Silver Lining - A Carpelli Adventure: Sequel To The Bestselling Thriller Fatal Mistake

by Cliff Roberts

  I checked out the group of bikers in the corner, who were watching two women make out, I saw that everyone, including the women, were wearing their Diablo colors. Wow, who would have guessed, live entertainment. I spun around on my stool and watched the show for a couple of minutes and just when the two ugliest women imaginable started pulling off each other’s clothes, the bartender stepped up to confront me.

  “You want something?” He growled then spit on the floor, as I spun around to face him.

  “Yeah, I’m with The Knoxville Sentinel and I understand a man was found dead in here last night. I was just looking for some reaction from your customers or even yourself in regards to the murder.”

  “I don’t talk to non-customers,” he stated as he stared at me, “and says it’s a murder?”

  “Okay, how about a beer, a Miller Light. That way I’ll be a customer.”

  “I don’t serve no light shit. It’s either a Bud or Coors.” He never even blinked while looking at me.

  “In that case, I’ll have a Bud.”

  “Sorry, fresh out.” He snarled and continued to stare.

  “Well, then I guess it’s a Coors.”

  “Sorry, out of those, too.” He still hadn’t blinked and was working overtime at trying to intimidate me into leaving.

  “But you just said, you had Bud or Coors?” I challenged him. Just a little.

  “I never said I had them, just that I served them,” He smirked.

  “But you said…” I stopped in midsentence as the biker guy from the end of the bar began moving my way. “So what can I order?” I asked instead.

  “You’re smart guy. You must be a reporter or something’,” the bartender stated still smirking at me. “A shot of tequila,” he the snarled.

  “Okay, I’ll have a shot of tequila.”

  “One, to kill ya coming up.” He shouted as he stomped down the bar to get a shot glass and a bottle of who knew what, they were calling tequila.

  The biker dude was now standing next to me and staring at me, just like the bartender had done. I decided I’d keep playing my role a little longer.

  “Hi there, Jack Carver, Knoxville Sentinel, did you happen to be here last night and if you were what did you think of the murder.” I said with a straight face.

  “I bet you play golf,” the biker responded and when I just sat there looking at him, he spat. “Do you play golf?”

  “No, I don’t play golf.” I acted as though I was intimidated by him. “I used to play tennis though, you?” I tried to strike up a conversation.

  “So you like to play with fuzzy balls, huh? Want to play with mine? They’re real fuzzy.” The biker snickered for a second and then changed back to a snarling asshole in an instant. I acted surprised and more than a little uneasy but continued with the murder questions.

  “Did you know the man who was murdered?” I asked straight faced, as I pulled out a note pad as if I was going to take notes.

  “Who says he was murdered?” He responded.

  “The Medical Examiner does. I believe she’s ruling it an execution.”

  “That’s bullshit. The guy slipped and fell on his own gun.”

  “He must have really fallen at an awkward angle to shoot himself in the back of the head,” I chuckled, clearly at his expense.

  “You calling me a liar!” he suddenly bellowed.

  “No, oh no way. I just thought you meant that as a joke,’ I tried to grovel as best I could. It’s not in my nature, though.

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’d say anything, to keep from getting your ass kicked. But I’m going to…” the Bartender stepped back up with the shot finally and interjected.

  “Knock it off,” the bartender stated and jerked his head towards the end of the bar. Both the biker and I looked. Somehow, someone new had come in and I’d missed him. Maybe there was a back door to the place, because I know I would not have missed the beautiful blond that was leaning on his arm, if she’d walked by. Talk about eye candy.

  “That’s five bucks,” the bartender snarled as he set the glass down. I dug in my pocket for the five I’d stashed there and when I handed it to him, he looked at me as if I were a bug he was about to smash. After a moment he snarled,

  “What, no tip?”

  “I...ah…well…” I stalled as I dug in my pocket for a ten sure he was about to rip me off and sure as shit, he grabbed the ten and walked away without giving me back the five. “I thought you’d return the five and change,” I limply called after him.

  “Fuck you, very much.” He shouted over the cat calls from the corner, as he walked away.

  While I paid for my drink, the biker who had been hassling me had walked down to the other end of the bar, listened as the guy down there said something to him and was now walking back towards me. I watched him as he came. He had a look in his eye that said he was going to be real trouble. I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and grabbed hold of my taser, just in case.

  “Drink up, cupcake, it’s time to leave.” The biker barked when he was still ten feet away.

  “But nobody’s said anything. I need to have something to write about,” I whined.

  “Write about how you were ripped off and barely escaped with your life,” he growled, “now drink up and get the fuck out of here.” It was obvious playtime was over now that the guy at the end of the bar was here. The biker stepped up to within a foot of me, on the side with my taser in the pocket and stood glaring at me. I took the shot in my other hand and started to lift it up, as if I was going to drink it, but then I set it back down in front of me. I leaned in close to the biker and asked.

  “So who’s the guy at the end of the bar, is he like the club president?”

  “No one you’ll ever talk to,” he snarled and then demanded I drink up by shoving the shot closer. There was no way in hell I was going to drink that shot, so I had to come up with some other kind of stall, until I could get a look at the guy at the end of the bar.

