on her phone.
“Thanks, honey,” Jess raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let him know. And just between you and me? Nothing says true love like a ball gag and paddle.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, the woman grinned, but before she walked off to serve drinks, Jess asked, “I need to talk to one of the bartenders. Which one?”
The waitress pointed to one of the guys behind the bar. “Try Jake Cordell. He’s a prick, but he’s in charge.”
“They usually are.” She tossed a tip on the woman’s serving tray. “Thanks.”
Jess claimed a barstool nearest Cordell and started a conversation with him. At first, the stout spiky-haired man with a nose ring had no recollection of the night Seth had been there. The guy hardly looked at Harper’s digital photo when she held up her phone, but he kept up his end of the conversation as he served drinks.
“I see a lot of faces in a night. Sorry, lady. Don’t remember him.”
Money might jog his memory, but she opted for a cheaper tactic—lying.
“The kid got into a car accident leaving here,” she said. “I do investigative work for his insurance company. They hired me to look into his DUI. I’m only trying to save you the hassle.”
The bartender stopped and gave his full attention. “What hassle?”
“I’ve seen this before. A kid has too much to drink and everyone comes lookin’ for the guy who let him get that way. Insurance is one thing, but civil lawsuits can get real ugly, man. When they arrested him, his blood-alcohol level was off the scale.”
“No way, he only had a few beers.” The man’s memory suddenly became crystal clear. He tossed a wet rag onto the counter, ignoring a patron tinkling his raised glass for a refill. “And besides, he had a buddy take him home. I saw ’em leave.”
“What did this buddy look like?” she asked.
“Oh hell, I don’t know.” He nudged his head to the other bartender, getting him to handle the insistent man with the hoisted glass, and kept talking. “The only reason I remembered your guy in the photo was because he made a scene. He nearly passed out, but someone came forward to help. He acted like a friend, but I never got a good look at him. Last I seen ’em, they were headin’ out the door, and your guy was walking…sort of.”
“So according to you, he only had a few beers. Yet he almost pulled a face plant and needed assistance to walk? That doesn’t make sense. Which is it? Was he drunk or not?”
“Lady, I have no idea. I know what I served him. Maybe the kid had the flu.”
The bartender stepped aside to serve a drink, but he soon came back with more.
“I only remember one thing about the guy who hauled him out last night.” He raised his beefy arm, giving her a visual aid by pointing to his biceps. “He had a tattoo on his arm, right here. I never got a good look, but from a distance, it looked like something with a black curve to it. Maybe a letter or a snake.”
She pressed him for more, but the guy came up dry. A tattoo of a black curve—a letter or snake—was the best he could do. It wasn’t much, but more than she’d had.
“Do you know a woman named Desiree? Was she in last night when the kid was?”
Nose Ring Boy gave her the stink eye. Clearly she’d hit a nerve. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d answer. Eventually, he did.
“Yeah I know who she is, but that girl is seriously messed up. She sells it for crank. If she was here last night, I didn’t see her. Last time I saw her, I told her to beat it.”
“When was that?”
“Maybe a month ago. I caught her working outside, in front of the bar. She’d hit up guys as they left. And she’d settle business in an alley down the block. Blow and go.”
If what he’d told her was true, that meant Desiree might be freelancing, working without a pimp. No pimp would allow her to skim off enough to feed a habit. That would take low dollar and high volume, not a pretty picture and a real dangerous lifestyle. But the bartender
“Thanks, honey,” Jess raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let him know. And just between you and me? Nothing says true love like a ball gag and paddle.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, the woman grinned, but before she walked off to serve drinks, Jess asked, “I need to talk to one of the bartenders. Which one?”
The waitress pointed to one of the guys behind the bar. “Try Jake Cordell. He’s a prick, but he’s in charge.”
“They usually are.” She tossed a tip on the woman’s serving tray. “Thanks.”
Jess claimed a barstool nearest Cordell and started a conversation with him. At first, the stout spiky-haired man with a nose ring had no recollection of the night Seth had been there. The guy hardly looked at Harper’s digital photo when she held up her phone, but he kept up his end of the conversation as he served drinks.
“I see a lot of faces in a night. Sorry, lady. Don’t remember him.”
Money might jog his memory, but she opted for a cheaper tactic—lying.
“The kid got into a car accident leaving here,” she said. “I do investigative work for his insurance company. They hired me to look into his DUI. I’m only trying to save you the hassle.”
The bartender stopped and gave his full attention. “What hassle?”
“I’ve seen this before. A kid has too much to drink and everyone comes lookin’ for the guy who let him get that way. Insurance is one thing, but civil lawsuits can get real ugly, man. When they arrested him, his blood-alcohol level was off the scale.”
“No way, he only had a few beers.” The man’s memory suddenly became crystal clear. He tossed a wet rag onto the counter, ignoring a patron tinkling his raised glass for a refill. “And besides, he had a buddy take him home. I saw ’em leave.”
“What did this buddy look like?” she asked.
“Oh hell, I don’t know.” He nudged his head to the other bartender, getting him to handle the insistent man with the hoisted glass, and kept talking. “The only reason I remembered your guy in the photo was because he made a scene. He nearly passed out, but someone came forward to help. He acted like a friend, but I never got a good look at him. Last I seen ’em, they were headin’ out the door, and your guy was walking…sort of.”
“So according to you, he only had a few beers. Yet he almost pulled a face plant and needed assistance to walk? That doesn’t make sense. Which is it? Was he drunk or not?”
“Lady, I have no idea. I know what I served him. Maybe the kid had the flu.”
The bartender stepped aside to serve a drink, but he soon came back with more.
“I only remember one thing about the guy who hauled him out last night.” He raised his beefy arm, giving her a visual aid by pointing to his biceps. “He had a tattoo on his arm, right here. I never got a good look, but from a distance, it looked like something with a black curve to it. Maybe a letter or a snake.”
She pressed him for more, but the guy came up dry. A tattoo of a black curve—a letter or snake—was the best he could do. It wasn’t much, but more than she’d had.
“Do you know a woman named Desiree? Was she in last night when the kid was?”
Nose Ring Boy gave her the stink eye. Clearly she’d hit a nerve. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d answer. Eventually, he did.
“Yeah I know who she is, but that girl is seriously messed up. She sells it for crank. If she was here last night, I didn’t see her. Last time I saw her, I told her to beat it.”
“When was that?”
“Maybe a month ago. I caught her working outside, in front of the bar. She’d hit up guys as they left. And she’d settle business in an alley down the block. Blow and go.”
If what he’d told her was true, that meant Desiree might be freelancing, working without a pimp. No pimp would allow her to skim off enough to feed a habit. That would take low dollar and high volume, not a pretty picture and a real dangerous lifestyle. But the bartender
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