A smile formed. Nathan McBride, in his environment.
He observed the bartender closely. Right-handed. Six-three or — four. Two hundred seventy-five plus. Weak left eye. Something was strapped to his ankle under his left pant leg, a knife or small gun. This gorilla probably runs the dive with an iron fist. As the bartender approached, Nathan saw a black nylon cord encircling his right wrist and his hand seemed to be half-closed around something, like a magician concealing a playing card. Using his left hand this time, the bartender reached down to plug the machine back in.
“Don’t do it,” Nathan warned.
The meaty hand froze before being retracted. The bartender straightened up, issued a give-me-a-break smirk, and swung for Nathan’s jaw with an open right hand.
Nathan saw it a split second before ducking. A palm sap.
If that blow had made contact, he’d be unconscious or maybe even dead.
It happened so fast no one in the room actually saw it, although half the room heard it. In less than a second, Nathan stomped down on the man’s right leg just above the ankle. The crunch of ligaments sounded like uncooked spaghetti breaking.
Howling, the bartender went down.
Nathan pounced on the downed man and rendered him inert with a right knee to the jaw. Several teeth flew. Nathan removed the man’s small semiautomatic handgun from its ankle holster and jammed it into his front pocket. Half the occupants scattered for the exits, gone in seconds-bar tabs unpaid. No doubt parolees who didn’t want to be caught in each other’s company when the cops arrived. Two men at a corner table caught Nathan’s attention. A little too clean-cut for this shabby crowd, they looked out of place. He ignored them. For now.
Amber Sheldon hadn’t moved. In fact, she appeared to be enjoying the show, not unlike a kid with a magnifying glass poised over an anthill.
Nathan addressed the silent room. “Anyone else?” When no one made a move, he approached the table where Amber Sheldon was seated. Although her smile had somewhat faded at his arrival, it wasn’t completely gone. He addressed the three men seated with her. “Would you gentlemen please excuse yourselves from the table?”
The politeness in Nathan’s voice took them by surprise, but all three left. One of them bent over the bartender, the other two grabbed stools at the bar.
Amber Sheldon removed a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table and fired it up with a wooden match. Through a slit in her lips, she blew the smoke up and away, and nodded to a vacant chair. “Have a seat, cowboy.”
Nathan sat down facing the center of the room. He caught the two men he’d noticed earlier watching him. He winked and they looked away.
She studied his damaged face for several seconds. “Been in a few fights?”
“A few.”
“What do you want?”
“My own private jet.”
“Cute. What do you want with me?”
“That’s much more specific, but you already know why I’m here, don’t you.”
“I gotta pretty good idea. You a cop?”
“No.”
She took another deep drag and blew it out slowly.
Nathan leaned forward slightly. “What did he say to you on the phone the other night?”
Her face showed instant understanding. “That little slut, what did she tell you?”
“I’m asking the questions from now on.”
“The fuck you are. I don’t have to tell you jack.” She blew smoke in his face and smiled.
In a lightning-fast move, Nathan snatched the cigarette from her fingers and flicked it at her. In a shower of red sparks, it bounced off her forehead.
“Hey, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He engaged Amber’s stare. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions. You’re the one who’s going to answer them.” Nathan softened his tone. “It doesn’t have to get rough. We can talk like mature adults right here and now, or you can be tortured in a soundproof room, screaming in agony. I’m good either way.”
“Some cop you are.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Who are you?”
“A vested third party.”
“A bounty hunter? Ernie told me someone like you might come around.”
“And.”
“He said if I talked, he’d kill me and Janey.”
“Does he know she’s his daughter?”
“Hell no.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
Nathan watched her reaction closely.
“I don’t,” she said. “I’d give his ass up if I did. He’s a piece a shit.”
She wasn’t lying. “Tell me about his old hangouts, places he liked to go, people he knew. Anything that might help me find him.”
Sheldon half laughed. “Places? He liked to play pool for money, but he wouldn’t be doing that now, would he? The only people he knew besides me were his brothers.”
“Why’d you visit him when he was locked up?”
She considered the question for a moment before answering. “Don’t get me wrong, Ernie’s a first-class jackass, but he still got a raw deal. The DUI thing? His court-martial?”
“What about it?”
“That dumb broad walked right in front of his car. I know, ’cause I was there, sitting next to him when it happened. It wasn’t his fault. We weren’t even speeding and he wasn’t really drunk. He got railroaded ’cause she was some sort of big-shot lawyer from a rich beaner family.”
Nathan leaned forward. “I find the word beaner offensive. Don’t use it with me again.”
“Okay, whatever. No need to get pissed off. Anyway, her dad was some kind of government fat cat. She was the one hammered that night, not Ernie.”
“That may be true, but the law only recognizes the legal limit and Ernie was beyond it. He had a long history of insubordination and alcoholism.”
“He still got screwed. He was real bitter about the whole thing. It’s all he ever talked about. He swore to get revenge someday. I told him he should just forget about it and move on. After he hooked up with his older brother, I never heard from him again until his call the other night.”
“Did you believe him, about getting revenge?”
“Yeah, I did. Still do. One thing about Ernie, he don’t forget about shit like that. At the time, I felt sorry for him. I don’t now, but I did back then.”
“So what changed?”
“I did. I decided I wasn’t going to put up with his shit anymore. After he got out, he was worse than ever. He was always yelling and screaming. I could never do anything right. Nothing was ever good enough for that man.”
Nathan didn’t want to pursue this line, he already knew about Ernie Bridgestone’s pathology. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find him?”
“Not really.”
“Do you mind if we put a trace on your phone, in case he calls again?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Nathan grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote his name and cell number on a napkin. “If Ernie calls you again for any reason, tell him Nathan McBride is looking for him. Remember it. Nathan McBride.”
“I’ll remember, but I pray I never hear from that piece of shit again.”
“I need your help.”
“Forget about it, I’m not doing nothing to put me or Janey in danger.”
“There’s a million-dollar reward.” That got her attention. Then he took a few minutes to lay out his plan and her part in it.
“I don’t like it,” she said, “even with the money you’re offering me over and above the reward, which I might or might not get.”
“If it doesn’t work, you still keep my fifty grand, if it works, you’re a million dollars richer.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Nathan stood. “He murdered twenty-four people.”
She lit another cigarette. “I said I’ll think about it.”
“Remember, if he calls, don’t talk to him on your work or home number. Drive a few miles down the road and find a pay phone. Make sure you’re not followed. Write the number down and arrange a time for him to call you back. After he calls, wait a few minutes before calling me. And be sure you mention my name, Nathan McBride.”