E. R. Torre's Potter's Field

POTTER'S FIELD

A Short Story set in the world of The Dark Fringe by E. R. Torre

Johnny Lorimer walked from one end of the bar to the other as if he were the only one in the place. His arms rose and fell awkwardly. His eyes danced a slow, lazy waltz under half-closed eyelids. His sandy blonde hair looked like a cheap shag carpet and his clothing, now saturated with the smell of equally cheap liquor, was too tight for his chubby frame. The suit fit fine the last time he wore it, which was on the day he was arrested a little over a year ago.

The charge against him was passing bad checks. Because of a prior conviction, he was sentenced to two years, but got out early thanks to good behavior. Just three hours before he was silently escorted out of the Tartarus Prison and pointed in the direction of the nearest bus stop. From there he took the long and circular route to the Pandora Club. It took him nearly two hours to get there which, considering his year in prison, didn't seem such a very long time. Once at the club, he was determined to make up for the past year. How? By getting totally, completely, and utterly, drunk.

From the look of things, he already reached that goal.

So Johnny was feeling good. And when Johnny felt good, he talked.

And when he talked, the strangest thing happened. Everyone within the bar was willing, even straining, to hear what this ex-con drunk had to say.

Because even though Johnny was nothing more than a grifter with a losing streak as wide as the Metropolis itself, he had an important, though tangential, part in the infamous Carlton Heist. That alone made him a very important man.

The Carlton Heist took place at about the same time Johnny was imprisoned. It involved five local underground operators who, in broad daylight, held up a Carlton armored truck as it made its way across the Erebus Bridge. The assault proved bloody: Two of the gang members were killed on the spot, along with the driver and security guard within the truck. Another member of the gang was seriously injured. He was dumped at the General Hospital three blocks away from the bridge but didn't last through the night.

The last two members of the gang, mastermind Henry Stevens and getaway driver Juan Marrero, laid low for a few hours, then tried to make a run to the Metropolis city limits. Unfortunately for them, they were spotted by the cops and pinned down on Rouge Avenue. Marrero was killed and Stevens was taken into custody, but the $5 million take was never recovered.

Stevens was tried and found guilty of first-degree murder and masterminding the robbery. He was sentenced to life. The cops worked him over as best as they could, but he never told them where he hid the loot. Once confined, Stevens was cut off from everyone, even his closest relatives. He was in solitary for ten months, with one notable exception: The week he spent in the cell of one Johnny Lorimer, small time grifter.

At the time, a fire consumed a portion of the solitary cellblock within the Tartarus Prison. It was a simple accident, but while the area was being cleaned and repaired, the prison guards had to put Stevens somewhere. And, because the cells were overloaded following tourist season, they put him in the first available cell.

Johnny Lorimer's cell.

A week after his return to solitary, Stevens was found dead. He used his bed sheet as a makeshift rope and hung himself from his cell's peephole. He left behind no reason for this action, nor any indication as to where he hid the stolen money. So, the secret of the stolen $5 million went to the grave with Stevens.

Or did it?

Johnny bent over the bar's counter and popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth. The salt tasted good against the tart Seco he was drinking. He was pleased to see so many people welcoming his release from prison. He never knew he had this many friends. He laid an empty glass on the counter and eyed Billy the bartender. Billy smiled.

"Have another drink Johnny, on the House," Billy said, his voice gregarious and friendly. "I hope there are no hard feelings about bustin' your chops for those bad checks."

"That's in the past, Billy," Johnny replied with a smile. "As for the drink, don't mind if I do."

Billy poured another shot of Seco into Johnny's cup and then put away the bottle. Johnny picked up the clear liquid, winked at his new-found friend, and took the shot down in one gulp. He burped loudly.

"Now that's good stuff," Johnny said. His voice was weak, quivering. It took him a few moments to catch his breath.

"Only the best for you Johnny," Billy stated, friendliness filling his eyes. His smile, however, was sharp, almost sinister. His meaty arms moved with nervous energy. His balding forehead was covered in sweat.

"You keep this up," Johnny continued, "and you won't have a bar any more. I'll drink you out of home and business."

