That’s not good. Don’t get me wrong, I lose sleep over many things, and the fact those three assholes are dead isn’t ever going to be one of them. But a lot of people saw me tussle with those guys last night… and now they’re dead, I know the good sheriff is here in an official capacity, no matter how friendly he’s being.
“Any idea what happened?” I ask.
He shrugs slightly, as if unsure about sharing his theories with me. “What do you think happened?”
I take a sip of my coffee and think about it. “Well, calling it an execution is right. I don’t know the ballistic details, but I’d guess the angle of the entry wounds supports what I imagine your current working theory is — that they knew the shooter. He probably leaned in through the passenger window when they pulled over to speak to him. You won’t find any shell casing in the vehicle, and no forensic evidence of any kind — the shooter will have worn gloves, and been met with zero resistance. Fast, accurate shooting at close quarters isn’t easy, so the guy’s a professional.”
Raynor strokes his mustache and smiles to himself before taking another sip of his coffee, but remains silent.
I shrug at him. “I’m just guessing…” I smile. “So, am I a suspect?”
Raynor stands, picking up his hat and laughing. “Christ, if your bar ever closes, I hope to God you consider becoming a deputy,” he says. “No, you’re not a suspect. If you were, I wouldn’t have had coffee with you. And if you were guilty, you wouldn’t have given me a professional, and frighteningly accurate, theory about what happened. Military?”
I nod without saying anything.
“You can take the man outta the army…” he muses. “I appreciate your time, Adrian. Sorry to trouble you so early in the morning.”
“No trouble, John — any time. You need anything else, just holla.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see myself out.”
“Take care.”
Raynor walks out and across the bar. I hear him make a fuss over Styx, who would’ve gone over to say ‘Hi’ to him. I hear the doors swing open and shut.
I turn to head upstairs and see Tori in the doorway, smiling at me.
“Was that Sheriff Raynor?” she asks.
“Yeah, he just called in for coffee.”
“Uh-huh… what’s happened?”
I smile at her. “Those three assholes from last night were found dead in their car in the early hours, on the outskirts of town,” I tell her. “Sheriff just had a few questions, as he’d heard what happened in here last night.”
“Jesus… what you say to him?” she asks as she moves over to the side and pours herself a coffee, adding cream and sugar.
Shaking my head in playful disgust, I reply, “I just told him what happened… He said he was just following procedure, and it was nothin’ to worry about.”
She walks over to me, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. “Well, if he needs you to provide an alibi for your whereabouts last night, I’ll gladly give him a full statement!”
She winks and walks off, back upstairs with her mug of coffee. I watch her go, smiling to myself, then turn and walk back into the bar. I sit down on a stool in front of the counter and whistle to call Styx over to me. He obliges, and sits at my feet, looking up at me. I stroke his head and pat his nose, which he seems to like for some reason.
“I got a bad feelin’ about this, boy. A real bad feelin’…”
5
It’s another busy night tonight. Phil, Nicki and Tori are rushed off their feet. The atmosphere is loud and happy, the jukebox is blasting out some classic songs, and the beer’s flowing out as the money flows in. Not that I’m here for the money, but it’s nice to know what I’m doing is working.
I haven’t been able to shake the sense of impending doom after the events of last night and this morning, and it’s now driving me to distraction. Tori’s been great, as always. She keeps telling me not to worry, and that it was just a bit of bad luck and coincidence. And she’s probably right… It’s been well over two years since I dropped off the grid and started afresh down here. Maybe it’s just a case of old habits dying hard.
I do my best to put it behind me as I open a couple of beers for a young couple who’ve just walked in. I’ve seen them a few times — I think they’re new in town, so I make a point of making them feel welcome when they come in. So far, they keep coming back, so I must be doing something right.
As always, the night’s gone by quickly with no trouble. But I look over at the door, and the sheriff enters. With him are two men in dark suits, who look around the bar conspicuously.
Feds… They might as well wear an A-board and ring a bell.
Shit.
He takes his hat off and surveys the bar before walking over to me. “Evenin’, Adrian,” he says.
“Sheriff,” I reply with a nod. “Get you a drink?”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight, thank you. Listen… is there somewhere we can talk?”
I look at him, then at the two men with him in turn, and let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, we can go in the back.” I turn to Phil, who’s standing next to me serving customers. “You okay to watch the bar on your own for a few?”
“Sure thing,” he replies, with a casual shrug.
I turn back to Raynor. “Follow me,” I say.
We walk to the back room, and I offer the good sheriff a seat. I don’t acknowledge the two suits that are with him, and they seem happy enough standing.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” I ask.
He lets out a heavy sigh and strokes his mustache before talking. “Adrian, these boys are from the FBI…”
“I never would’ve guessed.”
“They just got here and came straight to me, asking after you. They need to—”
“Mr… Adrian, we have a few questions for you regarding the murder of three men in this town last night,” says one of the agents. They’re both standing side by side in front of the door. The one on the left is doing the talking. “Do you mind first confirming where you were last night?”
I smile to myself, thinking about what Tori said this morning. “I was in bed from about ten-thirty,” I say.
“What time did you fall asleep?” asks the other agent.
I shrug, as I genuinely have no idea. “I dunno, about eleven, maybe?”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“My girlfriend can, she was with me the whole night.”
“I see…” says the first agent. They seem to be taking it in turns. “Tell us about what happened in the bar earlier in the evening.”
I sigh, already tiring of going over it. “Not much to tell — three guys walked in, asked to speak to me. They started making trouble, and I threw them out.”
“Three guys? You threw them out single-handedly?”
“Yeah…” I say. I still don’t see why that’s so hard to believe, but never mind.
The guy on the right produces a device from his pocket. It looks like a cell phone, but it’s slightly bigger. He taps on the screen, and then turns it to show me. Displayed on it are pictures of three men. Black and white eight-by-tens, presumably from existing files they have on them.
“Are these the gentleman you evicted last night?” he asks.
I look and nod. “That’s them, yeah.”
“Our crime scene report of the shooting suggests the man in the back seat had a dislocated elbow…”
I smile. “That was me,” I say. “But if you’re looking for the shooter, you’re in the wrong place. I didn’t kill them.”
“But you threatened them?”