No Gun Intended by Zoe Burke Page A

gently nudged the eight ball into the far corner pocket, I threw my arms straight up in the air and laughed. A biker-type dude came up to me and asked me if I’d play him. He was a little drunk, and he got too close to me. I saw Mickey start toward me as I graciously declined. “No. Back off, now, or your nuts will find their way to your Adam’s apple.” Biker dude sneered at me and turned away, just as Mickey got to me.
    I put my hands on my hips and smiled. “Coming to my rescue?”
    â€œYes, and not ashamed to say it. What did you say to him?”
    â€œNot important. Want to play another game?” I put my arm around his waist and grinned.
    â€œSeveral more games, all kinds of games, all the time. But let’s have a drink now, see what we can learn, Minnesota Fats.”
    â€œCall me Ripley.”
    We made our way to the bar and ordered three beers. The bartender plopped the bottles down in front of us. “Nice shooting, sister,” she said. She was small—petite, even—but wiry-strong and multi-tattooed with rose branches snaking up and down her arms.
    â€œThanks.” I tipped my bottle toward her and took a swig. “Nice place here. We’re from New York and Las Vegas.”
    â€œCome back anytime. It’s fun to have good women players in here.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” asked Mickey.
    â€œGreta.”
    We introduced ourselves, and then clinked glasses while Greta left to wait on other customers.
    â€œAnnabelle, you have many hidden talents, is what I think,” said Luis.
    â€œWell, I just exposed the best one.”
    â€œI’m not so sure about that.” Mickey whispered in my ear, then kissed it with just a touch of tongue. I shivered down to my toes.
    â€œGet a room,” said a deep voice behind us.
    We turned around to see Biker Dude, too close, again. Before either of us could respond, he grabbed the top of each of our shoulders and pushed us down on the bar. Greta got to us quickly, but Luis was even faster. In a second he was off his bar stool and on the gorilla’s back, pulling him off of us. Like he was a bouncer for the place, Luis shoved Biker Dude’s right arm in a hammerlock and ushered him toward the door. People made a path for him, and I could hear him say, “Do you understand what I am saying to you? You should not come back tonight, because if you do, you will have many damaging things done to you, things I do not even want to talk about, they scare me too much.” Someone opened the door, and Luis shoved the guy outside.
    Luis sat back down after shaking a few hands, and swallowed some beer while Mickey and I smiled broadly.
    Greta brought us all another round. “I owe you, mister. Julius there, he’s a little, uh…overwrought. Thanks.”
    After a while the bar thinned out and Greta came to our end to chat a bit. This was the opportunity to find out what we had come there for in the first place. I pulled out the picture of Claudia. “Greta, do you know this girl? She’s mixed up in something, and we’re trying to help her.”
    â€œCops? Really?”
    Mickey shrugged. “Yes and no. Used to be cops. Now we’re PIs.”
    She raised her eyebrows in a way that showed she was impressed. “No kidding? Never met a PI before.” She studied the picture, then flicked her finger against it. “Nope, sorry. I don’t recognize her.”
    â€œWhat about Howard Hanks?” I asked.
    â€œYou mean Hank Howard,” Mickey corrected me.
    Greta froze. “You know about Hank?”
    â€œIt looks like you do, too,” said Mickey.
    â€œHe was murdered.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you know who did it?” Greta’s voice wavered.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWere you friends?” I asked.
    Greta smoothed her short blond hair and grabbed a rag to start wiping the bar. “He was my ex-boyfriend. I told the police all about