i really needed to talk with someone i could trust. but who? it was pushing ten pm., i could go down to the lobby and watch television, but i hated tv and i didn't want to listen to connie's b.s. i decided to take a walk, shake the cobwebs out of my head.

connie was on the switch board. "where you going!" he shouted.

"out!" i hollared back. the night was wet and balmy, it was warm, and pleasant. i always thought better near rivers. bowling green had the barren, a very unattractive river, but there was a nice moose lodge beside it down town, and it was opened until one am. i put my index and little finger in my mouth and whistled at a cab driving slowly. i don't know why i did that, i hadn't been able to whistle since they took my braces off. the driver got the idea though, he pulled over to the curb and stopped.

"hop in elmo," he said. "where to ms. tannner?"

"the moose club, wise-ass, by the river."

"can you whistle 'you light up my life'?" he pondered aloud.

"if you hum a few bars i may be able to. what's your name?"

"johnny," he answered.

"johnny what?"

"johnny 'what the fuck difference does it make.' johnny who's taking you to the moose club."

"gee, thanks for the information," i said.

"you don't look like a moose, miss," he added.

"i'm not, my boyfriend is, i'm just a moosette."

"they won't let you in," he said.

"i'm a card holdin' moosette, my name and number is listed with the fbi, and the house committee on unamerican activities roster."

"heavy shit, miss."

"i know." johnny was alright, kind of small, kind of young, had a long crooked nose, i liked him.

"here we are, elmo," he announced.

"carlee, please."

"have it your way. i'll wait for you."

"you don't have to."

"they won't let you in," he stated.

a guy burst out of the moose lodge door, running backwards. blood covered his face. "and don't come back jerry!" a voice from inside shouted. jerry was at my feet, out cold.

"hot time in the old lodge tonight," johnny said sarcastically.

"hi," i said to the man at the door. "lucky punch." he did not smile.

"are you here to raise hell, miss?" he asked.

"no, i just want a drink."

"are you a moose, a member, i mean?" i grabbed my bill fold from my purse and showed him my card. "you're not a real moose, are you? this expires in two weeks."

"no sir, i'm just in training, a lowly vermin moosette trainee."

"well, find yourself a real moose, and i'll make you that drink, if not, scram!"

"she's with me, chief," johnny walked up and said.

"oh, sorry, that's different, come on in." johnny grabbed my arm and we walked in. we sat at the bar, there were three others visible in the entire club. "what will it be folks?"

"a gin ricky," i answered. "high in the sky." the chief went to work.

"what the hell does that mean, high in the sky?" johnny asked.

"i don't know, i'm not even sure what a gin ricky is, don't complicate my life, johnny."

"i'll have the same, a double please," johnny said.

the chief served our drinks. "that'll be fifteen dollars," he announced.

"good god chief, that's outrageous."

"hell johnny ray, yours has a half a pint of gin in it," the chief said.

"bring them carefully over to that booth in the corner, chief." johnny threw down a twenty.

"so it's johnny ray, huh, i kind of like that," i said.

"you have a middle name, most people from the south do?"

"maree," i wrote on a napkin.

"that's kind of a clumsy spelling ain't it?"

"yeah, i suppose it is." i smiled at him and took a drink. "this ain't a half bad drink, i like it."

"arvin, you're wanted on this phone." a man pointed. the bar tender nodded and walked toward him.

"why do you call him chief? his name is arvin."

"mr. townsley is chief prelate at this lodge," johnny answered.

"what the hell is that?" i asked.

"not sure, but i voted for him," he answered.

"he makes a good drink."

"yes, he does."

"what do you do when you're not driving a cab?" i asked him.

"screw my wife, eat and sleep and wait for my air force assignment."

"not a bad life," i said, as i finished my drink.

"it'll get better, we've just been married six months, she works at the dime store down town and i drive a cab ten hours a day. the military is what i've wanted all my life, it'll make a big difference."

"my dad's in the army, he likes it a lot."

