Always Say Goodbye A Lew Fonesca Mystery

Chapter One Three Years and Two Months Later Lew had come to Sarasota more than four years ago wanting no place to go, nothing to do, no people to be responsible for or to be responsible for him. It didn't happen. He wanted the dark cell of his existence behind the Dairy Queen on 301. Two small rooms overlooking the parking lot, hard to find. Almost none of his business came through the door. He had a Florida process server's license and an arrangement with four law firms to serve papers. Not much money. But more than enough for him. He wanted each day to be a dark blanket that no one pulled back to let in the light. That seldom happened. And today he was neatly and reluctantly putting aside his search for solitude. Lew's first stop that morning was the EZ Economy automobile rental down the street. Once there had been two men there. For a couple of years Lew thought they were father and son or two brothers. They weren't. They were a comedy team whose only appreciative audience was each other. Lew was one of their favorite targets as they drank coffee out of Styrofoam cups or stood with arms folded and negotiated. The older of the two, Fred, had died a few months ago. Bad heart. Lew had never told him that he shared his name with a hog. Lew thought the company, which had never been a thriving business, would close. But it didn't. "Lewis Fonesca," Alan, the bulky survivor of the duo, said from behind the desk, feet up, rubbing the sides of the cup. Coffee steamed between his hands. He watched it. "What can I do for you?" "A car," Lew said. "Going?" "Tampa airport. Be gone I don't know how long." "Business?" "I'm going to find the person who killed my wife," Lew said. "Good luck," Alan said. "Take whatever car you want. The Saturn's still in good shape. A few scratches. I think you put a few of them there." "How much?" He shrugged and looked for secrets or the face of his dead partner in the coffee cup. "I don't know," he said. "Twenty-five." "A day?" "No, for whatever time you have it. Hell, you can own the damned thing for fifty bucks. I'm having a going-out-of-business sale." "Since when?" "Now." He reached into the desk drawer, came up with two keys on a small metal hoop and tossed them to Lew. Lew expected a joke, a jibe, a half-witty insult, but without Fred, Alan couldn't find one. "Any jokes for me?" asked Lew, who had been assigned by his therapist, Ann Horowitz, to come up with a joke for each of their sessions. Usually Alan and Fred could be relied on for at least a backup. "No. Not anymore. Papers are in the glove compartment. Bon voyage," Alan said, sitting slumped behind the desk, not looking at Lew. "I liked Fred," Lew said. "Who didn't? Wait. I take that back. A lot of people didn't," said Alan. "It's this business." Alan tightened his lips and looked around. Lew wanted to tell him that he didn't want to own a car, fill it with gas, have it repaired, have to report it if it were stolen, which was highly unlikely unless the thief couldn't see. Simply putKaminsky, Stuart M. is the author of 'Always Say Goodbye A Lew Fonesca Mystery', published 2007 under ISBN 9780765318800 and ISBN 0765318806.