town. We heard about this place and wanted to check it out,â Charlie answered.
âHe means weâre two bachelors on the prowl, Meg,â Gordon said. âWould you say this is a good place for guys to meet women?â
Meg shrugged. âIâve only worked here for a few months, and I usually get off at eight, but the few times Iâve filled in for one of the girls on the late shift Iâve noticed there are a few ladies who come and go on pretty much an hourly basis. You guys arenât cops, are you?â
âNaw, weâre ex-military. We have a business over in the north valley, and despite what Gordon here says, we arenât really looking for anything besides conversation and a few drinks,â Charlie added. âBy the way, a friend of a friend recommended this place, but she gave us a wicked grin when she mentioned one of the owners. She had a thing for him,â he lied.
âThe guyâs first name is something like Mikeâsupposed to be a real ladiesâ man,â Gordon joined in.
âMike Schultz,â Meg said, a trace of a scowl on her face. âHe runs the place and shares ownership with a family up in Raton who inherited half from their grandfather. The old guy was a fireman for the county for a really long time.â
âSo Mike must know about the girls working out of his establishment,â Charlie concluded.
Megâs expression changed quickly. âYou never heard anything like that from me, guys. I need the job and the pay is good. At least with Mike around, the patrons donât give the staff any shit. I worked at a downtown bar for a while and every night I got propositioned a half-dozen times. Even when wearing a wedding ring.â
âNot wearing one now,â Gordon pointed out.
âDonât need one here. Mikeâs got a couple of heavy hitters thatâll throw their sorry butts out to the curb.â
A cowboy at another table waved at Meg, and she looked over and smiled. âBe right there, sugar. Gotta go, guys. If you need anything, just give me a nod.â
âDonât forget your tip,â Gordon said, sliding over a twenty.
âThank you, Gordon,â she said, crinkling up her nose with an even bigger smile. She whirled around and hurried over to the cowboy, who was raising an empty glass.
âSo Mike is either still a pimp or heâs being paid to look the other way,â Charlie commented, taking a swallow of his beer. He looked down at the nearly full glass and thought of Al, whoâd been the drinker of the two back in high school despite their fatherâs heavy hand.
Seeing how booze had turned his older brother into an ass had pretty much limited his own drinking, even later when Charlie enlisted. Heâd been an Indian in a white world, then an American soldier in a Muslim world, and being drunk and out of control in either place was an idiotic thing to do. Heâd never allowed alcohol to slow him down.
Gordon was much the same. Growing up in the inner city, he had been on the streets around drunks and derelicts and seen how they were treated. Gordon had explained that being the runt of the litter, he had enough trouble staying alive even when he was sober. Both of them were survivors, though their roots had grown in different soil.
Now they drank only to be social and to blend in, like tonight. If they needed to react quickly, alcohol wouldnât impair their skills.
âNo sign of Lola. Iâm thinking that if sheâs still hustling for Mike, sheâll be sticking close for a few days. If heâs got muscle here, sheâll want the extra protection. Unless Mike is the real boyfriendâbut that doesnât seem likely,â Charlie admitted.
âWell, if youâre going to talk yourself in circles, at least we arrived at the same place, Charles. If Mike knows anything about Lola, heâs got to be our next contact tonight,â Gordon said,