“Need some help with that?” I asked.
“Hey, Reed.” She stopped and straightened up. “These things can give you fits at times, but I’ve got it under control.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Natalie Bowman was a regular bartender at B-52’s, and since I was a regular myself, we’d gotten to know each other. Nat was working her way through school, pre-med, and she was tough and no-nonsense. I’d seen her handle a drunk or two better than the bouncers.
“Thinking through a case?” Nat knew that when I needed time to ponder something difficult, I liked to come here, drink a beer, and play some pool. She reached into a cooler and pulled out a Fat Tire, but I waved it away. “No?” she said, surprised.
“I’m working,” I said as I sat down at a barstool. “So I better pass.”
“Then a Coke.” She grabbed a glass and filled it with ice. Then she paused, gazing at me. “You look troubled, hon. What’s up?”
“Have you seen Deuce?”
“Not since last night. Why?” She filled the glass with soda and slid it across the bar to me.
“He didn’t come home. No one’s seen him since last night.”
Nat set the beer back in the cooler, never taking her eyes off me. “And that’s not like him?”
I shook my head. “Nah, he’s pretty routine. If he and Ace aren’t at work, they’re probably home watching movies or hanging out here. And they’re almost always with each other.”
“Yeah, that’s true, I usually see them in here together.”
“Did you see them leave last night?”
“Sure,” Nat said. “They were here until we closed.”
I gulped some soda. “Anything seem out of the ordinary?”
Murray Head’s “One Night in Bangkok” started playing. She gazed into space and her head began bopping as she thought. “Nothing that comes to mind,” she finally said. “They were chatty with some other guys as they walked out and they both waved at me when they left, but they always tell me goodbye.” A smile crossed her face. Nat, like most of the bartenders, loved the Goofball Brothers.
“Was there anything about the guys they were talking to? Any trouble with them?”
“No, I don’t think so, but let me see if Aaron noticed anything.” Aaron was another regular bartender, a big white guy with a chest as wide as one of the kegs behind the bar. “Hold on a sec, hon.” Nat sauntered through a side door and into the kitchen.
I swiveled around on the stool and watched a TV hung up in a corner. The Dodgers were playing the Diamondbacks, and the D’backs were ahead. Not good for the Rockies, who always seemed to be chasing the lead. I’m not a big baseball fan, but I like to see the home teams do well, though it seems like the Rockies never do. The TV sound was muted and I silently sang along with Murray Head. What kind of a name was that, anyway?
“Aaron said Ace and Deuce played pool with those other guys for a while, and it all seemed friendly. They all left together,” Nat said over the music. She set a plate of chips and salsa in front of me. “You look hungry.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, immediately stuffing some chips in my mouth. “The burger I ate in the car wasn’t enough.”
“Look at this,” I said between bites. I pulled out the driver’s license photo of Gary that Cal had printed for me. “This picture’s a little old, and he’s got a shaved head now, but do you recognize this guy?”
Nat took the paper and stepped back, holding it closer to the lights above the bar. She studied it for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so, but unless they’re in here a lot, or they do something stupid or weird, I don’t usually remember who comes and goes.”
She handed the paper back and I tucked it in my pocket. “It was a long shot,” I said.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“Some guy who called Deuce right around the time you closed up.”
“Sorry I’m not more helpful,” she shrugged. “Once everyone’s out the door, we’re all cleaning up so we can get out of here. Give me your number and if I see Deuce, I’ll call you.”
I pulled out my wallet and handed her my card, then munched some more chips.
“The ace detective,” she smiled as she tucked the card into her bra.
“I don’t feel that way right now,” I said.
“Aw, he’ll turn up. Hold on.” She hustled to the end of the bar to serve a couple of women who’d just come in. They were wearing purple Rockies tee shirts. The first of the baseball fans showing up.
I polished off the chips and was finishing the last of my Coke when Aaron came in from the back.
He nodded at me curtly. “Can’t find Deuce, huh?”
“Yeah, he’s just up and disappeared,” Nat said as she rejoined us.
“Nothing unusual happened with them?” I asked Aaron.
He scrunched his lips into a frown. “Just their ordinary weirdness.”
“And those guys they were playing with didn’t bother them?”
“Nah, man, those guys were cool, although I think they thought they could pull one over on Ace and Deuce, because the brothers are, you know…”
“I get it,” I said.
Aaron cleared his throat. “So yeah, those guys thought they saw an easy mark – bet they could beat the brothers, make a quick buck. But then Ace and Deuce beat them handily, and it put them in their place.”
“Were they mad?” Nat asked.
“Nah, it was all cool.” Aaron flexed his beefy arms. “They ended up playing pool for an hour or so, bought each other a round, and it was friendly.”
I mulled that over. If the guys were actually pissed at Ace and Deuce, but hiding it, could one of them have gone after Deuce? But how did he get Deuce’s number? I shook my head, dismissing it.
“And the last time you saw Ace and Deuce was when they were leaving with those guys?” I asked.
“Yeah, except for when Deuce came back,” Aaron said.
