The bartender folded his arms in front of him and leaned on the bar. “Are you with the law?” he said quietly.
Startled by the question, Simone said, “No. No, I'm family. I'm his niece.”
“His niece?” The bartender narrowed his eyes, as if the idea of Simone being related to James Smith was more unbelievable than Simone being with law enforcement.
Either Simone's lie was obvious to those who knew James Smith, or James Smith got himself in trouble with the law frequently enough that an officer looking for him seemed more rational than his own family doing the same.
His wrinkled face scrunched up in thought, the bartender said, “I suspect he would have gone home, yes. That's where you're most likely to find him.”
Simone took another drink from her glass. “I'm not sure I have the right address,” she said as if an admission of guilt. “That's kind of how I ended up here. I was told this is his hangout of choice, and I didn't know where else to go.”
She left the statement hanging, hoping the bartender would take the bait and be more inclined to divulge the address than if she had outright asked for it.
“Hmm...” the bartender said. “What address did you have?”
Thinking on her feet, Simone nodded her head to the side and said, “Ten, fifteen minutes that way. Near the bus stop.”
The bartender shook his head. “You were definitely given the wrong address.”
“Ah, crap.”
The bartender stood upright. “You're his niece, right? You sure you're not with the law?”
Simone raised her right hand. “I swear to it. I'm here from out of town, by myself. I don't know anybody here, I don't drive, and I have two broken bones in my foot, so I can't get far too quickly. If I'm lying, it won't be hard to find me.”
With a toothless smile, the bartender said, “I trust you.” He took a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote on the back of an order slip. “Just be sure to let him know what I told you about his bar tab.”
“How much is it?”
The bartender ripped the paper away and slid it across the bar to Simone. “More than you've got.”
Simone pocketed the paper. “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“Least I can do.”
Simone finished the glass of water and set it down on top of the dollar bills she had set down. As she turned for the door, she took note of the three young men, still stationed in the smoke-filled corner, still watching intently as she made for the door and exited.
Simone limped out the two sets of doors and into the neon light of the Hidden Pig's beer signage. She stood between the bar and the dark road, unsure of which direction to go. And even if she got that figured out, she had no way of getting there.
Her only hope, she understood, rested in the kindness of another stranger to give her a lift. But nobody came down the lonely road from either direction.
She stepped around to the side of the building where most of the patrons’ vehicles were parked, hoping to catch someone on their way out. Even if they were making their way in, she could offer to buy them a drink for their trouble.
She found the parking lot deserted. Every vehicle sat empty.
With a huff of frustration, Simone made her way around to the other side of the building. She knew there was nobody there, but she would be kicking herself for not checking if she went back inside without making sure her intuition was correct.
Indeed, her intuition was correct.
Simone turned back for the door, but stopped suddenly when something caught her eye.
Or was it someone?
Simone stepped toward the form lying in the shadows. “Hello?”
She received no reply.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Edging closer, Simone could make out the shape of the man lying in the dirt, and hear his labored efforts to take in air.
Simone dropped to her knees beside the man, gently shaking his arm. “Hey, hey, hey, you with me?” He reeked of alcohol.
Putting her fingers to his pulse, she felt hardly anything.
“Crap!”
Simone readied herself to administer CPR before she heard the front door of the old bar swing open and footsteps emerge from within.
Her head spun toward the sound. If someone was about to leave, they could drive him to the nearest urgent care facility or call an ambulance while she worked on keeping this stranger alive.
Pushing up to her feet, Simone rounded the corner of the building, both feet kicking up dust as they came to an abrupt halt.
Three figures closed in around her, dark forms in the dim red and green lights.
“Pay up,” the one at the head of the pack demanded, forgoing any introduction.
Simone just shook her head, bewildered.
The second individual had a switchblade drawn before Simone could take her next breath. He pointed it in her direction. “Now.”
Backtracking as the three young men closed in, Simone recognized them as the three that had been staring her down inside the bar.
“This man over here is hurt,” she said. “We need to help him.”
“Pay up and we'll help,” the third said.
Shaking her head in total confusion, Simone said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don't play dumb, Soaring Hawk,” said the first. “You know exactly what we're talking about.”
“I'm sorry, but you guys are mistaken.”
“Bullshit, we are.”
“Think you can fool us with the long hair,” the second said. “We're not that dumb.”
In lieu of saying they were indeed that dumb, Simone said, “Someone right over there is going to die if we don't help him.”
The first produced a switchblade of his own. He was up in Simone's face in one second, the tip of the blade a millimeter from her chin. “Someone's going to die right here if she doesn't give us the money she owes us.”
Carefully, Simone leaned back, away from the switchblade. “You don't want to do that,” she said calmly.
“Why not?”
“Because I'll kick all three of your asses in ten seconds or less.”
Howling laughter filled the still night as the three young men could barely contain themselves.
“You're going to do what, exactly?” the second young man said between guffaws.
Before another word was uttered, before another breath was taken, before the next bout of laughter could escape from either of the three men, Simone grabbed the one in front of her by the arm, wrenching it in a direction it was not meant to ever go.
His hand opened and the switchblade fell. Simone caught it in mid-air with her free hand and swung the first young man violently into the third.