Billy continued to smile. The twinkle in his eyes, however, faded.

"Think nothing of it," Billy forced himself to say. After nearly an hour of giving away free drinks to Johnny, the smile was waning, too. It tore him apart to give away such perfectly good product.

"What say you tell me about your time away from us," Billy began, his smile now gone.

The noise around the bar dropped noticeably following Billy's question. The only sound that remained was the music coming from the band in the corner of the dance floor. But even they played a softer melody.

"About the prison?" Johnny asked. A pained look filled his face. He shook his head. "You don't want to hear about that, Billy."

"But I do," Billy insisted. His face reflected great expectation, like a glutton scanning an elaborate banquet.

"Yeah, tell us about prison," butted in Thomas Derek. Thomas was an ex-jockey that stood up to Johnny's waist. He was dressed fashionably in the latest Geneva light blue suit. Its hue practically glowed in the bar's low lights. Bright though it was, it wasn't nearly as bright as Thomas' greedy little eyes.

"Come on guys," Johnny began. "It was bad. I never had a worse time in my life. The food was rotten, the guards were on the take, we were given recreation three times a week, and by eight o'clock on the button they had us locked in our cells and our lights shut off. What else is there to say?"

"You meet anyone interesting while you were there?" piped in Lola. She was a slick operator who had a knack for sniffing out weak-kneed men with loose change in their pockets. Her temper and disposition, when you didn't have any money to sweeten her up with, was quite rotten. It didn't escape those within the bar what a rare sight it was to see her smile at someone who didn't even have a pair of pennies to rub together.

"Anybody? How do you mean?" Johnny asked innocently. His face mirrored Lola's sweet smile. She was voluptuous in her dark red velvet dress. Her jet-black hair was tied into an elegant bun. Her green eyes melted into Johnny's brain. Funny thing was, before they sent him to prison, Lola wouldn't give him the time of day.

"You know, did you meet anyone?" she repeated.

Johnny blushed.

"I didn't have much in common with the other guys. I didn't belong there. My lawyer told me I would get probation, but he wasn't so smart. He fixed me up all right."

"That's all well and good, honey," Lola continued. "But when they put you in jail, you didn't keep your mouth closed the whole time, did you?"

"What she's saying is," Thomas butted in impatiently. "Did you talk to some of your fellow inmates?"

Billy and Lola shot Thomas a dirty look. Johnny scratched his head.

"Well, I guess I had some conversations here and there. Nothing specific."

"Come on," Lola said. Her green eyes were on fire. "There has to be something you remember."

"What you mean?" Johnny lisped. The alcohol was short circuiting his brain and making it hard to follow the direction of the conversation.

"You were in the same cell as Henry Stevens, weren't you?" This time it was Billy who butted in. He was losing patience for these verbal games.

The bar went completely quiet. Even the band stopped playing. Everyone was watching Johnny who, in turn, was looking at Billy. He blinked several times. His face compressed into a look of deep sorrow. Everyone held their breath as Johnny began to talk.

"He was a good man," Johnny said. In his drunken fog he struggled to maintain his composure, but his eyes were watering. "Why did he have to do that to himself?"

Johnny began crying. Large tears ran down the side of his face.

"It was tragic," Lola offered as she patted Johnny on his back.

"A real shame," Billy noted, as he poured Johnny another glass of Seco.

"My brother went that way," Thomas lamented.

Billy shot Thomas a dirty look.

"You don't have no brother," Billy growled.

"Of course I do," Thomas retorted. Billy rolled his eyes, just out of sight of Johnny.

The rest of the patrons in the bar murmured their condolences until it sounded like the bubbling of a shallow stream. Johnny was genuinely touched.

"I saw Henry here a few times. I was never with his crowd. I didn't know you guys were so close."

Billy nodded. "At least ten years. He stopped by every night. His favorite drink was a double Seco on the rocks."

Thomas nodded vigorously.

"I used to give him racing tips," he added.

Not to be outdone, Lola said: "He and I were close, real close. If you know what I mean."

Johnny wiped his lips. "This is really touching," he said. "How about another drink, in memory of Henry?"

