Condemned by John Nicholas Iannuzzi Page A

right up there on the bench.”
    â€œThat Dineen couldn’t fall down even if he wanted to,” said Red. “She’d pick him up ’fore his knees got a chance to bend.” The waitress brought a platter of steak tidbits to the table. “Miss, what’s the owner’s name?”
    â€œClarence. Clarence Pennington. Anything wrong?”
    â€œNo, no, not at all. Would you tell Mr. Pennington I’d like to see him?”
    â€œWill do,” she smiled, turning toward the front. In a few moments, a very tall, portly man in a dark blue suit with a large expanse of white, mandarin-collared shirt, walked to Red’s side.
    â€œAnything wrong, Mr. Hardie?”
    â€œNo, no, everything’s fine, Mr. Pennington. Just want to thank you for the snack and to tell you what a nice place you have here.”
    The man’s face lit up into a broad smile. “Thank you, thank you. My pleasure.” He reached a large hand toward Red to shake his hand. “Glad you like the place.”
    â€œI have a friend of mine, a lady, Jessye Henry,” said Red. “She’s supposed to meet me here. Probably be with a friend. Can you tell the fellow at the door to let them in. We’re not expecting nobody else, if you understand me.”
    Pennington nodded. “I understand.” He looked around discretely. “The Man already tried knocking. My man at the door wouldn’t let them in without a reservation.”
    Red guffawed. “Without a reservation. See that, Money. You know Money Dozier?” “I do, indeed,” said Pennington, nodding his head, shaking Money’s hand vigorously.
    â€œYou made my day, Mr. Pennington, you made my day.” Red reached and shook Pennington’s hand again. “Miss Henry’ll ask for me when she arrives.”
    â€œIt’ll be our pleasure to have any friends of yours, anytime,” said Pennington. “We’re real pleased you stopped in, real pleased.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI’ll go tell my man at the door right now.”
    Red nodded, then sipped his drink. He gazed off toward the archway and the near empty bar area beyond. After several silent moments, he shook his head.
    â€œWhat are you thinking, Mr. Red?”
    â€œLeslie.”
    â€œYour wife?”
    â€œEx-wife, Money.”
    â€œRight, right. I still think of her, always will, pro’bly, as your wife, Mr. Red.”
    â€œThe only other time I was in this place, before this fellow owned it—it was called Avalon then—was with Leslie.”
    â€œOh, yeah, yeah. I completely forgot that name until you mentioned it.”
    â€œLeslie and I had dinner here. Was somebody or other’s party.” Red became quiet as his thoughts drifted off again.
    â€œYou ever talk to her?” Red heard Money say from a long way off.
    â€œMmm, Leslie? No, haven’t talked to her in a long time. She’s got no need to talk to me, no need at all.” Red sipped at his drink.
    â€œStill married to that school teacher in Pennsylvania?”
    â€œPrincipal. Her husband’s principal of the junior high school there. Place called Scotrun, Pennsylvania.”
    â€œI know the place. I mean, I seen it on a sign on the highway when I went down to Lewisburg Penitentiary to see Ol’ Ed Reaves. You been there?”
    â€œTo Lewisburg? Yeah, sure, over the years—only visiting,” Red chuckled.
    â€œI meant down to Leslie’s?”
    â€œLeslie’s? No,” Red shook his head. “Passed it once when I went on a visit to see Ol’ Ed myself. Got curious. Drove past the house real quick.” Money nodded. “Man, I haven’t thought about Ed Reaves in a long time. Life was different then, wasn’t it? We were all working for Pops Bussey, remember. Numbers, a little weed. Heavy drugs were hardly around, mostly older folks. I guess they seemed older. We were just