Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(25)
“Good. Can you start paperwork for the search warrant for the Nixes’ house? We need to make it official.”
“Will do.”
“I’m on my way to talk to Jim Saxon, Billy’s drummer. If the Nixes were headed to book performances, surely at least one of the band members would know something about their whereabouts. And Saxon is supposed to be his closest friend.”
Josie was approaching the lone stoplight in Artemis when her phone buzzed.
“I got another call. See you in the morning?”
“See you then.”
She hung up with Otto and immediately recognized the other number.
“This is Chief Gray.”
“Hi, this is Brenda Nix, returning your call.”
*
Billy Nix walked into the Baker’s Dozen, a popular biker bar in Austin that was best known for the amount of whiskey consumed every Friday and Saturday night, and the hardcore country bands that fired up the raucous crowds. Billy had played there once after another act had canceled last minute. Billy thought the crowd had loved the band and he had expected a call back, but it had been six months since they’d played, and not a word.
He stopped inside the door to let his eyes adjust from the bright late-afternoon sun. Billy took some time to scan the room. He was tall with wide shoulders and a narrow waist: in his boots and Stetson he gave the impression he could knock a guy out with a one-fisted punch, but on the inside he was mush. He took a long breath and exhaled, counting to ten, trying to still his nerves, trying to feel like he belonged there, not as a bar patron, but as a musician, as a headliner. He realized he’d been standing by the door too long and forced himself to take the first step. He repeated the phrase he’d been repeating for the past five years. The phrase Brenda had taught him. “Fake it.”
Billy walked up to the bar and a young woman wearing a white halter top and miniskirt turned from the cash register and flashed him a smile. “What’ll it be, handsome?” Her teeth glowed as white as her top against taut skin tanned almost as dark as her brown eyes.
“Give me a double Glenfiddich, neat.”
“You got it.”
She reached up high on the shelf behind her, high enough to pull the halter top up her back and allow Billy a look at the tattooed butterfly wings that spread across the small of her back, just above her miniskirt.
She poured the Scotch and slid the tumbler to him, then walked down the bar to another customer. Billy sipped and turned to look around the bar. When they’d played at the Baker’s Dozen, he’d arrived in Austin with his band at 6:00. They’d eaten a quick sandwich in the car, then set up and walked on stage at 8:00. He’d not had time to scout out the place and get a feel for the customers, something he and Brenda usually did together.
It was a nice setup. A square bar was located about twenty feet inside the door, but centered so that people could get drinks from all sides. Traffic flowed easily from all sides of the room. Beyond the bar was a large open dance floor with twenty tables flanking either side, and a space directly in front of the stage with another ten tables for the customers that liked it loud. Those were the hardcore fans Billy had played to. Brenda had told him, “That’s where your fan base is made.”
It was late afternoon, with only a handful of people sitting at the bar, but he could imagine by eight o’clock, even on a weeknight, the bar would be packed. Whiskey bottles were packed against both side walls, stacked in rows all the way up to the ceiling—empties that now served as wall art. He liked the look.
The waitress came back. “Seems like I’d know a face like yours if you’d been in here before,” she said, flashing that bleached white smile.
Billy averted his eyes and grinned. Nothing better than a big rough guy brought to his knees by a pretty young girl. Brenda had taught him that too.
“I played here a few months ago. Billy and the Outlaws.”
“And I just bet you’re Billy.”
“That I am.”
“You coming back?”
“I hope so. Thought I’d check in with the manager, see if he had some openings this summer.”
“You a local?” she asked, leaning forward now, her chest propped up on the bar.
“I’m from Artemis.” He saw the blank look on her face. “West Texas. About seven hours from Austin.”
“Ohhh. You came a long way.” She smiled and winked, turning from him, then saying over her shoulder, “Let me see what I can do for you.”
A few minutes later the woman came back. “Marla’s in the office. She said to go on back.” The bartender turned and pointed to the end of the bar.
Billy put a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Thanks, darlin’. I appreciate your help.”
“You come back and sing me a love song? We’ll call it even.”
*
Billy took another deep breath, counted to three, and entered the open door. He expected bar furniture and drinking paraphernalia that matched the bar decor, but the space looked more like an office at a car dealership: brightly lit, messy metal desk, a few posters on the walls held up with thumbtacks and some chipped metal filing cabinets. There was one chair in the corner with a case of Bud Light perched on the seat and the desk chair was filled by a woman who he figured had to be Marla.
Marla was short and heavy; she looked uncomfortable sitting behind the desk, her arms reaching up to the keyboard on the desk. She scowled at Billy and said nothing as he entered the room.