by Jeff Gunhus
Shot. Beer. Shot.
Peace be with you.
Salt. Tequila. Lime.
And also with you.
A low rectangular platform at one end of the room was ostensibly for a band to play, a time when the rickety chairs could be pulled back for a dance floor and the place could roar with good times. But it didn’t look like that had been Billy Ray’s scene for a lot of years, maybe ever. There were a few guys in their twenties at the pool table, missing easy shots, smoking, joking and wasting their paychecks, but they were the exception to the serious drinkers at Billy Ray’s.
This wasn’t a place to party. It was a place where fifty-year-old men talked about high school football games where they were heroes. Where lonely women, the kind dragging a luggage train of bad decisions behind them, used too much makeup and wore revealing clothes to show they still had the goods. A little worn, a little saggy, but goods nonetheless. It was the kind of place where those hunched over on their barstools imagined lives different from the ones they’d lived and did their damned best to drown out the voices in their heads that whispered mean truths about their value to the world. The kind of place where once the bell rang and the last drink was poured, the slow game of musical chairs would begin. Who went home alone and who got laid changed from night to night, but no matter how it turned out, they’d all be back the next night to roll the dice again.
By the look of things, Allison sensed the night was winding down. The few women she spotted in the place were all pressed up near a man, or pinned between two vying for her attention. Heads turned to look at them when they entered but it wasn’t the record scratching to a stop moment she feared. Mike was right about one thing. As soon as he walked in behind her, the men turned back to their drinks and their thoughts.
She spotted the sheriff in a booth to one side, sidled up to a large woman with a nest of hair with enough product in it for an entire salon. He was in uniform and the table in front of him was covered with empty beer bottles. He didn’t even bother looking up when they walked in.
The layout made sightlines through the place easy enough and it was clear that the person she was looking for wasn’t there. According to Jordi, Tracy’s sister was twenty-five. None of the women here came close. She walked up to the bar and an old coot with gnarled hands and a bald head thumped two drink napkins on his bar.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
Allison checked out the tap and saw Bud, Bud Light and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Behind the bartender a neon sign proclaimed Budweiser to be the King of Beers. She didn’t agree, but it would work for that night.
“Two Bud Lights,” she said.
“Shot a’ rye for a buck?”
“You bet,” Mike said. “Are you Billy Ray?”
“Nup.”
“What’s your name, friend?” Mike asked.
“Sure as hell ain’t friend,” the bartender growled as he pulled the beers. “Ned’s fine.”
Allison noticed the glasses Ned was using weren’t quite spotless. Nothing the alcohol couldn’t kill.
The glasses were slid toward them and Allison took a drink. Even though she usually dismissed Bud Light as beer-flavored water, she had to admit it tasted damn good after the long ride. She asked, “Natalie here tonight?”
“Don’t know any Natalies,” Ned said without looking up. He busied himself pouring the two shots of rye.
She glanced at Mike and could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe the old man either.
“Sure you do,” Mike said. “Town like this.” He turned to Allison. “What was her last name again?”
Allison’s eyes burned into him. It was a cheap way to get the information out of her. She had to answer and he knew it.
“Bain,” she said. “Natalie Bain.”
Ned the bartender wrinkled his nose as if catching a whiff of something in the air. “Nup, don’t know the name. No Bain’s around here I know of.”
“I talked to her earlier tonight and I thought she said she’d be here,” she said. “Did she already leave?”
Ned slid the shot glasses across the bar. “Best hurry these off. Closin’ soon.”
Allison leaned forward. “Look, I’m not going to waste your time and pretend I’m some relative or a family friend looking for her.” She opened her credentials and showed them. “My name is Allison McNeil. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI. I have reason to believe Natalie might be in danger.”
Ned was good; decades of listening to blowhards on the other side of the bar had perfected his poker face. But Allison noticed an involuntary wince when she said Natalie could be in danger.
