Steve opened the heavy wooden door, striding into the dimly lit, smoke-filled bar, trying to exude more confidence than he was feeling. Like any first timer, his eyes raked the seen-better-days establishment, taking in the long wooden bar, the small black circular tables and chairs in the centre, and the dark burgundy booths along the right and back walls.
It was just after 6 pm and the place was already more than half-filled and, as far as he could see, the customers were all men, most in business suits. His quick scan hadn't located his partner and he masked his worried frown with a snort as he turned towards the surprisingly ornate L-shaped bar. There were two stools free and he slipped onto one of them, reaching into his leather jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboro's and a Zippo lighter and tossing them on the bar.
As he tapped a cigarette out of the pack, the bartender approached. "What can I get ya?"
Steve stuck the cigarette in his mouth before looking up. "What've you got on tap?"
"The usual – Coors, Bud, Schlitz, Pabst, Old Milwaukee – name your poison," the tall, well-built young man Steve assumed to be Danny asked, tossing the towel he had been using to wipe down the bar over his shoulder.
Picking up the Zippo and thumbing the lid open, Steve mumbled, "Pabst," then lit the cigarette. As Danny moved away, he put the Zippo on top of the cigarette pack and set them slightly aside, leaning against the bar and pulling a nearby half-filled ashtray closer.
Danny returned, tossing a coaster on the bar before setting down the frosty glass of beer. "Wanna start a tab?"
Steve looked up at him, taking a drag on the cigarette. "Sure, why not. You serve food here?"
Staring at him from under heavy dark brows, the sullen Danny nodded. "I'll get you a menu," he said flatly, moving to the far end of the bar.
Steve watched him go, using the opportunity to look into the mirror behind the bar, trying surreptitiously to scan the room, still looking for his partner. He glanced over as Danny started to return, a one-page paper 'menu' in his hand, and froze. Tucked into the corner of the bar against the wall, a slouching Mike Stone was sitting very still, for all appearances staring morosely at the glass he held in both hands on the bar. Steve knew better; he knew that every fibre of his partner's being was concentrated on the activity swirling around him, and that Mike was very aware of his arrival.
Danny tossed the sheet on the bar in front of him. "I'll be back," he mumbled as he continued down to the other end of the bar and began mixing the drinks and pouring the beers the lone, it seemed, waitress required.
Putting his cigarette in the ashtray, Steve picked up the menu and began to look it over, holding it up slightly so his eyes could slide over the top and he could study his partner a little more closely. Almost simultaneously, Mike's blue eyes snapped up and for a split second met his own, and in the brief contact there was a reassuring exchange of encouragement and alliance.
Softly clearing his throat, Steve re-focused on the menu, trying to find something he hoped he could stomach. He knew he needed something substantial for the exact same reason he had told Mike the day before – it could help him keep his wits about him. And though he figured that nothing would probably happen that night, he wanted to be on full alert at all times. There was just too much at stake.
Danny wandered back to the middle of the bar, depositing a tall glass of beer in front of the man occupying the stool on Steve's right before turning his dark eyes on the bearded newcomer. "Made up your mind?" he asked.
Lowering the menu, Steve looked up. "What's the chili like?" he asked, raising his voice slightly, ostensibly to be heard over the growing din behind him but hoping his partner would hear as well.
The bartender snorted a laugh. "You've probably picked the only thing on the menu that's actually edible. You wanna bowl?"
"Yeah, sure."
As Danny wandered to the end of the bar to place the order, Steve picked the cigarette up, taking the opportunity to shoot another quick look towards his partner. The older man was still staring at the scotch glass in his hands but there was a tiny smile curling his lips.
# # # # #
"Thank god for aspirin," Mike groaned with a laugh as he laid his head back on Steve's couch.
"I didn't think you drank as much last night as you did the night before?" Kyle Jenkins asked as he reached towards the coffee table and picked up a handful of peanuts, popping several into his mouth.
"I didn't," the older man whined.
"But he still managed to get two-and-a-half sheets to the wind," Steve said with a chuckle as he entered from the kitchen with a pot of fresh coffee in his hand and started to fill the mugs on the coffee table.
Newman hung up the kitchen phone and re-entered the living room. "Okay, we're all set for tonight, so everybody can relax for a few hours… and you two can sober up," he laughed as he sat in the armchair and reached for a mug.
"Hey, I'm fine," Steve protested genially as he finished pouring and set the pot down on an oven mitt on the table. "I think it was that chili I ate. Acted like a buffer."
"Yeah, and maybe it also could've been the fact you were in there two hours less than I was," Mike groused good-naturedly, lifting his head slightly from the couch and then dropping it back down, wincing.
With a feigned huff and a narrow-eyed stare, Steve disappeared into the kitchen again with a soft chuckle. Newman turned to Mike. "So, did our friendly bartender get any friendlier last night?"
