Stone and Celia as they entered, then glanced away again.
Stone crossed to the bar. Leaned against the counter casually. Celia propped herself delicately up onto one of the stools and set her handbag at her feet.
Stone looked at the man behind the bar again. The guy ignored him. Stone waited for as long as it took him to count slowly to three, and then said, “ Cokes.” He held up two fingers. “Thanks.”
The guy behind the bar glanced at him. Sighed, and then pulled two tall glasses down from a rack above his head and filled them. The room was quiet. Stone could feel people’s eyes on his back. The bartender set the drinks on the counter. Stone pulled his wallet from his pocket and laid two five dollar bills on the bar, and then added another fifty.
The bartender looked at him, then looked down at the cash, then back into Stone’s dark, steady gaze.
“We’re looking for someone,” Stone said.
The bartender said nothing.
“Someone who worked here,” Stone said.
The bartender said nothing.
“Her name is Katrina Walker,” Stone persisted. “She was a barmaid here. Remember her?” As he spoke, Stone dug back into his wallet and laid the magazine photo of Katrina carefully on the counter. “This is her sister,” Stone nodded to Celia.
The bartender glanced down at the photo, and his expression changed. For a moment he was frowning, and then suddenly he must have recognized the girl. His eyes grew wider and when he looked up at Stone again his expression was bitter and resentful.
“I remember her,” the bartender said. “She worked here f or a couple of weeks last fall.”
“Just a couple of weeks?”
The bartender nodded. “I fired her. She was coming on to the customers – trying to find herself a rich guy,” he glanced at Stone meaningfully. “Trying to drum up a little extra business for herself on the side. Know what I mean?”
Stone shot a glance at Celia. Her face was pale, her eyes huge. She was biting her lip like she was nervous, or trying not to cry. He turned back to the bartender.
“She was turning tricks?”
The man shook his head. “Not here. But she was scouting for clients so I fired her ass.”
Behind his back, Stone could sense movement. He glanced casually over his shoulder. There were a few young couples sitting quietly at the tables along the far wall, and a couple of old sea-dog looking guys who were probably local fishermen. No one was looking back at him. Then he noticed a stocky muscle-bound guy who had appeared from out of a back room. He was carrying timber crates. He set them down on the floor and glared at Stone. Stone glared back.
The guy was wearing a black t-shirt that was too small for him. It was tight around his huge arms and across his chest. He had a shaved head, round and smooth as a cannon-ball, and there were tattoos on his forearms and behind his left ear.
Stone turned back to the bartender.
“I want an address,” Stone said.
The bartender raised his eyebrow in an arrogant gesture and folded his arms.
“Who are you? A cop?”
“No. I’m just a concerned friend helping this lady find her missing sister. That’s why I want to see your employment records, because I want her address.”
The bartender didn’t move. Stone saw him make eye contact with the gorilla i n the black t-shirt behind his shoulder, and then turn back to Stone.
“I don’t give out that kind of inf ormation,” the bartender said. “Not unless you’re a cop.”
Stone sighed. “Are you the owner?”
The guy nodded.
“Do you want to stay in business?”
The bartender started to smile. “That sounds like a threat,” he said slowly.
Stone nodded. “It is,” he said. “Because I’m happy to pay for the information. But I want the information, and I’ll get it one way or the other. Now you can either take my money and give me an address, or I can take your bar apart and you’l l spend a shit-load of money on repairs – and medical bills while you’re