He nodded toward the sheriff. “We got our own law enforcement around here. Suggest you talk to Sheriff Frank if you think there’s any trouble comin’ up for this Natalie person you’re talking about.”
Mike stepped forward. “Looks like your sheriff has enough trouble on his hands tonight.”
Ned looked over at the booth and a sneer of disgust bared his teeth before his blank expression returned. “Could be. I was married to that bitch fo’ eleven year. All the places to pick up on men, she comes here.”
“Women, they can be terrible creatures, man,” Mike said, ignoring Allison’s withering stare.
“Amen to that,” Ned said. Out from below the bar, his hand came up with a shot glass of his own and he slugged it back.
“Come on,” Mike continued. “You’ve got the FBI here at midnight looking for this girl. She’s in real trouble.”
“In trouble or in danger?” the bartender asked. “She said danger. Big diff’rence.”
“In danger,” Allison said, feeling a swell of excitement that the bartender was coming around. “Not in any kind of trouble, I swear.”
Ned looked from her to Mike and waited. Mike was slow to pick up on the cue, so Allison nudged him.
“No trouble,” Mike said. “She’s done nothing wrong. We’re purely here for her own protection.”
Just then the double doors that led to the back area flew open. A young man in his late twenties backed out in a hurry, hands up in front of him. He slammed into a table and went down to the floor in a tangle of chairs. A young woman followed him out, striding toward him with purpose. She was dressed in jeans and a Billy Ray’s t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a beautiful face with the same high cheekbones and jawline that looked so much like her sister’s that it could only be Natalie Bain.
But what was most striking about her at the moment wasn’t how she looked, it was the gun she clenched with two hands in front of her as she marched toward the man on the floor.
“I’m gonna kill you this time, you son-of-a-bitch,” she said. “Gonna kill you like the pig you are.”
32
On impulse, Allison reached under her jacket and put her hand on her Glock. It was a reaction drilled into her by years of training but she didn’t pull the gun out. Instead, she stepped in front of Mike and pushed him back, turning to the side to reduce her profile just in case bullets started to fly.
“You piece of shit, Carl,” Natalie yelled. “I told you if you ever hit her again I’d shoot your nuts off. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“This is between me and my wife. You need to jus’ stay out of it, you crazy bitch,” Carl sputtered, back-crawling through the pile of chairs behind him.
Natalie stepped closer. “Excuse me? What did you just call me?”
“You’re just a crazy bitch who’s gonna get hers one day,” Carl said.
Allison’s eyes flashed up to the back of the room where Sheriff Frank was hefting his sizeable bulk up out of his booth, leaving behind a disappointed woman who saw her chance to be that night’s badge bunny slip away. He didn’t seem too flustered or in too much of a hurry. In fact, looking around the bar, she realized that people were watching with interest but not shock. Just another night out at Billy Ray’s Saloon where the patrons got assaulted with a gun by the waitstaff.
Natalie cocked the gun and t
he tone in her voice took a dangerous turn. “Threaten me again, Carl. C’mon. Let’s just see how crazy I am.”
“All right now, that’s enough, Natalie,” Sheriff Frank called out, his voice the same inflection as a parent tired of telling his kids to stop jumping on the furniture. “You’ve scared the piss out of him. Put the gun down.”
“Did you see her, Frank?” Natalie asked, her voice trembling for the first time. “Bruises all up and down her back and arms. Used a baseball bat this time.”
“She fell down some stairs,” Carl said, addressing the entire bar.
Sheriff Frank stepped closer to Natalie, his hand out for the gun. “We’ll deal with that shit later. You can’t be pulling guns on people, even shitheads like Carl here.”
“C’mon, Sheriff,” Carl complained.
“Shut your hole, boy,” Sheriff Frank said.