Slowly opening his eyes, Mike sat up straighter and turned to the Vice lieutenant. "As a matter of fact, he did. The place really quieted down around 10 for some reason, I guess it was just after Steve left, and for awhile I was the only one at the bar."
Steve came back in from the kitchen and dropped a bag of Oreos on the table. The others watched then Mike looked up at him. "Cookies? That's all you've got to offer us. Peanuts and cookies?"
Steve took a step back, hands out in exasperation. "What? Like I haven't been busy? Like I've had time to do any grocery shopping?"
Jenkins and Newman laughed. "It's okay, Steve, this is fine." Jenkins picked up the Oreo bag and opened it, stuffing a cookie in his mouth before offering the bag around.
Mike, now glaring good-naturedly at their befuddled host, reached in for a cookie. "As I was saying," he growled at his now smiling partner, withdrawing an Oreo then turning his attention back to Newman, "the bartender –"
"Danny," Steve offered quickly with a smirk as he took the cookie bag from Jenkins and dropped onto a chair that had been brought in from the kitchen, chuckling.
Mike turned to him briefly with a curt, "Thank you," before resuming his narrative. "- asked me if I was a local and that opened the door, so to speak. He knows all about poor old Archie Richardson now."
"So, was he just being, you know, bartender friendly or was he sussing you out, do you think?"
Mike thought about it for a few seconds. "You know, it was hard to tell. If he was scoping me out for Shanghai-ing purposes, he didn't ask me anything really direct. It was basically 'What's your name, buddy?' and 'What brings you in here?'"
"Something I've heard dozens of bartenders say," Newman offered and the other nodded.
"Yeah," Mike agreed, "but I knew I had to make sure he got my life story, so I just started talking and didn't shut up until I got it all out."
"And that's something I've heard a lot of lonely drunks do too," Jenkins added.
"Well, you did what you needed to do, Mike. Good for you." Newman turned to Steve. "What about you?"
"Well, Danny knows my name and he knows I want to unload the Harley, so I guess it's a start. I asked him if he knew of anyone who might be interested in the bike but before I could tell him why I wanted to sell it and what I wanted for it, he got busy and I never got the chance. I made some excuse about having to leave and that I'd give him more details when I came in the next time. I figured that would give me an excuse to go back tonight 'cause I got the feeling that last night wasn't going to be a 'let knock someone out with laudanum and stick 'em on a boat' kinda night."
"What did you drink?" Jenkins asked.
"I started out with a beer then switched over to Scotch."
Newman looked at the two homicide detectives. "Great work, both of you. In two nights you've managed to lay the groundwork."
"Thanks," said Mike, looking rather pleased with himself as he took another big gulp of coffee. "So," he looked at his partner and winked, holding out his mug, "we go back in tonight and see what happens. Right?"
They all raised their coffee cups.
"Right," Steve agreed as they clinked.
# # # # #
The cacophonous sound of excited voices could be heard even before he rounded the corner onto Howard and his confident stride faltered slightly; the noise was coming from Coopers. As he got closer to the entrance, the sandwich board on the sidewalk caught his eye: SPECIAL! From 6pm to closing – 2 beers for the price of 1! He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes; things had just become a lot more complicated and a lot more dangerous.
He pulled open the heavy wooden door, his ears immediately assaulted by the overwhelming din. Pushing through the already almost filled room, he eventually managed to force his way to his favourite corner of the bar. Over the tops of the heads of the patrons on the stools, Mike could see Danny and another young man struggling to keep up with the drink demands.
Exasperated, Mike stood behind the large dark-suited man occupying what he now considered his stool. Eventually Danny came to that end of the bar. "Hey, Archie!" he yelled convivially over the roar then looked at the man on the stool. "Ah, buddy, you're gonna have to move away from the bar!" he yelled.
"What? Why?" the customer shot back.
"Cause that stool belongs to this guy here!" Danny said loudly with a touch of irritation in his voice as he pointed over the beer drinker's shoulder. Turning awkwardly on the stool, the now angry patron glared at Mike, who smiled and nodded politely. The man turned back to the bar to protest but Danny leaned closer to him and growled, "If you leave now not only is your next beer on the house, so's the one after that."
Knowing a good thing when he heard it, the large man nodded quickly, got up and gestured for Mike to take his seat. Dropping the briefcase to the floor before sitting, Mike smiled up at Danny. "Thanks, ah, I appreciate that."
"Hey, no problem," the bartender said with a quick smile. "So, ah, the usual… Scotch Rocks?"
Mike nodded rapidly, as if extremely grateful for the show of loyalty. "Yeah, thanks, Danny, that'd be great."
He glanced over his shoulder at the mushrooming crowd being lured in by the generous special. His heart began to beat a little faster with deepening concern. He knew Steve wasn't due to arrive for at least another hour, and by then the place would be overflowing.
With a growing uneasiness, he nodded gratefully when Danny set the tumbler of Scotch and ice on the bar in front of him. He stared into the amber depths, trying to shake the disturbing apprehension that it was going to be a very long and very difficult night.