Kitchen Whiskey

The man sitting at her kitchen bar looked like a fox. Skinny, triangular face atop an appropriately lithe frame. He was clean-shaven, as though he’d groomed himself immediately before visiting. A thin mop of reddish-blond hair atop his head, gelled and combed despite the near-blizzard that raged outside. He’d introduced himself as Joe Castellano, as if that was supposed to mean something. In fact, Valerie did recognize the name, but only because Leon had mentioned it in passing. This Joe Castellano thought himself more important than he actually was, which made him dangerous and likely impulsive.

“As I said, Mrs. Roberts, I’m sorry to arrive here so unexpectedly. I know it must be an inconvenience.”

She nodded, standing on the opposite side of the counter, leaving a foot between her and the Formica. “A little.”

“I’m an associate of your husband’s. We’ve known each other for years.”

“I think he’s mentioned you.”

Castellano smiled. “Fondly, I hope. You see, I’m here because…well…I believe he may be in a spot of trouble.”

She frowned. “Trouble?”

“Yes. Very serious trouble, I’m afraid.”

“Oh dear.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I may need a drink for this.”

“You may indeed, Mrs. Roberts…” His eyes slid to the whiskey bottle on the counter.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Castellano? Whiskey?”

“It is a might nasty outside, ma’am, these Lake Michigan storms being what they are. And I believe this will be hard news.”

She poured them both a drink. She sipped her wine and said, “Trouble, you said.”

Castellanos took a drink and licked his lips. He winced, but only slightly. It was Leon’s whiskey, that is to say, bad whiskey.

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked up at her. “Mrs. Roberts, I’ve been tasked by Mr. Houseman himself to locate your husband.”

“Mr. Houseman?”

“Your husband’s employer, ma’am.” His condescension was natural and unconscious. “Our employer, mine and your husband’s, I mean.”

She waved her free hand. “I don’t inquire about my husband’s business, Mr. Castellano. He’s in imports and exports, and the less I think about what that means, the better. I take it this Mr. Houseman is a rather important figure.”

He barked a laugh. “Important. You could say that, Mrs. Roberts. There’s nothing that goes on in this half of the city that Mr. Houseman doesn’t have his hand in or knows about. Yes, he’s very important. And wealthy, and impatient, and unforgiving. All of those things, Mrs. Roberts.”

Valerie nodded in understanding. “My husband works for a gangster.”

“You aren’t surprised.”

“I’m shocked, Mr. Castellano. Leon working for a gangster. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the guts.”

Castellano looked at her for a moment. Valerie got the impression he was just now seeing her. This was a man used to looking through people, in part because of his job, in part because he didn’t care. His eyes studied her face, then quickly surveyed their modest home. His right hand moved slightly, the whiskey spinning counterclockwise in the glass.

Finally, his gaze settled back on her. His eyes had hardened slightly. When he spoke, a sliver of politeness had leaked from his voice.

“That’s an unusual thing to say, Mrs. Roberts, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She shrugged. “It’s the truth. My Leon is a dolt. It isn’t what you’d call a happy marriage, if you don’t mind my saying.”

His mouth twitched as his eyes looked up and down her form. He would like what he saw; they usually did. She wore a simple yellow blouse that showed just enough leg to be intriguing. Nothing outrageous, nothing for a night on the town, but enough to be perfectly presentable in a certain kind of company.

“Well,” Castellano said. He cleared his throat and took a drink. He smiled. “Then maybe you won’t mind telling me where he is.”

“Where he is.”

“Your husband is missing. He’s been missing for three days. Are you saying you hadn’t noticed?”

She laughed. “Oh, I noticed, Mr. Castellano. If this is the ‘hard news’ you warned me about—that my Leon is missing—then I’m afraid I’m already aware. And, frankly, I’ve enjoyed the peace. He’s a loud one when he gets into the bottle.”

“Well,” Castellano said again. His eyes hardened ever more slightly. “Could you tell me where he is?”

“I could if I knew. What you mean is would I. And truthfully, I can’t say.”

“You don’t know where your husband went?”

“We aren’t the most forthcoming couple, Mr. Castellano. While I doubt he’s got a hussy holed up somewhere, he does like to get away from time to time. You should check with Frank Katz and Mickey…Mickey something. He’s Irish. They’re more likely to know than I am.”

“O’Finley. And none of them know. Nor do the regular inhabitants of his favorite watering hole, nor the two main bartenders. Nor his barber, nor any of the dozen people I’ve asked, some of them rather forcefully.” He nodded at her. “You’re the last one left, Mrs. Roberts.”

