and I were finally able to talk.

Jude. Sully gave me hug. I’m so sorry you had to be part of this.

I’m okay, I mumbled into his shoulder, really. But I wasn’t okay. Tonight, wasn’t the first time I’d found a dead body, and it was bringing back all kinds of terrible memories. Memories I’d buried so deep they hadn’t surfaced in a very long while. Don’t go there. I pushed them even deeper under the layers of time. My body shook. Sully led me over to my couch and I settled into its enveloping softness.

He poured himself a drink at the makeshift bar next to the fridge. He waved the bottle in my direction, and I nodded yes. He came back, handed me my glass and sat down in the easy chair across from me.

Did the detectives find anything? I gulped. The sight of Ed’s bloodied body flashed through my mind.

The detectives had quizzed me on the comings and goings in the building, but I’d been in the bar all night and was no help with that. Ed had used the key I gave him; it was on the table by the front door, and there was no sign of forced entry by anyone else.

Sully sat back and scrubbed his face with his hands The detectives are leaning toward suicide. They asked if Ed was depressed, having any problems, any woman trouble, the usual questions when someone takes their life. There’s no evidence of anyone else being in the apartment with him. Tremors made his voice warble like an old-time jazz singer. They thought maybe he’d made plans with me so I’d be the one to find him. You know, he reached his hand toward the sky, a friend.

I didn’t think anyone would do that to a friend. The idea was horrific. I took a long sip of my drink and wrapped my hands around the glass to keep them from shaking. Why would he kill himself?

I don’t know. Something is off. Ed wanted to talk and obviously thought I could help. Why make a date to meet then shoot yourself? Sully had gone back into his apartment to identify the body. It appears he brought the gun with him. It was lying on the floor in front of the couch. You know, the cops don’t like to tell you much, but Ortiz noticed the plaque with my Marine service medals and ribbons and Ka-bar knife. He served, as well. And he let slip they thought the shot was self-inflicted. Although, I know the forensics guys have to confirm it.

Did they find a note?

Sully shook his head. They’re sending some patrolmen from the precinct where Ed lived into the Bronx to check out his house. Sully took another hit from his drink. He lives…lived…on Fielding Street, near Pelham Parkway and Williams Bridge Road.

I didn’t know the street, but I knew the area. I grew up in the Bronx, in Country Club, a quiet neighborhood bordering the edge of Long Island Sound. Pelham Parkway was a wide six-lane boulevard with a tree-lined pedestrian mall in the middle. My dad and I used to rent horses from a stable along there and ride the bridle path that stretched from one end of the parkway to the other. But that was a lifetime ago and best left unremembered tonight.

It might look like suicide to those cops, but I’m not buying it. Sully got up and started pacing. His body, the gunshot wound…something just looked wrong. Besides, Ed had a family, friends and coworkers who liked and respected him. He wasn’t despondent, just scared about what he wanted to tell me. Sully paused and stared off into space. Suicide doesn’t make any sense. He shot back the last of his whiskey and grasped the empty glass in his hand.

He’d been reasoning it out. That much was obvious.

Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Did any of us really know each other that well? He could have been using drugs or had financial problems.

Sully met my suggestions with an ice-cold glare. Things he hid from everyone.

And what about the reason you and Ed were meeting? Didn’t the detectives think whatever he wanted to discuss might be a motive for killing himself?

I didn’t tell them about that. Sully spat out the words and a cold look crept into his eyes. A look that filled me with apprehension.

But that could be important. I was puzzled by Sully’s decision not to share this information. Couldn’t it?

Those detectives? I’m not saying they won’t investigate, but there was no sign of a struggle in the apartment, or anyone else’s presence. He shook his head.

That was true. It didn’t appear anyone had broken