Flame Out by M. P. Cooley

was prosthetic.
    â€œBrian, put this away for your father, so he has something to eat later.” He shoved the bag into Brian’s hands and patted his nephew’s belly. ‘‘And do not eat it! You have had plenty!”
    Brian ducked down behind the bar with the food, I assumed to put it in the refrigerator, watching us the whole time.
    â€œSo we’re here today, gentlemen, to ask you about Vera Batko,” Hale said.
    The judge didn’t hesitate. “That was a long while ago, but no one could forget Vera,” he said, easing into his telling. “When she was a girl, she was the prettiest thing you ever saw, if a little cheeky. I introduced her to her husband. I thought I made a love match: she was a little wild, and I thought Taras would calm her down, settle her. Taras, he needed a little joy in his life.” He nudged Jake in the ribs. “Broke my brother’s heart.”
    â€œSo you knew Vera?” I asked Jake.
    â€œEveryone knew everybody, out here on the Island. I tried to protect her when she was young . . .”
    â€œBecause you were sweet on her,” the judge teased.
    â€œI was no such thing,” Jake said grabbing his brother’s elbow and pushing it away. “She was a child. Of course later, much later, she’d disappear from town and then show up again, all hollowed out. See that table, next to the jukebox?” I twisted, looking at a scarred wooden table shoved in a corner. “She’d get drunk and dance up there.”
    â€œThe lady had problems,” Hale emphasized “problems,” “and you served her?”
    The judge threw his thick arm over his brother’s thin shoulders,forcing Jake to slump down. “Do not blame Jake. Better she get it here, where there were people who could watch out for her.”
    â€œWe usually cut her off before things got rough and made sure she got home safe,” Jake added. “None of the guys she ran off with were from the neighborhood.”
    â€œYes,” the Judge said. “A social club like this, we can keep the riff raff out.”
    Considering the owner was a felon, I doubt they were worried about how classy their clientele was.
    â€œSo you worked here?” I asked Jake. “After you got out of prison.”
    â€œA long time after, in fact.”
    â€œI thought ex-cons couldn’t bartend?”
    Jake’s nostrils flared at Hale’s question. “That’s at a regular bar. We don’t follow the same rules at a social club like this. Maxim here helped me apply for a certificate of relief of disabilities”— the disability being two felony convictions for assault , I thought—“and I bought the place, got it running.”
    A group of five men came in, calling out to Brian, dropping their voices when they saw us. The men all wore train uniforms, the bar a quick hop over the bridge from the Rensselaer train station.
    â€œFreddie,” Jake yelled, pointing to a man who hung in the doorway, hesitant to join the rest of the group. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if we have a repeat of last time?”
    The man shook his head frantically, joining his friends in the corner.
    â€œSorry, officers,” Jake said, still staring at the man who was trying to duck behind his friends. “A troublemaker. Please continue.”
    â€œHow about your other brother, Judge Medved?” Hale asked. “Bernie?”
    â€œBernie and Deirdre,” the judge said. “My stepfather treated them so cruelly. When our mother died, I took custody of the two little ones. I moved heaven and earth to make sure their father could never hurt them again.”
    â€œMay that black dog rot in hell,” muttered Jake.
    The judge leaned in close. “My stepfather beat my mother. He taught Bernie you could treat women like nothing.”
    â€œHe stopped beating them once I paid him a visit,” Jake said.