Death at the Black Bull by Frank Hayes Page B

divided in two by one of the largest horseshoe bars in the state. To the left of the door, tables lined the log walls around a black mechanical bull. On the opposite side of the horseshoe bar the large open area was filled with tables. In the center stood the original fireplace, while at the rear of the room there was an open dance area with a raised platform for a band. Virgil hesitated for a second or two, then took a seat at a small table.
    â€œWell, cowboy . . . What can I get you?”
    Virgil looked up to see a dark-haired woman and a smile.
    â€œGuess I got you before you even got a boot in the stirrup.”
    â€œYou could say,” Virgil said. “Maybe a nice cold bottle of Sierra if you got it.”
    â€œCan do. Only one minor problem.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œWell, on the weekends if we get people that just want to drink, we’d kinda like them to sit at the bar or at one of the tables over there by the bull. We try to keep this side for people who want to eat something. It’s mostly a little crowd-control thing. People eating and listening to music or dancing tend to not get as rowdy as the people on the other side of the bar.”
    â€œMakes sense. Well, I can always eat. How about you bring me a burger and a mess of fries to go along with that Sierra. Then I’ll just sit quiet and listen to the music.”
    â€œPerfect. Be back before the band starts up. They’re on a break now.”
    Virgil looked after her as she walked away. True to her word, she came back as the music trio was filing in from the back door.
    â€œDon’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before,” she said as she set the plate in front of Virgil.
    â€œIt’s been a while. I don’t get out much.”
    â€œWife got you on a short leash?”
    â€œNo wife, just busy.”
    â€œWell, I’m Ruby. If you need anything more, just give a wave.”
    â€œOkay. By the way, I’m Virgil.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Virgil.”
    She turned and walked away. Virgil sat for a moment, the untasted beer in his hand, wondering why he’d just offered his name to the waitress.
    For the next half hour, Virgil ate while he listened to the music. From the table he’d chosen, he had a good vantage point for most of the room. He could even see an occasional fool trying to be a ten-second hero, spinning around on top of the bull. One who tried and failed was lurching toward the men’s room, ready to give up as much as he had drunk.
    He could see why the place was popular. The atmosphere was nice. The burger was as good as he’d ever had and the music was a nice mix. A blend of country and modern, which surprised Virgil. He sat over a second beer, noting the steady stream of new customers. He saw more than a few locals that he’d interacted with over the years, both positively and negatively. Buddy Hinton would have been pretty comfortable here, he decided.
    As he put the last of the beer to his lips, he saw the door open and Carlos Castillo walk in with two other men. Virgil didn’t know the men, but he thought he recognized one of them from the trucking office where he’d last talked to Carlos. He was kind of surprised to see Carlos quickly look away after their eyes met, then head directly to the bar.
    â€œYou ready for another?”
    â€œI just might.”
    He saw the seat at the bar next to Carlos become vacant.
    â€œMaybe I’ll give up this table,” he said. “I see quite a few couples coming to dance. Give you a chance to make a little more money than you’ll get from me. This place always this busy?”
    â€œAlways on weekends.”
    â€œWhat about on weekdays?”
    â€œWell, we have our regulars. Then of course there’s always every other Thursday.”
    â€œWhy every other Thursday?”
    â€œPayday at Hayward Trucking. That’s our biggest two days of every month.”
    After