She sipped her wine. Forcefully. Yes, Castellano was capable of force. He was thin but muscular; he moved the way she’d once fancied Leon moved, five years ago when she met him. Barely twenty, new to the city, full of ambition and dreams. And there was Leon, like something out of a picture show, and he was a smooth talker, and a decent lover as it turned out, but the danger that first drew her was mostly a mirage, no more real than those men on the screen.

Sitting before her now was the real thing. She wondered how old he was. Maybe thirty. Not exactly handsome, but not exactly ugly. Valerie doubted many women found him attractive. Something about this man radiated an otherness, something a step removed from humanity. She wasn’t sure how dangerous Joe Castellano was, but she knew he was capable of force, and probably enjoyed it.

“The last one,” she repeated.

He nodded. “The very last one who may know.”

“Then I’m afraid I have hard news for you, Mr. Castellano. Because I do not know where my husband is.”

“Is that so.”

“It isn’t anything but.”

“So then I’m wasting my time.”

Valerie shrugged. “If I were you, I’d look at it as knocking one more thing off your list.”

“Do you have any idea where he might’ve gone?”

“If not with those gentlemen? No. If he were going out of town he would have told me.”

Castellano reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. “Do you mind?”

“I do not. Need a match?”

He took out a cigarette, snapped the lid shut, and put the case back in his suit pocket. As he stuck the cigarette between his lips he reached into his other pocket. “I have some, ma’am, thank you.”

He lit up and took a deep drag. He followed it with a sip of whiskey. He smiled with something that may have been actual pleasure.

“I always enjoy the two together,” he said. “My job gets stressful. Mr. Houseman is a hard taskmaster, as they say. When there is something he wants, he expects you to get it for him. No excuses, no delays. And while I know three days may not seem like much to you, I assure you, it has been a very long three days for me.”

He shook his head and uttered an unconvincing laugh. “But I don’t mean to complain to you, Mrs. Roberts. I’m sorry.”

“No need.”

He tugged at his suit collar. “What I meant to ask was, do you know what Mr. Roberts was doing just before he disappeared?”

She smiled. “We don’t discuss his employment, as I’ve said.”

Castellano ignored her. “He was retrieving a rather important package for Mr. Houseman. A small package, but of utmost important. You see, Mrs. Roberts, the reason this package is so important is because there’s not just one reason it’s so important. There are, in fact, two hundred thousand reasons why it’s important.”

He stopped and watched her. She watched him back. His shoulders were tense, his back rigid. His body almost seemed to hum with tension. A rattlesnake, coiled to strike.

Valerie said, “Two hundred thousand dollars, I take it.”

“They aren’t teddy bears, that’s for sure.”

She chuckled. “You entrusted Leon with two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Mr. Houseman did, yes. Leon has been fairly reliable.”

“He ever carried two hundred thousand dollars for you?”

“For Mr. Houseman. And I don’t know. It’s none of my business.”

She nodded. “Well, you don’t just give two hundred thousand dollars to a man like Leon Roberts. My dear husband could’ve had a heart-attack.”

He took another drink. Sat back in the stool and looked her over again. When his eyes reached her face he said, “You think he took the money and ran off.”

“You think he took the money and ran off. That’s why you’re here.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s certainly a possibility. Things like that have been known to happen. They happened to Mr. Houseman a year ago. A sum not even half this, mind you. And let me tell you, he was not very happy.”

“So he sent someone to punish the perpetrator.”

“He sent me, yes.”

Valerie refilled her glass, even though it wasn’t half empty. She nodded at his whiskey. “Top you off?”

He slid the glass to her. “Thank you.”

She nodded.

He sipped. “Since I can tell you are not particularly distraught about the situation, allow me to say this whiskey is not of the highest quality.”

“That’s Leon’s favorite whiskey. I say that speaks volumes about him.”

Castellano grunted. “Well, if I may say so, his taste in women is either far superior or equally terrible.”

“Meaning?”

“I’d want my wife to be worried if I disappeared.”

“Are you married, Mr. Castellano?”

“Seven years, Mrs. Roberts. A lovely woman.” He said this casually. Here was a man who did not think the bonds of marriage applied to him.

“So, I want to make sure I get this straight.” Valerie smiled. “You want to find my husband, retrieve the money he stole, and punish him. Perhaps quite severely. After all, as you said, you have two hundred thousand reasons to be angry with him.” She held up a finger. “No, I’m sorry. Mr. Houseman has two hundred thousand reasons to be angry with him. You are the means of expressing that anger.”

“I’ve never heard it put quite that way before. But yes, I suppose that is correct. If he took the money and ran.”

“If.”

