Gunshot Grange by Heather Hiestand

Author:Heather Hiestand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2012-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Marci wouldn’t be sending anyone a postcard of the Black Dog Saloon. It was a prefab structure with scarred walls, as if motorcycles had been bumping and scratching for years. The parking lot was gravel and the only signs were neon beer labels in the dirty windows.

“Still want to go in?” Rick asked her as they got out of the SUV.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “You bet.” She hopped down and came around in his direction. Go in, yes. But only with an imposing man behind her. She supposed that was in direct conflict with some of the argument they’d had in the car but she wasn’t stupid. If she’d been alone, she might have turned around and gone home.

“What are you going to do if they turn on us?” she whispered.

“I’ve got Mace and a knife but I’d suggest you not make any sudden moves.”

She glanced up at him. Was he joking? No, his jaw was set. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door.

The lighting was dim and she had to blink several times to allow her pupils to adjust. Rick put his hand on her back and pushed her in a few more steps.

“Sorry,” she muttered, not realized she had blocked him right at the doorway.

No one noticed them until they approached the bar. A few shadowy shapes turned to them. She heard the rustle of steps and what must be pool sticks hitting balls off to the left. There was a jukebox. She could see its neon to the right but didn’t recognize the male country singer wailing away about his lost woman.

At the bar, Rick put up two fingers and a tattooed female bartender in a sleeveless shirt brought him two cans of beer.

Smooth, Marci thought and remembered the college watering holes in Chicago where two fingers meant what was on tap or even bottles of beer. Never cans. Maybe it was cleaner that way.

“What brings you to Weed’s Edge?” asked the bartender. Was her mouth, studs and all, forming a smile? Could she be flirting with Rick?

Suddenly irritated, Marci pushed between Rick and the shaven-head lout next to him. The bartender glanced at her coolly. The lout did not.

Rick gave her the “are you nuts?” look but it was too late. The man next to her pushed off his barstool. For him, that was a mistake since Marci was taller than he was by at least two inches.

“What’s your problem, bitch?” the man demanded, giving Marci a look at his dead front tooth.

“No problem,” she said hastily. “I just wanted my beer. See?” She took a slug from her can, then wiped her mouth with her fingers. “I really needed that after the long drive. Umm, sorry I pushed you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah.” He climbed back onto his stool while Marci remembered to breathe.

She heard a tapping sound and turned to see Rick tapping a matchstick box against his can.

“My friend and I were hoping to speak to an associate of Nils Larsson,” he said.

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