Chief

by Debra Kayn

  Wayne looked around the room. The dozen or so tables that usually sat in the room were gone, and instead, there were at least ten booths hugging the walls. The old stained bar that should've been right in front of him was also missing. He looked to his left and found tall, dinky tables in front of a skinny chrome counter blocking off the liquor shelves and the taps.

  "Did we walk into the wrong fucking place?" Glen walked to the middle of the room, whistled, and turned around. "Where the hell is our table?"

  "New owners took over the bar on Monday." Steve Whinsell, a regular customer, stood from the booth, tugged his pants up under his beer gut, and headed to the restroom. "They've been redecorating during the week."

  That would explain the changes. They hadn't been to the bar since last Friday. While the previous owners never showed their face, and in fact lived out of the state, someone should've known about the sale. St. John's wasn't that big that a transfer of ownership would go unnoticed.

  "That's a hell of a change," said Thad. "How are we supposed to get a beer when nobody is around?"

  "I'll find someone." Wayne walked over to the counter and knocked on the surface, hoping to draw out the help. "Can we get a beer around here?"

  He leaned over the counter and peered into the dark kitchen window. Besides the six customers already seated, there appeared to be no one else around.

  Chuck and Thad pulled a couple chairs over to a booth while Glen slid onto the bench. Wayne's mood went from bad to irritated. There were too many changes happening to please him. His work wanted to change a tried and true method. His bar changed the feel of the place.

  He gave up waiting for someone to come out of the kitchen and slid into the booth opposite of Glen. "If this is the kind of service they'll be giving now that someone else owns the joint, I'll find somewhere else we can grab a beer."

  "There's always your garage." Thad put his boot on the bottom rung of the stool.

  "No air conditioning," muttered Wayne.

  Glen spun the napkin holder between his hands and whistled softly. Wayne, used to the noise, understood that Glen was okay with a change of plans. It was when Glen stopped whistling that they worried because usually, Glen's anger would get the best of him and fists would start flying. They all had their ways of dealing with life.

  Thad hated to be alone and kept himself busy helping everyone. If a stranger needed a ride, he'd be there. If an acquaintance needed an extra pair of hands moving, he'd pack and deliver every fucking box. He surrounded himself with others to keep the shadows away.

  Chuck enjoyed women. Half the time, Wayne wondered if it wasn't so much about sex, but the comfort of a soft body that Chuck sought. Raised by his father and three older brothers, Chuck enjoyed women to the fullest.

  Wayne rubbed his jaw. It was his responsibility to keep everyone together, and that's probably why he bought the house he grew up in when his mom remarried ten years ago and moved to Minneapolis with her new husband. Out of some weird nostalgia, he couldn't explain, he'd gone out and got a loan and bought the place from her before she could list the house with a realtor. Living at home beat the hell out of the rental duplex next to the railroad tracks he'd lived in at the time.

  Through the years, the other members of Notus had purchased their own places four blocks away, where the old street mall used to sit. While the suburbia life with weekend garage sales and children riding their bikes up into the lawns never bothered the others, he preferred the quiet street where he'd grown up and where he only had to wave to the older neighbors when he felt like it.

  "What the hell is taking so long?" Glen stood from the stool. "Maybe it's self-serve."

  "There's a woman here...somewhere," said Steve, who'd returned from the bathroom and sat back down two booths away from them.

  At Steve's announcement, the door to the kitchen swung open. Wayne eyed the woman stepping into the room, having never seen her before. If he had, he'd have remembered her. She had that sexy innocent look that came naturally, which meant she'd be damn good in the sack.

  Thick, blond hair hung straight down her back, shining from the ceiling lights. A natural curiosity raised her arched brows and puckered her pink lips. He found himself wanting her to look at him.

  When she slowly swung her gaze to the booth, her lips formed a perfect O as if she found having customers during working hours a surprise. He leaned back against the bench. The wait to have a beer now worth his time if she stuck around for him to watch.

  The woman put the box she carried behind the counter and hurried toward him. Her long, bare legs carried her forward confidently. Wayne's mood improved.

  "Sorry to make you wait. We're trying to set everything up and keep the doors open to customers to make an easy adjustment for everyone who enjoys stopping in for a beer, and I'm afraid we're failing." Her pout turned into a smile. "How about four free beers on the house?"

  She had a slight overbite that only enhanced her sexiness but failed to distract him from the fact she'd said 'we'. His gaze lowered to her left hand. She wore no ring.

  "Yeah, beer sounds good," he said. "Appreciate it."

  "My pleasure." She pivoted, and he caught himself from whistling under his breath.

  Her shorts covered her ass, but the rip in the pocket gave him a peak of white panties. His breath caught in his chest and he almost choked. White.

  Last time he'd seen white panties on a woman, the woman had been a sixteen years old girl, and he'd hit a home run during lunch at school when he'd been a senior.

  Thad's phone vibrated, and he mumbled, "Fuck."

  Wayne looked at Thad, took in his lowered brows, the tick on his upper jaw. "What?"

  "There's a girl missing," said Thad. "It's been seventy-two hours. She's seven years old."

  The hair on Wayne's arms prickled and he looked around the table. Glen and Chuck's face's hardened. They all understood the importance of an hour, much less three days. Notus Motorcycle Club would step in like they do every missing person's case.

  "Make the calls." Wayne decided for the club. "Get the address."

  "On it." Thad stepped away from the table, concentrating on his phone.

  The woman returned with a tray carrying four mugs of beer. Wayne stood, and Chuck and Glen left the table.

  Wayne stayed behind. "We can't stay."

  The woman looked up at him with wide eyes. "I apologize. Things have been busy here, and —"

  "Not your fault." The tension in his body over the phone call pushed away his irritation from his day at work and finding changes at the bar. "Something came up, and we have to go."

  The woman's gaze lowered to his vest and she nodded. "Well, when you have time, stop in again. The offer is still up for a free beer."

  He stepped backward toward the door, feeling the pressure of time running out. "What's your name?"

  She tilted her head. "Clara. Clara Nelson."

  "I'll see you again, Clara." He turned and lifted his chin toward Thad who followed him outside, still talking on his phone.

  Thad pocketed his phone, swung his leg over his motorcycle, and looked at Wayne. "The parents of the missing child agreed to meet with us immediately at 687 Oak Street."

  "That's on the other side of Lombard Street. Let's roll out." Wayne started his bike.

  His days and nights instantly became longer. Between working a forty-hour week at the port, he'd use the rest of the time to hunt down a little girl. Once he understood the details, he'd make the necessary contact with those who'd help in the search—Olson & Sons Private Investigators and AirChinook Search & Rescue. The police could only do so much, and it was important to get people on the trail before the trail went cold.

 

 

 
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