A Shot of Irish by Gordon Brewer

Author:Gordon Brewer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thorn Bishop Press
Published: 2018-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

RAY IRISH PULLED UP to Anthony’s in Cat’s gray Olds about thirty minutes after dropping her off at the station. While he waited for Cat to pack, he called the station to get her ticket. After watching her enter the train station building, the man felt a slight sense of loss, which the shamus quickly buried. He knew he had to keep his focus on finding who attacked Cat. Ray looked around the busy street when he got out of the car, trying to steer clear of any potential trouble.

A simple tin sign identified the tavern among the line of weathered, two-story weather buildings along the street. Walking inside, a blast of stale beer and body odor greeted Irish as he pushed past the door. Most of the regular’s attention followed the stranger as he walked past them, before going back to their whispered conversations. Ray stepped to the end of the bar, where the hulking bartender stood, leaning against the counter. He noticed Knapp straighten for a moment to give him the once-over before returning to leaning on his elbows against the wooden top of the bar.

“You must be Knapp. Remember a good-looking girl who came in here the other day asking about George Hopley?” Irish went straight to the point.

The scarred face of the ex-fighter gave no hint he heard the question. Instead, he pulled a mug from the tray below his belly, sitting it on the counter.

“I only talk with customers.”

“Then fill it with a decent beer,” Ray told him.

Still leaning against the bar, Knapp pulled a bottle and opened it. He placed the warm bottle across from Ray, who stepped to the counter and threw a dime on the bar. He picked up the mug.

“The name of the guy who left with George Hopley the other day. You know the name, and I’m asking for it.”

Knapp snorted.

“What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

Irish continued to look at his beer.

“You look like a person who wouldn’t mind a little cabbage for the name.”

Knapp scowled at the shamus, leaning closer to his customer. “Well, you might have it wrong.”

Ray glanced at the boxer’s large hands gripping the edge of the dirty counter. A disfigured right knuckle showed him the ex-fighter’s primary weapon. Irish felt the weight of the hefty glass in his hand, and he sensed a growing dislike for the slob behind the bar.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Knapp continued. “You send that sweet little dish back to my office, and she can do me a favor for the name.” The bartender gave an evil grin as he licked his lips. “She looks the type.”

Irish reached across the bar, grabbing the ex-fighter by his hair. He slammed the off-balanced man’s face into the bar counter. Still holding Knapp’s greasy hair, Ray smashed the mug into the bar and pushed the half-broken glass in front of Knapp’s wide, watery eyes.

“You tell me the name, or you get accidentally blinded, that’s my offer.” A deep growl of rage came from Irish.

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