"Reggie, Reggie, just relax…"
Steve watched his partner step up to the bar and put his strong hands on either one of the timid man's shoulders, effectively keeping him in the chair. The scrawny bookie with the unkempt long curly hair smiled nervously, as he nodded at both detectives in unwelcome acknowledgement.
This early in the afternoon, Bogo's was nearly deserted except for a few regulars, a small lunch crowd and some day drinkers in the far back corner. Besides a handful of high-tops near the door to the kitchen, most of the darkened area was taken up by the large wooden bar, a billiard table, some dart boards and a wall of newspaper cutouts of locals who gained fame or fortune from professional sports.
As far as Steve's taste was concerned, the place was more or less a dive.
"What does the 5-O want now?", the bookie asked nervously, his sunken brown eyes moving back and forth between both of them, before settling back on Mike.
"Something we are sure you can supply.", the Lieutenant replied nonchalantly, a feign smile spreading on his lips as he slipped into the bar chair next to the bookie. Steve approached from the other side to flank the man in case he'd try to run.
"Aw, come on guys. I just got out on probation. What am I supposed to say if my probation officer sees me with you?"
"I think you'll have a much harder time explaining what you are doing in this bar instead of what you're doing talking to us. What were the conditions of your parole again, I can't quite remember…wasn't it to stay away from any alcohol serving establishments and any sort of gambling activity?"
Wrapping a tight arm around the smaller man's shoulders, Mike leaned closer into his space, his bright blue eyes staring at him intently.
"Now Reggie, we just have a few questions. See, we're trying to find a serial killer. A pretty bent one. He killed one of the patrons here, a Sam Browling. Sam used to bet on the races. So we know that you knew him. What else can you tell us about his…circle of friends?"
Letting his shoulders slump, the middle-aged man sighed in defeat, before clearing his throat.
"Sammie was a good guy. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Super nice to everybody here. I never saw him come in with anybody though. I was pretty sure he was hiding his…his passion for gambling from his girlfriend."
Digging for the notebook in the breast pocket of his black dress jacket, Steve glanced down for a moment, shifting through the assortment of pages until he found what he was looking for.
"What about the night of the…the eleventh? Two and a half weeks ago…on a Wednesday…he was here and then never made it back home. Did you see anybody suspicious with him?"
The scrawny bookie turned around briefly to face him, but then shrugged.
"Two weeks is a long, long time to remember, young man."
Sharing a knowing glance with his partner, Steve exhaled slowly, hiding his impatience behind a fake smile, before shaking his head.
"Come on Reggie, there has to be something you saw that night…think!"
"There may have been, let me ponder for a minute."
Reaching for the near-empty glass of vodka tonic with shaky fingers, the bookie fell quiet, his eyes tracing the entire bar, before he spoke up again.
"There may have been something. It was a guy, kinda fat. Maybe five-foot ten or something. Pretty weird. Came in every single day for a week, just sitting alone at the bar wanting to make small talk, and then he disappeared again. Pretty sure that was right around the time Sammie disappeared."
On full alert at the information trickling in, Mike squeezed Reggie's shoulder tightly, almost scaring the timid man.
"You said five-foot ten. How much do you think he weighed? What about his hair? What color was it? What clothes did he wear? Any jewelry or tattoos?"
Pulling the pen out of his notebook, Steve began to write down all the descriptions Reggie gave him. Height, approximately two-hundred forty pounds, short and disheveled sandy hair, worn out blue plaid shirt, sometimes a red polo shirt, ripped jeans, leather boots, distinctive foot odor, quiet voice, three-day beard.
"You think you have time this afternoon to sit with one of our sketch artists?", Mike then asked, causing another shudder to run through the man. Having expected that reaction, the Lieutenant raised his right hand soothingly, helping him to calm down.
"We will be sure to keep this as confidential as possible. Don't you worry."
"I don't know, guys. I really don't want to be seen there and I have stuff to do here…"
Losing the rest of his ever-fading patience, Steve cleared his throat before walking toward the pay phone against the nearby wall.
"Don't worry Reggie, let me call your probation officer quickly so he can help you make an appointment that is more convenient for your busy work schedule…"