Redneck P.I. by Trish Jackson

Author:Trish Jackson [Jackson, Trish]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Drug dealer, Murder, Mystery, Private Investigators, Romantic Suspense, Woman Sleuth
ISBN: 9781601741981
Publisher: Uncial Press
Published: 2014-11-14T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

The neon orange and green sign was hard to miss. "Rumors Restaurant and Night Club" it said. Then underneath in small letters "Live Entertainment Nightly." I drove up the street and parked in a metered parking space, thankful that I didn't have to find quarters to feed it with at night.

I decided there and then that the best place to observe this woman would be from the bar. Sitting in the Jeep out here wouldn't help me.

I left the backpack in my car, which had my gun in it. No way they would let me in with it. Stuffing my cell phone into my purse, I locked the Jeep, and walked two blocks along the sidewalk. At the door I showed my driver's license and paid the cover charge.

The bar was all glass with lots of chrome fittings and a chrome foot-rail. I parked my ass on one of the chrome bar stools toward the middle and ordered a Jack and Coke. The drinks were expensive but I remembered that Harland would be paying. It wasn't a bad situation for my first stakeout.

I swiveled the chair around to check out the big room. The walls were green, with low voltage orange lighting. The middle of the room held a bunch of tables, probably around sixty, with orange tablecloths and green napkins, and along the right and left walls were booths. About one third were occupied, but it was only just after nine-thirty, early by their standards, I decided. Beyond the tables was the stage, where a band was setting up.

I congratulated myself on finding such a great vantage point and sipped my drink. I had to make it last and stay sober. That was tough, considering the Aunt Essie problem.

I was on my second drink when the band started testing their sound equipment. Why do bands always have to test their equipment if they play in the same place every night? After a few minutes, a woman walked on stage. She was wearing what looked like a red sports bra with sequins on it, a short gold skirt and very gold, very high heels. Her big hair was brassy blonde, cut in a kind of a shag.

She had spent a lot of time in a tanning bed, and her boobs were clearly not the ones she was born with. I guessed she was somewhere in her thirties. Sarina. The woman whose husband thought she was screwing around because she often got home too long after closing time.

A man in a black suit and starched white shirt took the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Sarina and the New Ideas."

Some half-hearted applause followed, and the band started playing "Viva la Vida". Now I'm a country music buff. You can ask me about any country music song, and I'll sing it, and I'm not a bad singer, so you will even recognize the tune. I've done my share of Karaoke in the bars at home.

But it was an okay song, considering it wasn't country.

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