The second sprang on Simone with his switchblade, but Simone sidestepped the attack and lifted a brutal knee to his chest.
The vicious release of all breath from his lungs made the young man double over, switchblade dropping tip-first into the dirt. She took the man by his shirt, elbowed him across the face, and swung him head-first into the side of a dumpster.
The metallic thunk rang out like the final bell of a fixed fight, the victor standing tall and unscathed while her opponents lay wounded in the dust at her feet.
The first attacker, holding his mangled arm, fled without waiting for his buddies. The second lay at Simone's side, unconscious.
She bent over to pick up his switchblade from the dirt.
Lifting her gaze to the third young man who sat on his butt, scrambling backward on his hands and heels, Simone stepped toward him, dual-wielding switchblades and with an intensity in her eyes that put the fear of God into the poor young man.
“Wait, wait!” he begged, too terrified to make an effective getaway on hands and feet that worked too fast to function. “I'll help you! I'll help you! Whatever you need – just don't hurt me!”
Disregarding the petrified young man, Simone chucked both switchblades into the dumpster and went quickly to the inca
pacitated individual. “This guy needs a hospital, or an ambulance. He's not in a good place.” She turned then to the young man. “What's your name? Do you have a car?”
He nodded, pushing himself up to his feet. “Mike. I have a truck around the other side.”
“Bring it over here – quickly!”
Simone started CPR without another wasted moment. She could still feel her adrenaline spiked. The chest compressions almost felt as if she was doing them in a dream with someone else's arms.
She heard an old engine turn over, tires moving over dirt, and the vehicle come to a stop a short distance behind her.
Mike hopped out of the truck and opened the door to the back seat.
Simone paused the CPR and turned to look at the vehicle. A blue pick-up with hardly any room at all in the back seat. But it would have to do.
“Help me get him in,” she said.
Together, Simone and Mike got the incapacitated man across the back seat of the truck. Simone climbed in, awkwardly cramped in the back seat, and continued the resuscitation effort.
Mike drove them out of the parking lot and away from the Hidden Pig.
“How far?” Simone said between rescue breaths.
“Ten miles, maybe.”
“Drive faster.”
Mike accelerated well past the speed limit.
Coughing, the man in the back seat struggled to breathe on his own, but was now making an effort. Simone checked his pulse. It beat stronger than before.
It was only then that Simone was able to momentarily relax and catch her own breath, orient herself, and figure out what to do from there.
She took the address the bartender had written down from her pocket and held it next to Mike. “Do you know this address?”
He glanced at it quickly while speeding in the dark. “Yeah, I know it.”
“Can you drop me off there after we drop this guy off at the hospital?”
Mike eyed her in the rear-view mirror. “What?”
“I don't owe you money, but I will pay you if you help me.”
Mike glanced again at the address. “That's James Smith's address.”
“I know,” Simone said, curious how he knew that. “Do you know him?”
“Of course I do. He's in the back seat.”
Startled, Simone looked from the drunk man in the back seat to Mike and back again. “You're James Smith?” she asked him, but he was still unconscious. She turned to Mike up front. “He's James Smith?”
Mike nodded.
Unsure of what to do next, Simone said, “Get us to the hospital, fast.”
“Okay,” Mike said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, “Can I ask...”
“Ask what?”
“Your need to talk to James Smith … does that have anything to do with Soaring Hawk?”
Agitated, Simone shook her head, almost as if trying to dislodge the name Soaring Hawk from it. “I don't even know who the heck that is. Why? Who is that?”
Mike kept the pedal floored as he glanced up at the rear-view mirror. “We thought it was you. You looked like her in the dark. You're both tall, fit, can fight. It was hard to be sure. We thought maybe you had a wig on as a disguise.”
“A wig?” With a chuckle and a shrug, Simone said, “Sorry, all natural.”
“Well, if you do get to talk to that old drunk whenever he wakes up, could you ask him about Soaring Hawk? As a favor for the ride.”
“Fine, sure,” Simone said. It took guts for this guy to ask for a favor after his buddies just attacked her with switchblades, but all Simone wanted was to get James Smith to the hospital and wait for him to awaken from his drunken stupor. “Ask him what?”
“Where the hell she is,” Mike said. “She owes us a bunch of money. Took off a year back and disappeared. I know she's lying low somewhere, and I bet this old geezer knows just where she is.”
“They know each other?” Simone asked. “Soaring Hawk and James Smith?”
Mike nodded. “I would hope so. That's her uncle back there with you.”
Simone's breath caught in her throat. “Wait...” She looked to James Smith, wheels spinning out of control in her head trying to put the pieces together. “He has a niece that looks like me? Who's roughly as tall as me?”
“Yeah...”
“Roughly the same age as me?”
“Late twenties? Yeah.”
“Same skin color, same face, same eyes, everything?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Simone's heart pounded in her chest. Her hands and voice trembled uncontrollably. “Soaring Hawk … is that her full name?”
“No,” Mike said. “Her first name is Sonja.”
Thank you for reading Buried in the Sky. I hope you enjoyed this fourth book in the Treasure Huntress series. Simone's journey continues in Book 5.
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