The 13th by John Everson Page A

“Come for another dose of Guinness, have ya?”
    David sat down on a stool near the spot Joe had cleaned. “Actually yes, I think I will. But tonight I’m not drinking a gallon of it. That shit’ll kill ya.”
    Joe winked. “Lightweight,” he said, pushing the pint of impenetrable stout across the bar. “That Brenda Bean drank you right under the table.”
    “That’s what I came to talk to you about actually,” David said. “The police say she’s disappeared.”
    Joe’s face lost its humor. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “They were already here. I told them she was here drinking with you. Sorry if that was a problem.”
    David shook his head. “I didn’t expect to have to face the cops with a hangover the size of Montana, but no, it’s fine that you told them. You know I woke up alone at the table. But I’m trying to find out who she might have talked to while I was out. You know, before she left the bar that night.”
    “I’ve already gone over this with the cops. It was busy that night, a lot of people going on. I lost track of you two after the first hour or so. Wasn’t ’til closing that I realized you were passed out over there. Brenda? No idea who she talked to that night.”
    “Can you at least remember some of the people who were here? Maybe some of them would remember something.”
    Joe laughed. “Yeah, sure I can,” he said. “But it’s not going to do you much good. Half the town was here that night, and you don’t know the names from Adam. If the cops can’t make tails of the list, youcertainly aren’t going to be able to. But I already told them the folks I could recall, and my memory was a lot sharper about that night a couple days ago than it is now. I know that Hank Fellers was here and Rhonda Beam. Jason, Brill and Brian all came down after the grocery closed, and Jill Sornholt and Betsy Taylor were on the make as usual. I think old man Briller stopped in at one point, and I remember the Terror Twins making a swing through. Then there was Maggie, Pete, John Jr., and Arnie Jenkins over in one of the booths, and I remember a coupla guys came in from Brookstone, though I don’t know their names.”
    David had tried to scribble down as many of those names as possible on a pad he’d carried in his pocket, and he put up his hand to slow Joe down.
    “Wait a minute,” he begged. “Do you know the last names of Jason and Prill and Brian?”
    “It’s Brill,” Joe said, “And no. But they’re all stockers at the grocery. Easy to find.”
    “What about Maggie, Pete and John?”
    “Maggie Sawyer,” Joe said. “Pete’s her husband. Don’t ask me how John fits into things. He lives with ’em though.” The bartender winked at that.
    “I don’t want to know,” David said. “Who are…the ‘Terror Twins’ did you say?”
    Joe rolled an eye. “So-called. Coupla losers from out on the ridge. They’ve got a shack down the little road just before the cutoff for the Castle House Lodge. They come in here every week and roll out with a keg. Don’t know how they put away that much shit all the time, but then again, they don’t do anything else ’s far as I know.”
    The door rattled behind him, and Joe waved. “Here are a couple of our regulars, if you want to check things out with them. But I’ll warn you, don’t get too close, or you may wake up with a very funnyfeeling in your stomach when your drunk wears off. It’s called, ‘Oh my God. What did I eat last night?’”
    “Clam Shack special?” David asked.
    Joe winked, and then stepped over to greet the newcomers and put on a completely gracious smile. “How can I help you ladies? Stoli and soda?”
    A haggard brunette slapped the stool next to her and said, “Sure Joe, and how about your ass on this seat.”
    “Working, Jill, you know that.”
    The other woman, who looked to be packing about 180 pounds around a five-foot frame moaned. “Oh c’mon Joe, you say that every night.”
    “That’s ’cuz every night