Castellano nodded. Any hint of friendliness had left his eyes; now there was simply a primal, bestial desire. For what, Valerie couldn’t be sure. Her, perhaps. Maybe pain or money or any of the dozens of things a man like this may want at any given moment.

“If he took the money and ran. Or.” He sipped his whiskey and took a small drag on his cigarette. Again that strange, almost genuine smile. This was a not a face used to honesty.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, Mr. Castellanos.”

“Or maybe he took some of the money and ran, and left the rest here for the time being.”

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “I assure you, Mr. Castellanos, ours is not a happy marriage.”

“That kind of dough can buy a lot of happiness, Mrs. Roberts.”

She gestured around. “Does this look like a two hundred-thousand-dollar house, Mr. Castellano?”

“No, ma’am, it looks like the house you lived in three days ago before you inadvertently realized your husband had come into two hundred thousand dollars. Surely even Leon knows better than to spend it right away, especially here, but even if he doesn’t, I’m almost certain you do.”

Valerie shook her head, glancing at the clock as she did so. “Well, Mr. Castellano, I don’t know a thing about two hundred thousand dollars. I barely know a thing about a thousand. Are you sure Leon took your money? Mr. Houseman’s money?”

“There were only two others it could’ve been, Mrs. Roberts.”

“And you’re positive it wasn’t them?”

He tugged at his suit collar again, loosening it this time. She watched his hand.

“I’ve already questioned them.”

“Forcefully?”

His lips twitched. “Not the exact word I would use, but yes, I suppose it suffices.”

“Are you going to question me, Mr. Castellano?”

“I already am, ma’am.”

She took a drink as Castellano snubbed his cigarette out on the countertop, nudging the ashes aside with his hand. He took another drink of whiskey and shook his head.

“My god, this is truly terrible. I’m not sure how your husband can drink this, scrawny little thing that he is. It’s basically lighter fluid.”

“Are you going to be sick, Mr. Castellano? I don’t think you’d want to do your questioning while you’re sick.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Where is the money, Mrs. Roberts? Just tell me that. I’ll find your husband. I believe you when you say you don’t know where he is. But I don’t believe you when you say you don’t know anything about the money. So let’s just cut to the chase and you tell me where the money is, at least the portion you have in your possession.”

“Will you be forceful with me if I don’t?”

“If you make me, yes. If not, then I will leave and you will never…never see me again.” He coughed into his hand.

“I tried to get Leon to stop smoking,” Valerie said. “They’re bad for your health.”

“Where’s…”

She tapped the countertop. “Under here.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, his face already starting to pale.

“What?”

“In the cabinet under here. Two hundred thousand dollars takes up far less space than I would have thought. And I really didn’t keep anything under here except some pots I never use.”

Castellano took a deep breath. He stared at the Formica, then back up at her. He glanced around the house, his gaze suddenly uncertain. Sweat had formed at the base of his hairline.

“Your husband, Mrs. Roberts.”

She smiled. “He drank too much whiskey.”

Castellano looked at the glass. The comprehension was slow to appear on his face.

“You bitch…”

Valerie sighed. “When we married, Leon promised he’d make me rich. And, ultimately, he did. Just not the way he imagined.”

Castellano started to fumble inside his suit. Valerie brought the gun up from under the counter.

“Please don’t.”

He stopped moving. He put his hand back on the counter. He no longer looked like a fox. Valerie thought he looked more like a weasel now. A very sick weasel.

“Where is he?”

“Leon? The same place the associates you questioned forcefully are, I imagine. That’s where Leon told me he’s had to take bodies before. I suppose there are other locations, of course. You must need several of them.”

Castellanos glanced at the whiskey again. He coughed again, harshly. “How…how much?”

“Enough.” She took the glass away from him. “I kept the bottle in case someone like you came around. And I’ll keep it until Bernard Houseman himself comes around. I think he owes me that, don’t you? After all, I retrieved his money. The returning it is the part that we may disagree on.”

Castellano shook his head slowly and swayed in the stool. He said, “You,” and then Joe Castellano faceplanted onto the formica and slowly slid off to the floor. He landed on the carpet with a soft plunk.

“Bitch,” Valerie said, and finished her wine while she waited, listening to the small twitches of his body, one foot nudging the stool and causing it to wobble. Eventually, the stool stopped moving, and after that the only sound was the wind blowing outside. Valerie bent down and opened the cabinet door, staring at the money. Maybe she hadn’t been so naïve moving to the city after all. Dreams can come true, if you have what it takes to seize them when the opportunity arrives.

BIO: D.W. Davis (he/him) is a native of rural Illinois. His work has appeared in various online and print journals. You can find him at Facebook.com/DanielDavis05, @dan_davis86 on Twitter, and @dwdavis.bsky.social.