Nightmare Scare: Blue Moon Investigations Sacramento by Alex Gates & steve higgs

Author:Alex Gates & steve higgs [Gates, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-15T16:00:00+00:00

Nothing but the Truth. Tuesday, May 2nd. 1430hrs.

The late-afternoon sunshine burned through the windows, but that didn’t deter a healthy gathering of rugged individuals from frequenting the bar. Most had reservations for one. They huddled over their beers and drank alone and held court with their thoughts. They stared at the sticky counter or the grimy mirror behind the bar, which held shelves of cheap to mid-level alcohol.

A few burly men with thick beards shot pool at a tattered table. They shared a couple pitchers of something light, along with club tattoos on their sleeveless arms. Apart from billiard balls colliding and the occasional grunts of disappointment or whelps of excitement from the players, the only sound in the dim-lit bar was the jukebox. A slow country song, something in the realm of Johnny Cash, played over the speakers. I had never developed a taste for country music, so I couldn’t say for sure who sang what.

Heather sat by herself in a corner booth. She palmed both hands around a chipped coffee mug. Steam rose off the surface. She wore a baggy hoodie with the words PARTY NAKED scrawled across the front, and she had pulled the hood over her head to shroud her face. I thought of a burned out cigarette when I saw her—there, but used up. Finished.

I ambled across the establishment. My thoughts slipped back to when I had last frequented a dive bar a few nights ago. I had danced with a woman named Patricia. Me, dancing. I chortled at the memory. She had enlivened something long dead inside of me, though. Now she was dead, killed by the Vampire of Sacramento, an emerging serial killer.

I slid into the booth and sat across the table from Heather.

From behind the hood covering her eyes, she looked up at me. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“It’s a nice place,” I said, mentally grimacing at the sarcasm. I had spent too much time with Alina lately, and her snark had rubbed off. I’m not sure I liked it too much. I preferred healthy cynicism.

Heather sniffled and looked at the bar counter. “My mom used to bring me here when I was a little girl—eight-, nine-years old.”

“I can see why. Friendly. Inviting. Perfect place for a kid.” There I went again, saying words just to say them. What was going on with me?

“Her friend owned the bar. Not anymore, though. He died a while back. Anyway, when he lived and owned this place, as he owned half of Santa Cruz, it seemed, I had a pass to come inside despite my age.”

Another witty comment rose to my lips, but I sealed my mouth and let it burn a hole through my tongue. I practiced listening instead of speaking.

“My mom always sat right here, in this booth, and she drank house vodka. Her friend who owned this place was a special friend, I might add. Anyway, my mom drank at the wholesale price. She drank well vodka straight. Sometimes, she added pickle juice. I remember thinking that was the nastiest thing in the world.

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