“What?” Nat and I said at once.
“What do you mean?” Nat pounced on him. “You told me in the back that the last time you saw the brothers was when they left with the guys they were playing pool with.”
Aaron shook his head. “Nah, you asked me if I saw them leave with those guys. I did. But then when I left to go home, I saw Deuce outside talking to a guy.”
“Seriously?” Nat stared at Aaron. “It didn’t occur to you to tell us that?”
“I am now.” Aaron was a big guy, but he was shrinking as he stood in front of Nat.
“Aaron, take a look at this,” I said, interrupting before the two got into a full-blown fight. I took out the picture of Gary. “Was this the guy that Deuce was talking to? It’s an old picture, but the guy looks about the same. He’s bald now, and he’s got tattoos all up and down both arms.”
Aaron glanced at the picture and shook his head. “That wasn’t the guy.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. That’s not the same face, and the guy last night had hair and no tattoos.”
“What did he look like?” Nat asked.
Aaron shrugged. “I don’t know. He was kind of tall.”
“Hair color? Thin? Fat? What was he wearing?” I grilled him.
“Uh, I didn’t pay attention, man.” He hesitated. “I think his hair was brown…maybe black, but definitely not blond.”
“And?” I prodded.
“He wasn’t fat, but he had a coat on so it’s hard to say.” Aaron held up his hands, giving me a ‘how should I know’ kind of look. “He was kind of ordinary.”
“That’s quite a description,” Nat said.
“It was dark,” Aaron glared at her.
“It’s okay.” I leaned an elbow on the bar and sighed. “If it wasn’t Gary, then who was it?”
“Who’s Gary?” Aaron asked.
“This guy,” I said, holding up the picture before I put it back in my pocket. “He’s the guy who called Deuce last night, but he’s apparently not the guy who met Deuce.”
“Unless Deuce met two people,” Nat offered.
“Not bad.” I pointed a finger at her. “That could’ve happened. But then it makes things even more confusing.”
I turned back to Aaron. “Did you hear what Deuce and this guy were talking about?”
“I don’t have any idea. I was tired and just wanted to go home.”
“So the guy didn’t seem like he was threatening Deuce or anything like that?”
“I don’t think so,” Aaron said. “Sorry, man, I didn’t notice.”
Nat patted my hand. “Hon, I wish we could help you more, but duty calls.” She nodded at a big group that sauntered up to the bar. “I’ll call you if we see him,” she said as she started preparing a drink order.
“Yeah, gotta go,” Aaron pushed away from the bar. “I hope you find him.”
“Thanks.” I tossed a few singles on the bar and left.
I thought about what Aaron said as I walked to my car. Gary had called Deuce, but someone else met him at the bar. The question was: who was he? I shook my head.
“Where are you, Deuce?” I muttered as I started the 4Runner and drove off, contemplating my next move. Now, in addition to my conundrum with Gary, I’d confirmed that Deuce had met someone at B 52’s last night, but I had no clue as to who it was. More questions, but still no answers…
Chapter Seven
“Did you find him?” Ace asked as I let myself into his place. His face was drawn and tired, and he was nervously pacing again.
“Nope,” I said. I glanced from him to Willie, who was sitting on the couch, a laptop balanced on her lap. “I take it neither of you heard from him either.”
“Not a thing.” Willie pursed her lips into a sad twist. “I’ve been looking through Deuce’s computer, seeing if I can find anything.”
“And?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
She shook her head. “Nothing unusual on the Internet history, no unusual documents. There’s not much here. Hey,” she waved a hand at Ace. “Come over here.”
“He mostly uses it to play games,” Ace said as he sat on the arm of the couch. “Reed, I’m really worried.” Willie reached over and patted his arm.
I sprawled next to her. “I know.” I rubbed my hands over my face. “I haven’t come up with anything.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. The front door suddenly opened, startling us. Bob strode inside, wearing his EMT uniform.
“I thought you had to work,” Ace said, surprised, and with a bit of accusation in his voice.
“I’ve been trying all day to get someone to cover my shift,” Bob said as he perched on the corner of the coffee table. “I was on my way to work when a friend finally called and said he’d do it, so I came straight here.” He looked at me, his eyes tight. “Any progress?”
I shook my head. “I tracked down who called Deuce, a guy named Gary Granderson, but he says he didn’t call Deuce. So he’s lying about that, or,” I threw my hands up, “he’s lying about something, but I don’t know what. And Deuce met someone different at B 52’s after he left Ace. But I have no idea who that was either.”
Bob slouched forward, rested his forearms on his knees, and stared at the floor. Then he straightened up and let out a heavy sigh. “I think it’s time to call the police,” he said. He stared at me, waiting for my confirmation.
I hesitated as I met his gaze. Then I nodded, feeling in a way like I was admitting defeat, but knowing he was right. It was time to get the police involved, but that wouldn’t prevent me from continuing my own search.
“I…” Bob paused, then he gazed at me, his face a confused mess. “I don’t know how to do this. Should I call or go down to some station?”