Thomas and Lola looked over at Billy. He had an unhappy frown on his face, but as soon as Johnny looked at him the frown was replaced with a saccharine smile.

"Drinks for everyone!" he offered graciously. "For Henry!"

There was great jubilation in the bar as everyone grabbed their glasses and pushed their bodies against the counter. Billy poured Johnny's drink first, topping it off at the rim of his glass. For everyone else, however, Billy carefully poured less than a third of a cup.

Thomas and Lola stared at their woefully under-filled glasses and frowned at Billy. He growled back at them. Johnny took his drink down in a couple of gulps. He grimaced as the burning liquid made its way down to his stomach.

"For Henry!" Thomas suddenly yelled as he slammed the almost empty cup on the counter.

"For our good friend!" Billy offered as he poured a couple of drops into another patron's cup.

"For my greatest love!" Lola exclaimed. She took down her drink and looked at the bottom of the glass in disbelief. She too shot Billy a look that could kill. Afterwards, she put the cup down and patted Johnny on the back. "Did Henry tell you about me?"

Johnny smiled as he placed his hand on the counter. But as he digested the question the smile on his face faded like a wilting rose. "Yeah, he told me about you," Johnny said simply. He was holding back. It was clear to everyone within the bar.

"What did he say?"

Johnny sighed loudly. He scratched his head and took a deep breath.

"Spill it," she demanded, fire in her eyes.

Johnny was cornered.

"I really feel bad about telling you this," Johnny began. He stopped in mid-sentence and turned away. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Spill it," she repeated.

"Okey," Johnny relented. He tried to force a weak smile. "You gotta understand, Lola, the man was upset. They had him locked up for life. He was bitter."

"Spill it!" Lola yelled.

"Yeah, tell us what he said," came Billy, a broad smile on his face. "What did he say about our good friend Lola?"

"He said you were a cheap floozy who chewed up his money like a kid with a pack of bubble gum."

Lola's face flushed. Billy stifled a laugh and nearly fell off the counter. Thomas looked away. Both of them tried hard not to look into Lola's fiery eyes.

"Please don't take it the wrong way," Johnny quickly added. "I'm sure it was just a lovers' spat or something. Besides, it wasn't nearly as bad as what he said about Billy."

"Oh yeah?" Lola purred. She grabbed at Johnny's statement like a shark locked onto a side of raw beef. "What did he say about Billy?"

Johnny was so relieved to change the subject that he didn't give a second thought to blurting out: "He said Billy watered down every drink in this place. He said that even the water Billy served was dry."

Johnny's smile disappeared. His bloodshot eyes widened.

"By the Gods," he muttered. "I'm sure he didn't mean that either, Billy."

Billy frowned. The patrons within the bar stared at their drinks, then at Billy. Billy sweated under their hot stares. He nervously smiled at the patrons and shrugged.

"Well, we know that's not true," Billy muttered. A dull, unhappy grumble filled the bar.

"It's not true!" Billy yelled. The muttering faded to nothing. Almost nothing. The low sound of Thomas' snickering interrupted the angry silence.

"The hell are you laughing at?" Billy demanded.

Thomas shut his mouth.

Again silence filled the bar. But again it didn't last long. It was interrupted by Johnny. He was crying.

"I'm sorry to bring this up," Johnny whimpered. "I mean, whose business is it what Henry thought of you guys? So what if he thought Lola was a floozy? So what if he thought Billy watered down all his drinks? So what if he thought Thomas was a lousy cheat?"

Billy and Lola's eyes settled on Thomas like guided missiles. His snickering was suddenly, abruptly, gone.

"What?" Thomas blurted.

"He said your racing tips were a who's who of lame nags and that on the rare occasions your runners won, you'd skim on the take."

There was a deathly quiet in the bar for a full five seconds. It might as well have been an eternity. Thomas looked like a cockroach about to be stepped on. And then Billy let out a loud laugh. Lola joined in, as did, very hesitantly, Thomas. Soon, the whole bar was laughing.

"Yeah, that Henry was a character," Thomas said nervously. "He had us all pegged, eh Billy?"