He might have been a small-time sheriff more interested in making out with Ned the bartender’s ex-wife than stopping bad guys, but he was no fool. He’d picked up on the same thing Allison had. Natalie was winding up, not down. If the gun had started as a way to scare the man, it was something else now. Natalie’s hands had been steady when she first walked through the door, but they shook now. The color was gone from her face. The yelling had been replaced by a flat, lifeless tone.
“Nothing’s going to change, is it?” Natalie said.
“Calm down now,” Sheriff Frank said, his hands up in front of him like he was walking toward a wild animal. “We’ll sort this out. Get Becky in and I’ll take a look.”
“She fell down some stairs,” Carl said.
“Shut the hell up, boy,” Sheriff Frank muttered out of the side of his mouth. “One more word and I’m gonna shoot you myself.”
Allison noticed the mood in the bar had changed. What had started as the mild interest in a fender bender had all the focus of a major train wreck about to happen. Nothing better than having a good story to tell. Hell yeah, I was there the day Natalie Bain came raging into Billy Ray’s and shot Carl’s nuts clean off. It would be a great story to have in the back pocket. Only not so good for Allison’s purposes.
“Natalie,” she called out.
The room turned to look at her. Everyone except for Natalie. She looked lost in her own world.
“Miss, please stay out of this,” Sheriff Frank snapped.
“Natalie Bain,” Allison called out louder, ignoring the sheriff and walking to the space between the woman and Carl on the ground. “We spoke on the phone earlier. I have news about your sister.”
Natalie blinked hard, coming back from whatever future she’d been picturing for herself. Maybe one where she wore an orange jumpsuit for a few years with great moral authority. She stared at Allison.
“I told you, I don’t want nothing to do with her,” she said.
Allison took a few more steps forward, hands out to her sides.
“Can we go somewhere and talk? It’s important.”
Natalie shook her head and moved to the side, aiming the gun back at Carl. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, but you better get out of my way. And I mean right now.”
“Miss,” Sheriff Frank said, raising his voice. “You better sit the hell down and let me deal with this.”
Natalie laughed bitterly. “Deal with this? If you had dealt with this then Becky wouldn’t be all bruised up again, would she?”
“I told you I didn’t––” Carl whined.
“Shut up!” Natalie yelled.
“Natalie, calm down,” Sheriff Frank said, sounding nervous for the first time.
“Not this time,” Natalie said, her voice cold and laced with such finality that it seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.
“Oh Jesus,” Carl whimpered from the floor as if just realizing things were coming to a head and that he might actually get shot.
Allison watched the girl’s hand grow steady as she took aim. She hated what she was about to do, but she had to break the momentum of the situation.
“Natalie,” Allison said softly. “I’m sorry to tell you. But your sister’s dead.”
There were a few gasps around the bar. Clearly other people knew Tracy Bain. She noticed the sheriff drop his head to his chest and shake his head. But Allison mostly watched Natalie’s reaction. It was impassive at first, just the cold hard stare into Carl’s eyes as she contemplated the cost of gelding him right there on Billy Ray’s floor. But then her eyes softened and raised just slightly so that they were staring at a point on the far wall. Tears appeared in her eyes and then welled over, tracing lines down her cheeks. Her chin quivered and her hands shook harder. Unfortunately for Carl, she didn’t lower the gun even an inch.
“When?” she asked, emotion thick in her voice.
“It happened a few days ago,” Allison said. “I’m sorry to tell you like this. Why don’t you just hand me the gun? We’ll go somewhere and I’ll tell you everything.”
“How?” she blurted. “How did she die? Was it an accident or something?”
“She was killed.”
Murmurs among the bar crowd. This was the kind of news that would fuel bar conversations for months on end.
Sheriff Frank shot an angry look around the room and the spectators quieted down. In the silence, the country music wafted through the air, making the place feel empty and lonely. Lyrics about loss and heartache would have been appropriate, but instead some cowboy was singing about drinking and high school football, just adding to the surreal feeling of the moment.
“Come on,” Allison said, stepping closer. “Hand me the gun. I don’t even know this guy, but I can tell this piece of shit isn’t worth going to jail for.”
