like conspiracy to be an asshole.”
He shook his big, block-shaped head.
“And all by your lonesome?”
He was a veteran, a grizzled and old Southern shit kicker who didn’t like things that stepped out of their logical order. I wasn’t going to walk without giving up something. I told him I was an ex- cop from Philadelphia.
“I see,” he said. “So this wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with some drug deal gone squirrelly?”
I told him I was a private investigator and showed him my license.
“I see,” he said. “So you maybe worked with someone locally who could speak for your good standing, Mr. Freeman?”
I told him to call Detective Richards with the Broward sheriff’s office. He looked at his watch.
“And Sherry is gonna vouch for you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I see.”
He left the room and I shifted the ice pack, wondering immediately if I’d suffered brain damage. Then I rationalized. Favor for favor. She wouldn’t mind. I looked at my own watch. After two in the morning.
In a few minutes Rhodes came back in with a cell phone in his hand.
“The detective would like to speak with you,” he said, but stayed where he was after handing over the phone.
“Yes, Detective,” I said.
“Are you OK, Max?”
She sounded legitimately concerned.
“Yeah.”
“The sergeant says this mugging was down by Archie’s and he’s not convinced you were alone.”
“Yeah.”
“You were meeting with O’Shea?”
“Yeah.”
“Did that bastard have anything to do with this?”
The intense anger in her voice took me aback.
“No. They were breaking into my truck.”
“So one guy is still spitting teeth and the other had his ribs kicked in. Doesn’t sound like you, Max.”
“OK, sure. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow,” I said, looking up at Rhodes and trying to look positive.
“Max, if that son of a bitch was setting up another girl…”
“Yeah. He’s right here. Thanks. Call me tomorrow, I’ll be home,” I said and handed the phone back to the sergeant.
He left the room again and when he returned he had copies of my driver’s license and P.I. license in his hand and a young patrolman at his side.
“We will be in touch, Mr. Freeman. Even though I suspect them other boys ain’t gonna say much more than you when they’re able,” he said, handing me back the originals.
“Officer Reyes will give you a ride back to your vehicle.”
I thanked him and dumped the ice pack into his trash can before standing.
“To be honest, sir,” Rhodes said before stepping out of the way, “I don’t like a stink in my backyard that I don’t know the source of. So I hope this one blows away ’fore I step in it.”
“That’s honest enough, Sergeant,” I said, and left with my escort.
CHAPTER 8
T he new bartender’s name was Marci and once he learned her shift he started hitting it regularly. He always tried to get the seat at the end of the bar, so he could use the mirrors. By now she would notice him coming through the door and have an open beer waiting.
“I’m impressed,” he said the first time she remembered his brand. She’d given him that quizzical look, like she wasn’t sure what the compliment was for. They liked compliments, he knew, unless they were rude.
“That you’d remember,” he said, tipping the bottle. She smiled and he liked the shape of her mouth.
There was a knot of people at the middle of the bar, voices already cranked up with liquor, the one guy telling stories, impressing the others. He sipped his beer, looking up at the television for a minute and then watching Marci’s legs when she went to the far end to wait on one of the old farts down there nursing their shots. He made sure he didn’t let her notice him staring at her when she bent over the bar to hear a customer better and gave them all a better look at her cleavage. She wasn’t dumb, he thought. Girl knows where the power is.
She came back his way, noticing the empty he’d slid into the
He shook his big, block-shaped head.
“And all by your lonesome?”
He was a veteran, a grizzled and old Southern shit kicker who didn’t like things that stepped out of their logical order. I wasn’t going to walk without giving up something. I told him I was an ex- cop from Philadelphia.
“I see,” he said. “So this wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with some drug deal gone squirrelly?”
I told him I was a private investigator and showed him my license.
“I see,” he said. “So you maybe worked with someone locally who could speak for your good standing, Mr. Freeman?”
I told him to call Detective Richards with the Broward sheriff’s office. He looked at his watch.
“And Sherry is gonna vouch for you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I see.”
He left the room and I shifted the ice pack, wondering immediately if I’d suffered brain damage. Then I rationalized. Favor for favor. She wouldn’t mind. I looked at my own watch. After two in the morning.
In a few minutes Rhodes came back in with a cell phone in his hand.
“The detective would like to speak with you,” he said, but stayed where he was after handing over the phone.
“Yes, Detective,” I said.
“Are you OK, Max?”
She sounded legitimately concerned.
“Yeah.”
“The sergeant says this mugging was down by Archie’s and he’s not convinced you were alone.”
“Yeah.”
“You were meeting with O’Shea?”
“Yeah.”
“Did that bastard have anything to do with this?”
The intense anger in her voice took me aback.
“No. They were breaking into my truck.”
“So one guy is still spitting teeth and the other had his ribs kicked in. Doesn’t sound like you, Max.”
“OK, sure. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow,” I said, looking up at Rhodes and trying to look positive.
“Max, if that son of a bitch was setting up another girl…”
“Yeah. He’s right here. Thanks. Call me tomorrow, I’ll be home,” I said and handed the phone back to the sergeant.
He left the room again and when he returned he had copies of my driver’s license and P.I. license in his hand and a young patrolman at his side.
“We will be in touch, Mr. Freeman. Even though I suspect them other boys ain’t gonna say much more than you when they’re able,” he said, handing me back the originals.
“Officer Reyes will give you a ride back to your vehicle.”
I thanked him and dumped the ice pack into his trash can before standing.
“To be honest, sir,” Rhodes said before stepping out of the way, “I don’t like a stink in my backyard that I don’t know the source of. So I hope this one blows away ’fore I step in it.”
“That’s honest enough, Sergeant,” I said, and left with my escort.
CHAPTER 8
T he new bartender’s name was Marci and once he learned her shift he started hitting it regularly. He always tried to get the seat at the end of the bar, so he could use the mirrors. By now she would notice him coming through the door and have an open beer waiting.
“I’m impressed,” he said the first time she remembered his brand. She’d given him that quizzical look, like she wasn’t sure what the compliment was for. They liked compliments, he knew, unless they were rude.
“That you’d remember,” he said, tipping the bottle. She smiled and he liked the shape of her mouth.
There was a knot of people at the middle of the bar, voices already cranked up with liquor, the one guy telling stories, impressing the others. He sipped his beer, looking up at the television for a minute and then watching Marci’s legs when she went to the far end to wait on one of the old farts down there nursing their shots. He made sure he didn’t let her notice him staring at her when she bent over the bar to hear a customer better and gave them all a better look at her cleavage. She wasn’t dumb, he thought. Girl knows where the power is.
She came back his way, noticing the empty he’d slid into the
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