"Sure did," Billy agreed. "What you say, Lola?"

"I say Johnny's right. Henry must've been under a great deal of pressure to say such lies about us. But how can we blame him? He had it rough, seeing as he was looking to spend the rest of his life in jail."

They all laughed. All but Johnny, who shrugged and looked at his empty cup.

"Say Billy, how about another?"

Billy noted the empty cup. He shook his head.

"No can do, Johnny. I think you've had enough for tonight. What do you say, Thomas?"

Thomas sneered.

"I say you're right, Billy. I think Johnny has had more than enough."

Lola winked at Billy. This was her type of game.

"Come on guys, I think Johnny deserves a little more," she teased.

"Yeah, just a shot," Johnny concurred, unaware they were working him over. "I'm still feelin' a little dry."

Billy shook his head sternly.

"I don't think I can do that, my friend," he said.

"Come on," Lola began. "There must be some way you could make an exception?"

Johnny nodded vigorously. He smacked his lips. His eyes were pleading for more booze.

"There must be something."

Thomas turned to Billy. They had him in the palm of their hands. Billy considered Johnny's pleas for a few more long, agonizing seconds.

"Well, there is one thing," Billy finally said. "About the time you were rooming with Henry Stevens. I gotta know one thing."

"Anything," Johnny begged.

Billy leaned over the counter. All eyes within the bar were on him. He leaned over to Johnny's ear and whispered: "Did he tell you where he hid the money?"

Johnny leaned back, his face flushed. He swallowed hard.

"He didn't tell me," Johnny said. But his voice shook. He wasn't fooling anyone.

"He didn't tell you, but you know something, don't you?" Lola said.

Johnny swallowed hard once again, but remained quiet. Billy leaned back. He grabbed the bottle of Seco and turned away from Johnny.

"I guess I'll be putting this away," he said.

Johnny's lips quivered.

"Wait," he said. Billy turned back. The bottle of Seco was still in his hands.

"What is it Johnny? What did he tell you?" Thomas said. "Come on, we're talking five million. That's more than enough for all of us."

Johnny motioned to Billy. Billy brought the bottle to him and laid it on the counter. Johnny grabbed the bottle and pressed it to his mouth. He gulped down a strong shot. Billy allowed him one more swallow before ripping the bottle from his hands.

"What did he tell you," Billy said. He slammed the Seco on the counter. "This doesn't move until you tell us."

Johnny nodded. He turned to Billy, then Lola, and finally to Thomas. His gaze then returned to the bottle of Seco.

"He told me," Johnny began as the bar again went dead quiet. "He told me that his biggest regret was that he wouldn't be able to visit his mother until he got out. After he said that he looked at me real queer-like and laughed."

Billy, Thomas, and Lola blinked.

"What the hell does that mean?" Lola said.

"I was watching him like a hawk while he was rooming with me," Johnny continued, his voice low and serious. "I watched him when he slept, I watched him when he ate. I watched him when he showered and I watched him when he took a piss. I watched him good. But he was tight lipped. He didn't talk much at all. He was really depressed about getting caught and losing all his gang. One day, the day before he was returned to solitary, he said that he was real sorry he wouldn't be able to visit his mother until he got out. I don't know where that came from. I didn't know what he meant. And then they moved him out and he committed suicide."

"Come on, get on with it," Billy growled.

"After I found out he committed suicide, I made some discrete inquiries within the prison. I asked who was going to take care of the funeral arrangements. I figured it would be his next of kin. I figured it would be his mother. When I asked about her, they told me she died five years ago."

An enigmatic smile filled Johnny's face. He leaned back in his chair.

"I don't get it," Lola said. "What does it all mean?"

Johnny reached for the bottle of Seco. He took a long gulp and let out an explosive burp.

"They buried her in Potter's Field," Johnny continued. "Under one of the oak trees in an unmarked grave." Johnny paused for effect. He then leaned forward. "Potter's Field is ten minutes away from where the police captured Henry."