"oh, what does he do?"

"he clones subhumans."

"i'll drink to that," johnny said. "bar keep, another round!" he shouted. "can i keep this napkin?" he asked me.

"if you want, johnny." he folded it neatly, and placed it in his pocket.

"well, carlee, what do you do when you're not whistling or drinking?"

"i stay in trouble a lot, but my main thing is college."

"teacher, or student?"

"student for the moment." chief prelate townsley brought our drinks.

johnny took a sip and asked, "do you want to dance, carlee?"

"there's no music, johnny."

"there's a juke box, i'll put a quarter in, fast or slow?" he asked.

"sluggish," i responded. paul anka's "put your head on my shoulder" played. johnny returned to the table, took a swig of his drink and bowed to me.

"may i have this dance?" i thought about saying something very coy, but just nodded. i had danced with my dad to this song years ago, it was kind of deja vuish. i was an awful dancer, never did it much, but i followed him as best i could, and didn't step on his toes but twice. the day just sort of drifted away for that short period of time. when it was over, i kissed johnny on the cheek, and thanked him. we returned to our booth.

"this is a picture of my wife, jeannie," he said, as he pulled it out of a worn billfold.

"she's very pretty johnny. thank you for showing it to me." he smiled.

"she dances better than you," he said.

"who don't?" i replied.

"i'm shuttin' down!" the bar tender/manager/chief prelate announced.

"my, how this time did fly," i said. we downed our drinks and headed to the cab. "i wonder how many little prelates mr. arvin townsley has under him?" i asked.

"i'll have to admit, carlee, i'm not really sure what a prelate is." he smiled. so did i.

he stopped at the curb in front of hotel, then kissed me lightly on the lips. "it's been fun elmo," he smiled. "hope i sure you around."

"you're a nice man, johnny- what the fuck difference does it make. have a nice life, and good luck in the service." i walked up the steps while he watched. i locked my key up in my room. damn!

"well, look what the cats drug home, smellin' like a gin mill, almost three o'clock," connie said quietly.

"you know, i came away to college to avoid those kind of remarks, connie. now give me a key," i curtly responded.

"in a minute," he said. "what did you think of dr. sericca?"

"he was a gentleman at least." i snidely answered.

"he asked me a lot of questions about you, carlee."

"and?"

"no sense in being a smart-ass, little one, i told him some very nice things about you in fact."

"do you know why he came to see me, connie?"

"over this trouble up on the hill i suppose, the stolen test thing."

"do you think i stole the tests?"

"naa, i don't think you have the balls."

"remind me to tell my lawyers to be sure to select you for a jury member. give me my key."

"here." he handed one to me.

i had the strangest feeling as i ascended the stairs. it just came over me, suddenly. my paces slowed, frankie lamont's room lights were on, they shown through the transom. i walked up to his door and knocked, gently. "frankie," i said. i knocked louder. nothing. i put my ear against his door. usually frankie snored so loud that you could hear him just walking by his room. "frankie!" i shouted, and banged on the door. "it's me, carlee, frankie, let me in!" i tried to open his door, but it was locked. something was wrong, terribly wrong. i ran down the stairs as fast as i could, to the desk.

"god, carlee, you look like you've seen a ghost, what's wrong?" connie stammered.

"something's wrong in frankie's room, connie, he's not answering his door, something's bad wrong up there!"

"now calm down missy, i'll buzz him. probably just sound asleep." connie plugged him in and pushed the buzzer. no response. "he was drinking honey, maybe he just passed out."

"no connie, that's not it! get his key, come with me!"

"i can't leave the switchboard, you know that," he said. "here's his key." connie was nervous, as much as i had ever seen him. i grabbed the key out of his hand and ran up the stairs, my heart was pounding when i reached his door. please god, please let him be alive. i couldn't get the damn key in the door, i was shaking. finally!

my good in heaven. frankie had hung himself. he was dressed in his finest white, including his fedora hat. hung from a hook attached to the ceiling, a neck tie was his noose. a kitchenette chair wobbled beneath his spit shined wing tips. i froze, the door knob still in my hand. connie came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"shit fire!" was all he could say. i started bawling.