  “So where exactly did the guy, buy the farm?” I inquired.

  “What?’ The biker grumbled, but kept he face contorted in a snarl.

  “You know, “kicked the bucket list’?”

  “What?” The biker’s face now showed complete incomprehension.

  “Kicked the bucket.” I crooned, but he was still lost. “Started his new life as fertilizer?” The bartender snickered at that one and stepped a little closer.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” the biker guy obviously had a very short fuse and was about to explode, so I push things. It’s just my nature.

  “Oh, come on, ‘He went to sleep with the fishes’? Or how about, ‘He’s joined Jimmy Hoffa’s gang and is now a pillar in the community’? No, have you ever heard the saying, ‘He went to meet Jesus’?” the biker interrupted me here and cemented his place in the record books as maybe the dumbest person I’ve ever met.

  “Meet Jesus? Do I look like I go to church?” He barked as he reached behind him, for what I thought would be a knife or a gun, but the Bartender stepped up, stopping him and told him to show me where the murder happened. After a moment of thought, he actually smiled. That was not a good sign.

  “You want to see where the body was found?” The biker asked with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

  “Yeah, that would at least give me something to write about. Do they still have any crime scene tape up? It’d be great if I could get a picture of the crime scene with the tape still up.” As we walked towards the back of place I asked him, “You were just pulling my leg acting like you didn’t know what those euphuisms meant, right? Like when someone says, ‘He bought the farm’, it just means he’s dead and they’ve bought him a burial plot, which is land and after your dead and buried it’s rumored that you become worm food. So you’re actually going to be buried in the dirt so the worms will feast on him. He’ll be a worm farmer then.”

  “I was just putting you on,” he stated unconvincingly.

  “I really liked y
our comment about not being a church go’er, when I said, ‘He was sent to meet Jesus’.” I lied just like he did, only more convincingly.

  “So where did he die?” I asked loudly as we reached the short hallway that led to the men’s room.

  “Right down there on the right, in the men’s room.” He stated and then leaned in close to me and said, “We don’t let just anyone look around our club, after this, we’ll have to make you an honorary member.” He said, clearly over working his little pea brain trying to snow me, I hesitated and took a quick glance at the guy at the end of the bar, before going down the short hallway. He fit the description of the guy Collins, was to have delivered the message to last night.

  “Go on, it’s there on the right. It’s kind of tight quarters, so you go first.” He urged with only the slightest bit of a snicker. He caught himself and tried to fake a cough to hide his screw up. I let him think it worked.

  I stepped into what they laughingly referred to as the men’s room. It was maybe twenty-four feet square, with two stalls one next to the other, with a sink and urinal on the opposite wall. But I wouldn’t have put my hands in that sink if you paid me. The basin was yellow with dried piss. I had gone maybe four feet in when I heard the rustle of decorative chains. I quickly glanced at the spidered mirror and saw my genius host swing his arm up over his head, obviously he was about to hit me on the head with something. I twisted to my left and drew my taser in one fluid move. As he tried to follow me, I jabbed the taser into his chest and he started quaking and shaking as if he was suddenly a human vibrator. He dropped the short piece of metal pipe he had in his hand, which made one hell of a ratchet and I was sure some of his buddies would be coming to his aid any second. I kept the taser engaged and waited until his eyes rolled back in his head before I pulled it away. When I did, he collapsed to the floor like he been…tasered.

  I quickly swung to the opposite side of the door expecting his buddies to come charging in, but it never happened. In fact, it was oddly silent. Even the hoots and jeers of the crowd watching the lesbian sex show were quiet. I tucked the taser back in my pocket and yanked the still quivering semi-conscious biker off the floor. I held him up in front of me and shoved him through the door first. I tightened my hold on him as we went up the short hallway and burst thru the swinging doors into the main room. I was surprised by what I had found.

  Everyone in the bar, including the guy and girl from the end of the bar were standing up against wall across from the bar. There were two guys in cheap suits with short haircuts, standing in front of them, holding guns on them. One of the bikers was holding a towel around his hand and there was blood dripping from the towel. Every one of the bikers turned their heads to look at me and their buddy who wasn’t quite conscious yet, as we stepped into the main room. Talk about a silver lining.

  “Oh hey, he’s had like seizer or something. All of a sudden, he just dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks and started twitching.” I blurted out which finally drew the attention of the two men holding the guns on the bikers.

  “Who the hell, are you?” The man with a gun closest to me shouted. I dropped dumbass biker in a heap and walked right up the guy with my hand out as if to shake hands and stated.

  “Hi there, I’m with the Knoxville Sentinel, just following up on the murder that took place here last night. Are you the investigating officers?” I dropped my hand when he acted as if I’d pulled my hand out the toilet back there.

  “Get him the hell out of here. Holy Shit, what’s next a TV crew?” The other man with a gun barked. Then to the bikers he yelled, “Get that stupid son of a bitch over here with you.” And out of the corner of my eye I saw two of the bikers quickly step over to their downed comrade.