Billy's eyes went wide. He turned to Lola, who in turn looked at Thomas. All around Johnny the bar erupted into motion. The band grabbed their instruments and ran out the door, followed by the patrons. Lola and Thomas pushed each other away as they too ran out the door. Billy ripped his apron off and followed the others, not bothering to lock up the bar after he was gone.

The bar was cleared in ten seconds flat.

Johnny chuckled as he put the bottle of Seco back on the counter. He spun around in his seat and looked the bar over. He thought he was alone, but noticed a man sitting in a booth at the end of the bar. He was half hidden in the shadows.

"What's the matter?" Johnny asked as he walked toward the man. "You don't want to get your hands on five mil?"

The man in the booth leaned forward and out of the shadows. He was middle aged, with a hard face that spoke of years of police work. He ran his hand through his yellowing blonde hair.

"Not interested," the man said. "Please, come join me."

Johnny did so. He stared into the blonde man's steel gray eyes.

"You a cop?"

"Yeah," the blonde man replied. He pulled out his badge.

"Allen Stone," Johnny read off the badge. "Don't know you."

"I know you."

"You followed me out of jail?"

"Yeah. These people aren't the only ones interested in that stolen cash."

Johnny's eyes remained on Stone's face. He no longer slurred when he talked. Apart from the smell of Seco in his breath, there remained no outward sign of drunkenness. Allen Stone shook his head and smiled.

"Why the act?"

The smile on Johnny's face grew.

"I've been a loser all my life, Mr. Stone. I've been pushed, prodded, abused, and played for a sucker, mostly by the very people in this bar. I've been in jail for a year thanks to what they got me into and I came out feeling more than a little mean."

Allen Stone again shook his head. The smile on his face lingered.

"You figure they'll spend a good deal of time digging out there?"

"There are twenty nine oak trees in Potter's Field," Johnny said matter-of-factly. "I counted each and every one of them while waiting for the bus to take me here. I figured I'd give them a few hours to get real dirty before calling the police. Maybe I'm wrong, but I hear it's illegal to dig up other people's graves. Even those of paupers."

Johnny pulled a cigarette out from his pocket and lit it. He took a deep drag. Allen Stone's smile faded.

"What happened to the money, Johnny?"

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Stone. I did talk to Henry Stevens about a lot of things during the week he was with me. And we did talk about the money."

Allen Stone perked up.

"What did he say?"

"He said it never existed."

Allen Stone frowned.

"Tell it to me real slow."

"It never existed," Johnny repeated in a dull monotone. "Someone tipped the Carlton Company about the theft. They replaced the money with paper. Henry Stevens and his illustrious gang stole over fifty pounds of grade A newspaper."

Allen Stone nodded. Johnny frowned.

"That doesn't surprise you?"

"No. Not really."

"Damn," Johnny spat. "He didn't tell the cops because he figured they wouldn't believe him."

"We gave him the opportunity to talk," Stone said. "He didn't take it."

Allen Stone shook his head.

"What a waste," Stone continued. "Maybe he was too embarrassed to admit it. Someone within the Carlton company got to hide away 5 mil and collect on the insurance from the theft to boot."

Stone's eyes locked in on Johnny.

"He didn't kill himself out of embarrassment, did he?"

Johnny took another drag of his cigarette. He flicked the ash on the floor.

"He planned that robbery for months, but it got away from him," Johnny said. "His plans didn't call for any violence. Unfortunately, his gang had other ideas. He wasn't sorry about what happened to them. He figured they had it coming. No, what ate at him was guilt. He felt horrible about the deaths of the Carlton security guards. They died protecting nothing."

Allen Stone nodded.

"Will you get the people who hid the money?"

"I'll try my best, Johnny," Stone replied. He paused. "You wouldn't be trying to smoke me, like you did your friends?"

Johnny smiled.

"If I knew where Stevens hid five million dollars, you think I'd be wasting my time in this cheap bar?"

Stone nodded. He rose from his seat and slowly walked out the door. Johnny watched as he left, then finished off his cigarette.

Afterwards, he stood up and stretched. He too walked to the door leading out the bar and stepped out into the Metropolis streets.

And thought about how good it was to be alive and free.

Potter's Field and thirteen other short stories can be found in Shadows at Dawn, available at: