"I swear, if I have one more cup of coffee I'm not going to sleep for a week," Mike chuckled dryly as he slammed the door. He loosened his tie and undid the collar button.
Chuckling, Steve started the engine, put the car into Reverse and backed it out of the driveway. "Tell me about it." He straightened the wheels and shifted into Drive, heading down the gravel-topped country road back towards Colville. He glanced across the front seat. "You still up for going into Crocker tonight?"
Mike's eyes snapped in his direction. "You bet I am. If there's three bars in Crocker, I want to check 'em all out. Well, not all in one night, of course. We'll have to make more than one trip. Don't you agree?"
With a grin, Steve nodded.
"But we're gonna have to change, buddy boy. I don't want us going in there looking like cops." Mike frowned. "Do you remember seeing a store in Colville that sells clothes?"
"Clothes? Why?"
"'Cause I only brought one pair of khakis and two other shirts. I want to get at least one more shirt and baseball cap."
Steve chuckled. "Why a baseball cap?"
Ignoring him, Mike continued, "And we're gonna need to strike up a conversation or two with the locals eventually if we want to find out what's going on in Crocker. So you and I are gonna have to come up with a cover story, in case anyone asks. We can't go around introducing ourselves as cops, obviously."
With a facial shrug, Steve nodded. "You've got a point. So, what are we? Father and son come up here for a little… I don't know… fishing or hunting?"
Mike's head snapped in his direction, brows knit. "Father and son -?!" he began sharply then stopped himself, his frown softening as the idea sunk in, then he shook his head. "I was thinking maybe we were representatives of some company that was thinking of relocating to Colville and we're in the area for a few days to check it all out. What do you think?"
Nodding again, Steve smiled. "I think that'll work. What kinda company?"
With a snort, Mike sat back and chuckled. "That's a good question. Can't be lumber – the locals know more about that than we could ever learn in the next couple of hours – or couple of weeks! You have any suggestions?"
Steve thought about it for several seconds. "Well, until we come up with something we're both comfortable with, we could just maybe play it close to vest tonight. If anybody asks, we could just imply that it's in its preliminary stages and all very hush-hush at the moment."
Mike, staring through the windshield, remained silent for a long beat before grinning. "I like that. That'll work." He laughed and looked across at the young man behind the wheel. "Good thinking, buddy boy."
# # # # #
The sun was well down when the tan Galaxie turned into the small, half-filled parking lot across the street from Patches Bar & Grill in Crocker, California. The thumping bass of Creedance Clearwater Revival's "Down on the Corner" pulsed through the windows, doors and walls of the huge wooden roadhouse as the two casually dressed detectives made their way across the almost empty street.
They had decided to park the car in a far dark corner of the lot, away from any source of light in case some curious passerby checked out the unfamiliar car and discovered the police radio under the dash.
The pounding beat got even louder the closer they got to the large wooden-and-glass double doors. As Steve grabbed one of the handles and wrestled the heavy door open, Mike strode past him with a furrowed brow. "I should've brought my ear plugs," he grumbled as they entered the dark wood and brass-filled bar.
They stood side by side just inside the doors and surveyed the large barroom; a series of booths lined the near and side walls; about a dozen small round tables filled the well in front of the long, handsome dark wood bar that extended the entire length of the back wall. Several huge mirrors reflected the wine and liquor bottles of every conceivable size, shape and colour on the glass shelves behind the bar. Six large, Western saloon-style chandeliers hanging from the dark wood-beamed ceiling cast a warm amber light over the entire room.
From what they could tell, the loud music masked the fact that, on this particular night at least, Patches was less than half full.
"I don't see any pool tables, do you?" Mike asked as he continued to scan the room.
"Nope." Steve's eyes finally came to rest on the hostess stand. When no one showed any sign of approaching them, he led the way to a table near the bar. Mike followed. They had just sat down, Mike taking off his brand new black 'Yosemite' baseball cap and tossing it on the table, when a pretty young brunette approached, a couple of large menus in her hand.
"Hi, there!" she greeted enthusiastically, loud enough to be heard over the music as she got to their table, flashing a charming smile in Mike's direction before turning her attention to Steve. If it was at all possible, her smile got even wider as her large brown eyes fixated on the handsome young man before her. "Well, you two are new here. Just passing through?"
Momentarily flummoxed by the question, Steve's eyes darted to his partner, who stared back with a bemused but silent smirk. "Uh, ah, no, we're, ah, we're here for a few days on business."
"Cool!" She put the menus on the table. "Anything I can get you gents to drink while you're looking at the menu?" She had yet to take her eyes from Steve.
"Um, ah, sure…" he said, squirming slightly under her penetrating stare. "I'll, ah… what have you got on tap?"
"The usual, you know – Pabst, Lucky, Schlitz, Miller –"
"I'll have a Miller," Steve interrupted with a smile.
"Okay. And you, sir?" Her question was directed at Mike but her eyes never made it to his face.
Leaning forward slightly, his tongue momentarily in his cheek, he raised his voice. "I'll take a Bud," he smiled and nodded as he picked up one of the menus and opened it with a snap, then held it in front of his face to mask his grin.
"A Bud? You got it," she confirmed, her eyes still on Steve as she turned away with a flip of her long dark hair and started back towards the bar.
Steve looked across the table, finally noticing the obscuring menu, and sighed loudly. He could hear Mike's low chuckle before the menu made it's way back down to the table and the older man's twinkling eyes met his own. He shook his head ruefully as he opened his own menu. "It's gonna be a long week," he mumbled under his breath.
"It's gonna be a lot of fun," Mike continued to chuckle, keeping his eyes down, pretending to study the coloured pictures of their food choices.
After a couple of minutes of silent menu perusal, the waitress reappeared with their beers, setting them on coasters with another wide smile in Steve's direction. Mike was looking around the room. "Um, we were told you had pool tables here but I don't see them…" He said with a smile, fixing her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.
"We sure do have 'em!" she giggled, glancing in the older man's direction for a split second. She gestured over her right shoulder with her head. "We got a big room in the back there – four tables." She fixed Steve with another stare. "Do you boys want to play? I can bring your dinner to you in there, if you want."
Fervently wanting to put some distance between himself and his overly enthusiastic admirer, Steve glanced at his partner and nodded vigorously. "I'd love that."
Mike managed to suppress his laugh as he reached out and put a hand on the menu. "That sounds good to me too. I'll take the Mexican-style chili and cornbread, please."
The waitress glanced briefly in his direction, bestowing him with a quick but warm smile and a nod. "The chili – you got it! And you, sir?" She moved almost imperceptibly closer to Steve's chair and he leaned back and picked up the menu.
"Um, ah, well, ah, I'll have the Patches Burger with fries. And with everything." He snapped the menu closed and handed it to her.
She took at step back, grinning. "Chili and a house burger. Coming up! You guys go on into the back and make yourselves to home and I'll bring your food in when it's ready, okey-doke?" With one last toss of her hair and a besotted grin, she disappeared towards the kitchen.
# # # # #
"Five ball in the corner pocket," Mike mumbled as he leaned over the table, the blue eyes burning a hole in the solid orange sphere resting on the green felt about eighteen inches from the cue ball and another twelve from the pocket.
Sitting on a stool against the far wall, his cue stick resting between his knees, Steve picked up his beer glass and took another swig, trying not to chuckle. His partner had turned out to be a much better stickman than he had anticipated; he had actually won the first game. Steve wanted revenge.
Mike's shot was short, sharp and true and the orange ball dropped cleanly into the pocket. "Ha ha!" he crowed as he straightened up, shooting a peacock proud grin in his partner's direction as he circled the table to line up the next shot. "You might as well get comfortable there; I'll be awhile."
"Ha ha ha," Steve chuckled dryly, grinning and popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
They were the only ones in the poolroom at the moment. Four young men had finished up their game earlier and returned to the restaurant side of Patches; they could be heard, loudly, at the bar. The detectives had chosen the table furthest from the door.
Still laughing, Mike started to lean over the table again when three raucous young people, a woman and two men, stumbled through the entrance and over to the stick rack near the first table. He paused, straightening slightly and waiting for the cacophony to subside slightly before he leaned forward once more and announced, "Thirteen ball in the side."
It was a gimme; the ball was sitting on the lip.
The newcomers had selected their cues and were noisily racking the balls on the table near the door. Obviously irritated, Mike glanced up before taking the shot. Steve glanced from his partner to the others and back, sitting up a little straighter and tensing slightly.
Mike took the shot and the ball dropped gently into the pocket. With another glare at the other table, he straightened, picking up the small blue square that was sitting on the rail and chalking the end of his stick.
The young woman, a lithe brunette, had caught his look and was staring in their direction, her expression unreadable. Her eyes slid from Mike to Steve, still sitting on the stool against the wall, and she froze almost imperceptibly. A smile, somewhat coy but definitely sultry, began to form on her full, red lips.
Mike put the chalk back on the rail, glanced up at his partner and froze. Steve was staring at the brunette and she him. The blue eyes bouncing back and forth, he chuckled lowly as he leaned over the table again.
Steve heard him and turned back to the table almost guiltily, clearing his throat. "Are you gonna shoot or are you gonna laugh?"
Mike's chuckles got louder. "Ay-yai-yai," he shook his head, "I can't take you anywhere, can I?" His laughing eyes snapped to the younger man and he winked.
"One in the side." It was a tough angle and he knew it so he wasn't surprised then the solid yellow ball hit the cushion about an inch shy of the pocket and rolled away.
"Finally!" Steve laughed as he got to his feet, brushing the peanut crumbs off his pants as he moved closer to the table.
Chuckling, Mike circled the table towards the stool. Still standing, he picked up his beer and took a sip, his eyes sliding towards the other table. The brunette was still looking in their direction. He glanced over his shoulder.
Finished studying the table, Steve started to lean towards the cue ball. His eyes slid slowly in the direction of the first table and met those of the brunette.
Mike smiled as he saw his young friend blush then shake his head and refocus on the shot before him. Stifling another chuckle, he turned and sat on the stool, leaning his cue against the wall beside him. But he couldn't suppress his broad grin.
This road trip was turning out to be a real eye-opener.