  As we reached the door, I tried to stall but the guy wasn’t buying it. He shoved me right out the door. He then stood there, half in and half out of the door, where he could still see the bikers and his partner while watching me as well.

  “Are you guy’s Sheriff’s Detectives?” I asked the guy as I stumbled towards my car.

  “Yes, we are,” he stared. “You know, we’re counting on your civic pride and would take it as a thank you for saving your life, if you’d forget what, if anything, you think you saw us here tonight. I’m sure you understand just how dangerous these bikers can be. I’m sure it’s just an oversight by someone down at the Sentinel, but you’re never, ever, supposed to come here. Anything information you need about these scum bags you can get from us. Just come on down to the gang squad and we’ll supply you with all the information and pictures we’ve got. I hope you know you would have never walked out of here alive, after messing up their pal in there. In fact, if I were you, I’d be looking over your shoulder from now on, until you move away and don’t tell anyone where it is your going. These guys hold grudges. Now get the hell out of here, we’ve got work to do.”

  I got in my car and was about to drive away when the cop still in the door way, waved his arm. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What’s your name?” he inquired.

  “Jack Carver.” I boldly crowed. The sheriff’s detective nodded and let the door close before I could ask for his name. I thought the entire set up looked to be a shake down in progress, but that wasn’t any of my business. So I drove away thinking it couldn’t happen to a better bunch of guys.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I arranged through Holston’s secretary to meet with him again the next afternoon. He had court in the morning which was fine by me. I slept in, didn’t get up until eight and went to breakfast late after I did some research on the internet and then familiarized myself with how to get to the Island Airport before heading downtown to meet with Holston.

  I managed to sit in the same spot at the bar I had sat at yesterday and ordered a beer just like I had yesterday. The bartender gave me a strange look probably because I was wearing a dark blue golf shirt and tan slacks with my black tennis shoes. Not exactly his usual clientele. Once I had ordered my beer, I started doodling on a napkin just like yesterday only this time the doodle dealt with the information I had learned and what it meant in context with the message that was to have been delivered. It spelled out a turf war to me.

  Holston arrived close to on time, I even had a swig or two left of my beer when he slipped onto the stool next to me just like yesterday. He held up his hand for the bartender to see, but he was busy with another of his upscale clients and didn’t see the gesture.

  “Afternoon, Counselor.” I stated without looking at him and then took the last big gulp of my beer. He waved to the bartender, a second time, who definitely saw the gesture this time, and nodded in recognition.

  “Afternoon Ca…,” I interrupted him at this point.

  “No last names,” I stated as I looked around the bar.

  “Okay, John,” he stated a little taken a back. “What did we find out?” He then asked.

  The bartender set his drink down and Holston mumbled the word ‘tab’ as he grabbed the drink and took a big gulp. When he’d finished, he turned and looked at me, as if to say, “Well?”

  “Let’s take a walk, Counselor.” I stated as I stood and headed for the door. I took the napkin with me, no sense in letting anyone see what I was thinking about.

  “What? I just got here. I don’t have time to take a walk. I’m due back in twenty minutes,” Holston complained.

  I stood at the door waiting for him, making it obvious I was leaving with or without him. Finally he set down his half-finished drink and followed me.

  We started out walking the same direction as yesterday. Though this time, I didn’t speak until we had crossed Union St. and instead of turning left towards Gay St., we turned right towards Walnut St.

  “Counselor, I’m surprised at your lack of concern for the security of your clients business.” I stated curtly to open the conversation.

  “What? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” He instantly snapp
ed.

  “I’m talking to a man who would talk in a bar known to be his and hundreds of other lawyer’s hangout. The Feds probably have the place wired. Now for the uneducated in eves dropping tech, you might think that there is anonymity in the mass confusion of a crowded bar. You’d be wrong. The Feds have several different computer programs that can isolate your conversation from all the other voices and noises going on around it. With you and who knows how many other lawyers in that bar representing colorful clients and underhanded corporations, I’d bet you dollars to donuts that it’s wired to hilt.”

  “So you think the Feds are listening to everyone in there?” Holston actually seemed stunned.

  “Maybe not everyone, but to you, absolutely. That why no first names, no shop talk.”

  “Okay, but why are we walking back to the court house?”

  “We’re hiding our relationship.”

  “What? We’re hiding our relationship?”

  “Yeah. When people have something to hide or are up to no good, they sneak around side streets and alley ways, trying not to be noticed or seen. When the relationship is above board, you walk down a busy street casually talking to each other, without making it obvious, you’re looking around for anyone that’s too interested in you. It’s called hiding in plain sight. If someone asks you about Collins, be sure to say, “Yes, he did some work for you as well as dozens of other attorneys around town. If someone asks you, who I am, say I’m one of a dozen or so contractors that works for you from time to time. It leaves people nowhere to go, so they drop it. You’re not afraid to admit you know me, so there’s no story there. Nothing titillating for the news or the Feds to look into.”

  “Do you always provide these educational services to all your clients?” Holston sarcastically replied.

  “No, just those not paying attention.”

  “Okay, I get your point. I’ll watch what I say in there.”