“But he won’t stop,” Natalie said, pure rage in her voice. “They never stop.”
Allison turned to Carl. “Carl, are you going to stop?”
Carl nodded. Piece of shit or not, he’d clued in on the fact there was still a fifty-fifty chance he was about to get shot.
“What are you going to stop?” Allison asked.
Carl looked at her blankly.
“What did you do to your wife that you’re going to stop doing?”
“I’m gonna be nice to her from now on,” Carl said. Allison glared at him and he lowered his head like a scolded child. “I took a baseball bat to her. Beat her some. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Didn’t mean anything by it?” Natalie demanded.
Allison put her hand up and, to her surprise, Natalie took a step back. “Have you done this before?”
Carl glanced around the room and everyone staring at him. He reluctantly nodded.
“What’s that?” Allison said.
“Yes!” Carl blurted out. “OK? I hit her. But she hits me sometimes too.”
“Oh, Carl,” Allison said. “And we were just starting to get along.” She kneeled down to his level on the floor and whispered, “I’m a psychological profiler in the FBI. I know for a fact that Natalie behind me has enough rage and grief and other conflicting emotions right now that she’s prone to make an irrational judgment. In fact, I think if I stood out of the way right now, she’d shoot you right in the chest. Or probably the nuts the way she promised. Is that what you want?”
Carl shook his head.
“If I were you, I’d tell her you’re going to stop. And you’d better mean it.”
“I won’t do it again,” Carl stammered. “I promise. I swear on my mother’s grave that I won’t beat on her the way I’ve been doin’.”
“OK, that’s better.” She turned to Sheriff Frank. “Enough of a confession for you?”
Sheriff Frank nodded and reached for his handcuffs. “C’mon, Carl. I’m taking you in. I’ll read your rights in the car.”
“What the hell is this?” Carl screamed. “She’s the one who pulled a gun on me.”
“Looks like it was a citizen’s arrest to me,” Sheriff Frank said. “C’mon, on your feet.”
Allison took a position between Natalie and Carl as the sheriff
hefted him to his feet and cuffed him. He looked at Allison. “I’m gonna put him in the car and then you and me are going to have a little chat.”
Allison acknowledged him with a nod but turned her attention to Natalie, who had finally lowered the gun.
“I get it,” Allison said. “I’ve been where you’re standing. You made the right choice.”
“Hey, Natalie!” Carl called from the front door, putting on a tough guy act to save some face with the bar crowd. “Like I said, you’re gonna get yours one day, you crazy bitch. You think you bested me? Wait ‘til I see Becky next. Jus’ you wait. She’s my wife. All do anything I damn well want with her. You got that? Anything I want.”
“No!” Allison called out, but was too late.
Natalie raised the gun with a cry. The explosion in the enclosed space felt like it shattered the air. She fired a second time, but Allison was already on the move. She grabbed Natalie’s arm in a lock, shook the gun loose, then dropped the girl to the ground, pinning her there.
She looked up at the door. Sheriff Frank and Carl were both on the ground.
Jesus, she shot them both, Allison thought.
Mike ran to the door but both men were already climbing to their feet before he got there. Neither of them had been hit. Both bullets had soared well over their heads and added some extra circulation to Billy Ray’s Saloon. Allison slowly pulled Natalie upright from the floor.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she asked.
“I’ve been shooting since I was a kid. Wasn’t even close,” Natalie said. “I think I made my point, though.”
The sheriff took the cuffs off Carl and walked over. He nodded his head for Natalie to hold out her hands. She did and he clicked the cuffs on her.
“After what you just heard about your sister?” he said, shaking his head. “This is the shit you’re going to pull?”
“I pictured you driving Carl to his house and letting him go,” she said. “And tomorrow Becky would have a black eye or another broken bone and you wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. Just like I can’t do a damn thing about what happened to Tracy.”