She wasn’t inside more than a minute before someone took the bait.
“Buy you a drink, Ma’am.” Steele turned to see a thin, young man with a large Stetson hat that weighed half his body weight. The hat was supposed to make him look older, but his baby face worked against him. He pushed the brim of his hat up with the tip of his longneck bottle of beer. “Be my pleasure,” he added.
“Yes,” Steele said. “That would be nice. I’ll have a draft.”
The man smiled. He hurried over to the bar as if Steele’s acceptance might have a short shelf life. It gave Steele just enough time to adjust to the darkness and by the time he returned she was certain that Angel wasn’t there.
“Here you go,” the man carefully handed her the overfilled glass of beer. “They don’t cheat ya here.”
“No they don’t,” Steele said, sipping the foam off the glass of beer. They were standing dangerously close to the dance floor and several slow dancing couples moved them back a couple of steps. “I’ve never been here before, how about you?” she asked.
“A few times,” he said, in an overly innocent tone that made Steele think he slept in a room out back. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.
“Jennifer. What’s yours?”
“Zeke,” he said with a straight face.
“Hi, Zeke.”
Steele waited a brief moment, then acted like she was trying to fill the awkward pause with conversation. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Angel? I understand he hangs out here sometimes.”
Zeke looked up at the high ceiling in deep thought. Probably considering which answer would benefit him the most. “I think I do remember a guy by the name of Angel. Why, is he a friend of yours?”
She rubbed her index finger around the rim of her glass and offered a crooked smile. “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have one of those right now.”
Zeke’s eye’s widened. “Um, well, why are you looking for him?”
“My brother lost some money playing pool with him and I was looking to pay him off. It’s a big sister kind of thing.”
Zeke nodded, as if the story rung true. He’d probably lost money to Angel himself. “Yeah, I can see that happening.”
Steele lowered her head and whispered into Zeke’s ear. “I was hoping you might know where I could find him, so I can free myself up for the rest of the evening.” She lingered a little before backing up and for that brief moment she allowed herself to imagine it was Matt McColm’s cheek she was brushing against. It surprised her how quickly his image had popped into her head. They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since the shootout. Was that the cause for the butterflies now swirling in her stomach? She needed to focus on her assignment, but for some reason she felt compelled to permit the small fantasy to creep into the fray. If even for a brief moment.
She must’ve been glowing when she stood upright because Zeke’s blush deepened. He appeared willing to help her, but his face told her that he didn’t have the information she wanted. He shrugged slightly and looked at his boots. “I really don’t know him all that well,” he admitted.
Steele smiled. “It’s okay.” She rubbed his arm. “Do you know his last name?”
He shook his head. He looked deflated.
“Is there anyone here that might know something about him?”
Zeke brightened. He nodded toward the stand of pool tables on the opposite side of the bar. “Rocky over there is his playing partner. The one in the white shirt. They play in a lot of pool tournaments together. I’m sure he knows stuff.”
Steele saw a solid looking man with a white tee shirt tucked tightly into faded jeans. He was holding a pool cue in front of him with both hands and was tapping it against the floor in time to the music. The man he was playing with was a tall, thick Native American Indian with a braid running down his back.
Steele leaned toward Zeke and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Sweetie. I owe you one.”
Zeke’s face held eternal hope as she turned to go.
It was still early, yet the bar was more than half full. Steele meandered between single men trawling for young girls and couples holding hands on their way to the dance floor. She found the man in the tee shirt hanging over one of the four pool tables, lining up a long shot. She casually leaned over the pocket where he was aiming. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so he got the full treatment. He had one eye shut and was sliding the tapered pool cue through his curled index finger when he noticed her smiling at him. He came up for a moment and ran his eyes up and down her body. Then he returned to his crouch and smacked the cue ball into the 5-ball, which slammed into the back of the corner pocket right below Steele. She jumped back.
The Indian smiled at her reaction.
The man picked up a cube of blue chalk, twisted the tip of his stick into the cube, then placed it back onto the ledge of the table. He moved around Steele and as he crouched down for another shot, he bumped her aside with his hip.
Steele crossed her arms. “Am I in your way?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said without looking at her.
The Indian seemed to enjoy the free entertainment.
Steele saw Silk playing at a pool table next to them. He was gliding around the table, on the prowl for a good shot. When their eyes met, he winked at her.
Another ball slammed into a pocket and the man continued lining up his shots as if she weren’t there. She noticed he was wearing a silver belt buckle with the Confederate flag flying in the center of it.
Steele began to lose her patience. “Is your name Rocky?”
The man ignored her.
Steele looked at her watch. She suddenly felt like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.
“Are you Rocky?” she repeated, a little louder.
He made no attempt to respond. It was obvious she had found the right man.
Steele reached into her purse and flipped open her credentials. She grabbed the man’s pool stick and shoved her creds in his face. “I’m an FBI agent. Tell me your damn name.”
The Indian stopped smiling.
Rocky yanked the stick free. “I don’t give a fuck who you are, lady. This is a free country and I don’t have to talk to nobody I don’t want to.”
Steele stood with her hands on her hips. Randy Travis was now pining about missing an old flame. The music was loud enough to cover up most of the commotion, but the few patrons who were watching made Steele nervous. Or was it the fact that she suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. She wasn’t dressed for an altercation.
Silk was lining up a shot at the table next to them. He drew his stick back with a short jerky motion and jabbed Rocky in the ribcage with the back of his pool cue. Silk turned and brushed off the man’s shirt.
“Sorry about that,” Silk said. “Hey, you’re kinda cute.”
Rocky squared up on him and his shoulders seemed to swell. Silk was a couple of inches shorter, but he looked up at the man with the practiced stare of a professional assassin. Rocky tried to keep up, but the best he could do was look menacing. Nobody spoke as the two men stared each other down.
Finally, Silk glimpsed down at the man’s belt buckle. “The fuck is that?” he said, pointing at the Confederate flag.
Rocky maintained his stare. He was trying out his best scowl, but Silk seemed immune.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Silk asked. “The south lost. What happened, you drop your subscription to the Redneck Daily News?”
Rocky’s eyes flared with fury. He gripped his pool stick with both hands and roundhoused a swing at Silk.
Silk ducked.
When Rocky came back with it, Silk deflected the shot with his right arm and grabbed the stick with his left. He pulled down with both hands, snapped the stick over his raised thigh and came up with two splintered pieces. Rocky stood startled at Silk’s agility. Silk wheeled and clocked the Indian who was now reaching for Silk from behind.