“It’d be better to go there,” I said. “They’re going to have a lot of questions. And make sure you bring pictures of Deuce.”
Bob’s eyes watered and he quickly brushed at them. “Okay,” he said hoarsely.
“Do you want me to go with you?” I asked.
“No, you’ve done enough.” Bob stood up and pulled out his phone. “Will pictures on this be enough?”
I started to shake my head when Ace jumped up.
“I’ve got some,” he said, darting out of the room. He returned a moment later with a couple of small, framed photos.
“Here.” For some reason, he handed them to me. I suppose I was ‘the man in charge’. One photo had Ace and Deuce in it, both wearing ski outfits, their faces red from the cold, snowcapped peaks behind them. The other was just Deuce. He was leaning against a pool table, a cue in his hands, a broad grin spread across his face.
“This one,” I said, handing the second one to Bob. “You can see his face better.”
He looked at it mutely. I told him where the closest police station was and how to get there.
“Ace, come on.” Bob gestured for his brother to follow. “We’ll go down there and talk to them.”
“Call me if you need anything,” I said, clasping his shoulder.
“Will do.”
“I feel so bad for them,” Willie said as we stood on the porch, watching Bob’s white, Chevy truck drive away. From the passenger window, Ace stared at us, his face pale.
I let out a long sigh.
We walked up the steps to my place. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Let’s see what the police say,” she suggested. “Give yourself a break, and maybe your subconscious will give you some ideas.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I let us inside, glad to be home.
“Of course I am,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “I was looking through your movie collection this morning, and since you’re always telling me about film noir, I thought maybe we could watch one.”
I smiled. “I like the sound of that. You have one in mind?”
“Is this one good?” Willie went to the entertainment center and held up a DVD with Dick Powell and Claire Trevor on the cover. “It says it’s a Philip Marlowe mystery, and I’ve heard you mention him.”
“Is that one good?” I said, feigning shock. “Murder, My Sweet? It’s a classic.”
“I don’t know about that, but the description sounds interesting.”
“You are in for a treat,” I said. I took out the DVD and popped it into the player.
“I’m going to order that pizza,” she called over her shoulder as she strolled into the kitchen. “Pepperoni and black olives?”
“That works for me,” I said. I got the movie ready as Willie called Pizza Hut and ordered for us. Then she returned, holding two beers in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “A snack while we wait.”
I helped her get settled.
“You can’t do anything more about Deuce right now,” she said, putting her arm around me.
“I know. I figured he’d show up, all goofy and saying he didn’t know that anyone would worry about him.”
Willie leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder. “I know.”
We dove into the chips as the movie started, showing Marlowe being interrogated. I’d seen Murder, My Sweet a few times, and each time I was struck by Dick Powell’s gritty performance.
“This is a great plot,” I said. “But it’s complex and can be confusing. It’s based on Raymond Chandler’s book, Farewell, My Lovely.”
“Why did they change the title?”
“Powell was known for light comedy and musicals, and the producers didn’t want movie-goers to think the film was a musical. Murder, My Sweet really captures the tough dialogue that Chandler used in the book –”
“Sh,” Willie chided me. “Tell me later.” We leaned back on the couch and she snuggled a bit closer to me. For a moment I could hardly focus on the movie.
We lapsed into silence. I was getting into the movie, mesmerized yet again by Powell’s performance, but my mind stayed on Deuce. I wondered what Willie was thinking when I noticed that her breathing had become slow and steady.
“Will
ie?” I whispered.
Nothing.
Great, she was bored by film noir. Oh well, I sighed. You can’t have everything.
Chapter Eight
For the second day in a row, Humphrey Bogart woke me up. Willie stirred beside me, then rolled over and breathed heavily. I grabbed the phone as I slid out of bed and dashed into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind me.
“Hello?”
“Reed, did I wake you?”
“No, I was up,” I lied through a yawn. My synapses weren’t firing yet and I was having trouble recognizing the voice. “What time is it?”
“Seven-fifteen, and we still haven’t heard anything from Deuce.”
I finally placed the voice: Bob.
“Why didn’t you stop by last night?” Willie and I had finished Murder, My Sweet, and then watched The Maltese Falcon, one of the best film noir ever. Willie hadn’t made it through that either, so when it was over, we went to bed.
“I took Ace for some dinner after we left the station, and then back to my house for a while. I could’ve called, but I didn’t have anything new to tell you. By the time I brought Ace back, it was too late to bother you,” he said. “Besides, what could you have done last night?”
“What did the police say?” I asked.
“Not a whole lot. They took down a description and said they’d watch for him, but there isn’t much they can do.”
“I figured they’d say that, and unfortunately they’re right.”
“What do we do now?”
“I’ll keep on it,” I said, hating the desperation in his voice. “Something will turn up, or better yet, Deuce is going to come home.”
“Okay,” Bob said. “I’m coming over to check on Ace before he goes to work. I swear, he can’t do anything without Deuce.” He laughed, a much-needed moment of humor. “I’ll let you know the minute I hear from Deuce.”
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 4