The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 11
He smiled and shook his head. "Not today, Pearl. I have a long run back up the hill."
Sighing in resignation, she shook her head and clucked her tongue.
"Fine, you'll take one for the road. All the butter and sugar is virtually guaranteed to counteract the effects of that healthy lifestyle you lead."
She turned away with a chuckle and began preparing his drink. "Half a cup of no-lead, coming right up. I never have to brew this stuff," she complained as she rummaged through bags of coffee beans. "Now where'd I put that bag of decaf?" Finally, she found what she was looking for, and in moments, she had a stout brew pouring into a cup.
She filled it halfway, then topped it off with cold filtered water from a refrigerator. "I don't know how you can drink this. And watered down to boot. It's heresy, I tell you."
"I'm just not a sipper," Chris explained, placing several crisp bills on the counter and grabbing a newspaper from the magazine rack. "I like my coffee lukewarm." He smiled, as he always did, at the picture frame hanging in a conspicuous place above the newspaper display. It contained a clipping of the article he'd written about Pearl's.
"Sipping is the secret to happiness, you know. You kids these days don't take time to savor the moment. It's why the world is falling apart."
"You should pitch that to Folgers," he returned.
"Don't get fresh with me, young man," she bossed affectionately.
Wiping the counter with a clean white towel, she continued with her mock scolding. "Decaf." She shook her head and pointed at him with the dripping rag. "Pearl of wisdom: If some scientist hasn't decided it's deadly, you just shouldn't consume it. It isn't natural." She tossed the towel into a concealed bin and sighed mightily.
"Decaf is worse for you than regular coffee," Chris offered, trying to placate her. "It's full of chemicals."
"And that's not natural either."
Chris smiled but did not laugh. He felt good---better than he had in a long time---but not quite able to force a chuckle yet.
Noticing the look in his eyes, Pearl leaned over the counter toward him. "Blues still got a hold on you?"
Chris smiled softly. "Actually, I'm feeling pretty normal today."
Pearl's eyes narrowed, as though she doubted the honesty of his response. "Your aura is bright green, doll. Here, give me your hand."
She reached out for him, and he patiently allowed her to examine his palm. "Hmm...," she murmured, sliding her pudgy little fingers over his skin. She narrowed her eyes and peered at the lines in his palm as though from a great distance. "Oh my," she intoned, releasing her hold.
"That bad?" he asked.
"You need a good hand lotion, kid, something with vitamin E in it. Your skin is a mess."
"And I thought you were going to tell me my future."
"I see cracked and bleeding knuckles in your future if you don't moisturize." She leaned closer and appraised him frankly, her momentary humor evaporating. "You want to tell me about your visitor? Brought you some bad news, did he?"
For just an instant, he was taken aback. Had Pearl developed some mysterious fortunetelling talent? He quickly realized that the truth was probably far less esoteric. He gave her an ironic smile. "You almost had me that time. Let me guess, Harvey was... pruning his rosebushes again."
She chuckled and winked. "He was in here half an hour ago on his way to the ferry." She lowered her voice. "Said he heard shouting and saw 'some guy storm out of there like his ass was on fire'."
Chris smirked. Harvey's complete disregard for his privacy would probably have been a nuisance if the old man hadn't been so kind to him in the past. Brianna had adored him, and besides, he had such a colorful way of describing things you couldn't help but be charmed by him.
He frowned as the memory of his encounter with Jason Kingsley resurfaced. "Just some crackpot spouting crap about Michael."
"What did he say?" Pearl asked, a single tattooed eyebrow climbing her forehead.
Chris had become accustomed to her probing questions over the years. She wasn't a busybody and didn't tolerate gossip, but she lavished motherly concern on her regular customers, and Chris knew that he was, by far, her favorite.
He stared out the window in silence, and she placed a warm hand over his on the countertop to draw his attention back to the conversation.
"Strong and silent does nothing for me, kid. You might as well give it up, because you know I'll gnaw on it like a dog with a bone until you do."
Sighing, he said, "He claims that Michael was...." The words came harder than he expected. "He said Michael had a... drug problem."
Her lips turned down in a thoughtful pout as she considered the statement. Chris knew that Pearl had never much liked Michael; something about him made her uneasy. She had hinted as much many times over the years. "Why would he say that?" she asked cautiously.
Chris shrugged and took a drink of the coffee. "Maybe he's a con artist. Maybe he's some kind of sicko that gets his jollies from other people's pain."
"What if he was telling the truth? Think there's any way you can confirm it?"
"Michael was not a drug addict, Pearl. Don't you think I would have known?" His denial lacked conviction. He didn't even fool himself.
"I'm just saying... this thing obviously has you at odds with your gut. If you ask around, at least you'll be able to put your doubts to rest."
"And what gives you the impression that I have doubts?"
Pearl gave him a skeptical look. "Well, suit yourself. I'm not one to meddle." The portly little woman shrugged and patted Chris on the back.
"Besides," she continued sagely, "you of all