Firebreak: A Mystery by Tricia Fields

could get drinks from all sides. Traffic flowed easily from all sides of the room. Beyond the bar was a large open dance floor with twenty tables flanking either side, and a space directly in front of the stage with another ten tables for the customers that liked it loud. Those were the hardcore fans Billy had played to. Brenda had told him, “That’s where your fan base is made.”
    It was late afternoon, with only a handful of people sitting at the bar, but he could imagine by eight o’clock, even on a weeknight, the bar would be packed. Whiskey bottles were packed against both side walls, stacked in rows all the way up to the ceiling—empties that now served as wall art. He liked the look.
    The waitress came back. “Seems like I’d know a face like yours if you’d been in here before,” she said, flashing that bleached white smile.
    Billy averted his eyes and grinned. Nothing better than a big rough guy brought to his knees by a pretty young girl. Brenda had taught him that too.
    “I played here a few months ago. Billy and the Outlaws.”
    “And I just bet you’re Billy.”
    “That I am.”
    “You coming back?”
    “I hope so. Thought I’d check in with the manager, see if he had some openings this summer.”
    “You a local?” she asked, leaning forward now, her chest propped up on the bar.
    “I’m from Artemis.” He saw the blank look on her face. “West Texas. About seven hours from Austin.”
    “Ohhh. You came a long way.” She smiled and winked, turning from him, then saying over her shoulder, “Let me see what I can do for you.”
    A few minutes later the woman came back. “Marla’s in the office. She said to go on back.” The bartender turned and pointed to the end of the bar.
    Billy put a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Thanks, darlin’. I appreciate your help.”
    “You come back and sing me a love song? We’ll call it even.”
    *   *   *
    Billy took another deep breath, counted to three, and entered the open door. He expected bar furniture and drinking paraphernalia that matched the bar decor, but the space looked more like an office at a car dealership: brightly lit, messy metal desk, a few posters on the walls held up with thumbtacks and some chipped metal filing cabinets. There was one chair in the corner with a case of Bud Light perched on the seat and the desk chair was filled by a woman who he figured had to be Marla.
    Marla was short and heavy; she looked uncomfortable sitting behind the desk, her arms reaching up to the keyboard on the desk. She scowled at Billy and said nothing as he entered the room.
    Billy leaned across the desk and offered her a hand. She gave him a dry, small hand to shake and then wiped it down her pants, apparently wiping away his sweat, or maybe his germs. He tried not to allow his misery to show on his face. He had not wanted to come. Brenda had insisted. He was no good at small talk, no good at begging for work. Brenda was the manager, as far as he was concerned, and she was the one capable of landing work. Not him.
    “Billy Nix, ma’am. I appreciate you seeing me.”
    “Okay. I’ve seen you. Is that it?” She stared at him without a trace of humor.
    “Actually, I was hoping to follow up on a performance my band gave a few months back.”
    She raised her arm and pointed up and behind her head. Hanging on the wall was a small metal sign that read DON’T CALL US. WE’LL CALL YOU. IF WE WANT TO.
    Billy’s face reddened and he smiled and nodded, trying to engage the woman on some level. “Sorry about that. I thought maybe there was a manager that took care of bookings. Maybe someone I could talk to about playing some dates this summer or fall.”
    The woman slumped her shoulders and her expression softened. She looked more tired than angry. “Look, Billy. I remember you. You guys were fine. You did a good job. But I got fifty other bands that are fine and do a good job. And each one wants special consideration. It wears me out.