NOWHERE TO HIDE by Kate Bold

Author:Kate Bold [Bold, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cole’s first impression as she stepped into Rocky’s Tavern was that it was a good place to disappear. The lighting was dim, clouds of smoke drifted lazily through air scented by spilled beer that had never been mopped up, and the pair of busy, flickering televisions distracted the eye, making it easy to overlook the shadowy forms of the several figures huddled along the wall or at the bar, nearly all of them by themselves.

“I feel about as inconspicuous as a cat on a cactus,” Callaway said, his eyes roving across the room. Cole understood the feeling. She was just glad they had chosen not to wear their FBI jackets.

The barman, a tattooed forty-something with gauges large enough to pass a quarter through, was deep in conversation with a redhead slouched over a martini. She looked like a mountain tree stunted by strong winds and poor soil, seeking shelter and liquid in the only place she could find it.

Cole leaned on the bar, trying to catch the barman’s attention. Then, noticing the sheen of grease on the stained wood, she dropped her arms to her sides instead. She spied a curly hair on the rim of a mug to her right and tried to contain a shiver of revulsion.

The barman glanced toward them, his face expressionless, and then resumed his conversation with the redhead. It was all-too-apparent where his priorities lay.

Cole cleared her throat loudly, and at the same time, Callaway rapped his wedding band on the bar. The barman glanced their way again, and this time his mouth was twisted in a sour grimace. He sidled toward them, his heavy gut polishing the edge of the bar as he approached.

“Well?” he said, staring at them. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to order something?”

“Actually, we’re looking for someone,” Cole said.

A greasy, condescending smile came over the barman’s face. “Ain’t we all, sweetheart. I’m looking for the second coming of Elvis. Seen him lately?”

Cole blinked patiently, ignoring the sour odor that rolled off the man. “His name’s Damian Hubbard. We’re told he’s a regular here.”

The barman said nothing for several seconds. Then he tipped his head to the side, indicating a burly black man leaning over a mug of beer at the far end of the bar. Without another word, he grunted and moved back toward the redhead.

“Someone needs an attitude adjustment,” Callaway remarked cheerfully.

The first thing Cole noticed as she approached Damian Hubbard was his size. He had to be over six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds. He looked as if he had been fit and muscular once, but much of that muscle had gone to fat. Nevertheless, she had a feeling those meaty fists could still do some damage.

“Damian Hubbard?” she asked.

Hubbard rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself as he kept his eyes on the television above the bar, which was showing a rerun of a World Series game. A grimy, beat-up duffel bag lay on the floor at his feet, looking like it had been dragged out from a subway tunnel.

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