"connie, he might still be alive, look at the chair." frankie's face was almost violet. i noticed that his tie, his noose, had a picture of some mob on it, the james gang, the moran gang--some gang. i found it difficult to breathe. "god, connie, take his pulse, maybe he's not dead," i pleaded.

"hello!" came a voice from downstairs.

"shit," connie said. "a customer. you take his pulse, carlee, i'll sign the guy in and be right back."

"you can't just leave me alone with him, connie!"

"i have to baby. now take his pulse, but don't cut him down, i don't think we're suppose to do that." god this was spooky. frankie sure looked dead. i couldn't find a radial pulse, in either wrist. my slightest movement made the chair wobble, maybe pushing the door open so had caused that. i looked on the kitchenette table for a note, a suicide decree, but didn't see one. he needed to be cut down, he really did. "what in the hell are you doing!!" connie hollared.

"i can't stand looking at him this way, connie."

"goddammit, drop that knife. hell, the cops will say we killed him, carlee. leave him alone!"

"we just can't leave him hanging this away, connie."

"we have to babe. i'll call the police."

it seemed like hours before sergeant colby and another detective arrived. colby i knew, and the other guys name was jackson blanchart. "which one of you all called us?" colby asked.

"me, i'm the desk clerk."

"are you the one who found him, miss mccord?"

"yes sir," i answered.

"do you all know why he would want to kill himself?"

"i have no idea mr. colby."

"cut him down, jackson." detective blanchart picked up a kitchen knife and cut the neck tie. frankie fell right to the floor.

"god!" i cried as frankie's body rolled around on the floor.

"you could have caught him, miss." i blushed.

"where does the bod--the remains go?" colby asked connie.

"he's from ohio," connie answered.

"wait," i said. "he got a letter today, he showed it to me."

"how far was dr. paxton behind us, jackson?''

"he shouldn't be long, sarg," blanchart answered. i found the letter, it was postmarked youngstown, ohio, but didn't include a return address.

"not much use," said colby. "did he have any friends locally?"

"carlee was probably his closest," connie said.

"anything you can tell us, miss mccord?"

"not much," i stated. "he was just a lonely old guy, i liked him, talked with him some."

"any relatives locally?"

"he never mentioned any mr. colby. i felt sorry for him."

sedley paxton, md., the local coroner arrived with his assistant, a heavy set middle aged technician he introduced as deloris. "shades of al capone," the doctor mused. "scarey, looks just like him, minus the scar. check him doloris."

"a strong smell of alcohol, doctor, do you want me to take a blood sample?"

"no deloris, we can do that downtown. who found the body?" they all pointed at me. "tell us miss," the doctor said.

"he was hanging from that hook in the ceiling when i opened the door. connie came up, and he called the police."

"did either of you cut him down?" he asked.

"no sir, mr. blanchart did," i answered.

"was there any sign of a struggle?"

"none that we saw," said connie.

"any enemies?" the coroner asked.

"none that we knew of," connie said.

"look at this sarg." blanchart said. he held up the newspaper clipping that frankie had shown me.

"'the hook', wonder if that has any significance?" dr. paxton wondered.

"he was kind of proud of that nick name," i said.

the e.m.t.'s arrived, and the doctor gave them clearance to take him away. "boys, i see this as a plain old suicide, any objections?"

"no sir, that's what it looks like our way," colby said.

"he had a job interview in the morning," i told them, almost crying.

"where?" someone asked.

"at the pizza hut," i answered, and a tear rolled down my cheek. "they have to be notified."

"well, why don't you drop them a note missy, tell them frankie 'the hook' lamont won't be able to attend his great job interview tomorrow, cause his killed hiself."

"that's cruel connie, i hate you for that," i cried.