Shot Girl by Karen E. Olson Page A

motor rumble as it did. Okay, so I wasn’t really deaf. I hoped Vinny was getting some information about Felicia from Ashley. She’d been the only shot girl I’d seen, but then again, I hadn’t really been looking too hard.
    A couple of guys were standing off to my left, cigarettes hanging from their fingers. That shot had brought back a taste I hadn’t had in a long time, and I inhaled the smoke, wondering if one cigarette could get me hooked again. It had been a few years since my last one.
    I’d probably have a coughing fit and die on the sidewalk, just like Ralph.
    I noticed one of them was looking at me, and I stared back.
    "Hey," he said. His hair was spiky, an earring looped through one ear, and he was wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it.
    I should’ve worn my Sturgis shirt again. Maybe I wouldn’t have been mistaken for a "ma’am" then.
    Yeah, right.
    He wasn’t hitting on me, since he was elbowing his friend in the ribs, a small smile on his face. He winked, but it wasn’t that sort of a wink—you know the kind. It was a teasing wink, one that questioned what the hell someone like me was doing here on a Friday night.
    "Hi," I said, joining him and his two friends dressed almost exactly alike, except their black T-shirts weren’t sporting skulls. Might as well make the most of this. "You guys wouldn’t know if Felicia’s working in there tonight?" I cocked my head toward the door.
    They glanced quickly at one another, smiles evaporating. The guy who’d winked frowned. "Who wants to know?"
    It seemed pretty damn obvious who wanted to know: me. But I guess that wasn’t good enough. "Friend of a friend," I said.
    That wasn’t good enough, either, since they started shifting from one foot to the other. The guy with the skull dropped his cigarette and ground it with the heel of his sneaker before asking, "What friend?"
    I debated with myself for a second, then said, "Ralph Seymour."
    "Guy who got killed last night?" the kid asked.
    I nodded.
    "You think she had anything to do with it?"
    He hadn’t heard about the heart attack.
    "Just want to talk to her."
    "You a cop?"
    I almost laughed out loud. Tom would have a field day with that one if he ever heard. "No. Ralph was my ex-husband."
    Their eyes grew wide and they shifted again, but their eyes indicated curiosity.
    "She’s not here tonight." The kid who spoke had a high voice, like it hadn’t changed yet, even though he had a goatee. "Not yet, anyway."
    Shit. Was I going to have to stay here until closing just to see if she’d show up? I stifled a yawn. Where the hell was Vinny? Maybe I could leave him here and go home and go to bed. I calculated the blocks to my apartment. It wasn’t too far, although I’d probably have to take the shoes off—I was still sporting blisters from last night—and I wasn’t sure walking barefoot on the sidewalk was a smart thing to do.
    Before I could make any sort of move, Vinny stepped out of Bar, took my elbow, and steered me across the street.
    "She’s not here," he said.
    "I know," I said, and he frowned.
    "How?"
    "Kids out front said she wasn’t. Where to next?" I put my hand over my mouth to cover up another yawn.
    Vinny noticed. "Sorry I dragged you out," he said. "Let me take you home."
    "But we have to find Felicia."
    He didn’t respond as we made our way back to the Explorer. When we were settled in and on our way back toward Wooster Square, I put my fingers on his thigh, lightly tracing the muscle there. He glanced at me quickly, then back at the road. I took that as a green light and let my fingers do more of the walking, and when he looked at me again, I raised my eyebrows and grinned.
    He didn’t grin back, but he didn’t move my hand.
    Once the Explorer eased against the curb in front of my building, I felt pretty confident that I knew where this evening was finally headed. Vinny slung his arm around me as we ascended the stairs to my apartment, and when we got inside, he pushed the door