The Murder Rule(63)
Assuming we can get the address. But it would be better—and safer —to talk to him away from his friends, I think.”
Sean was busy with his phone. “Sam’s grandparents’ place is on Pulaski Street. It’s a five-minute drive, but it wil take us twenty minutes to walk. I think we should take the car.”
“Okay.”
Sean drove. They parked a little way down the street. The house was a two-story weatherboard home. It was pretty, even if the weatherboard was a little worse for wear and the grass overgrown.
There was no wind that day and the American flag hanging from a flagpole outside the house was limp and sad looking. Hannah’s phone buzzed. She woke the screen and checked social media, scanned the latest entries. “There’s been a lot more chatter,” she said. “It looks like the boys are planning on going to a bar before the party. Somewhere they can play pool?”
“They’re al underage, aren’t they?” Sean said. “I mean, if Sam’s eighteen presumably his friends are around the same age.”
“I guess they have fake IDs. Or maybe the bar turns a blind eye, if they need the money.”
“I’d real y rather not talk to him in a bar,” Sean said. “That’s very public.” Hannah scanned through the messages.
“I don’t think we’re going to have much choice. He’s already with friends, at someone’s house. I doubt if he’s going to go home before he goes out. The bar might be our best chance.”
Sean grimaced. “Wel , which one is it?”
“I don’t know. They al know the place they’re talking about, so no one feels the need to name it,” Hannah said, frustrated.
“Wel , let’s just try to figure it out. It’s Yorktown. How many bars can there be?” He pul ed off to the side of the road and they went through the messages together, looking for references to any specifics that might help. There wasn’t much, and in the end they decided that the reference to playing pool was al they had to go on.
There was a bar, about five miles out of town, that advertised cheap beer, a three-hour happy hour, and pool tables. It sounded like the kind of place that attracted trouble and underage drinkers.
“We should go there now,” Hannah said. “We’l find a table, get something to eat. Have a drink, settle in. We’l be there when Sam and his friends arrive.” She wanted to get this over with.
Sean agreed that it sounded like the best plan, but she could see the tension in his face.
“It’l be al right,” she said. “If he does come in, let me try to talk to him. If I can get him alone for a little while, I’l know pretty quickly whether or not there’s any point in staying and talking to him. If he shuts me down, we get out of there right away, okay?”
“Okay,” Sean said, reluctant but wil ing to go along. “That sounds like a plan.”
THE BAR WAS CALLED THE THIRSTY BEAVER, AND IT WENT
DOWNHILL from there. It wasn’t much more than a large shack and a gravel parking lot one-third ful with pickup trucks and a few beat-up sedans. Hannah and Sean went inside. There was a scattering of tables and chairs between the entrance doors and the bar, which took up the entire length of the far wal of the bar. There was a dance floor too, with a single, sad-looking disco bal . Most of the dance floor was taken up by three large pool tables and two of the tables were already in use—hard men in sleeveless shirts that exposed tattooed and muscled arms and covered generous beer bel ies. Stil , the place was less intimidating than the outside had led Hannah to expect. Most of the tables set out for dining were empty, but there were four couples seated and eating, and six or seven drinkers, comfortable enough to be regulars, were hanging out at the far end of the bar. The barmaid—she was in her thirties, with shiny dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail—looked up and smiled at Hannah.
“Get you?” she said.
“Are you stil serving food?” Hannah asked. “Could we have a look at the menu?” The bartender gestured over her shoulder to a blackboard on the wal behind her.
“It’s just what’s there, sweetheart. We do burgers and fries, that’s about it, but we do them wel and we do them fast.”
“Sounds good,” Hannah said. She ordered a cheeseburger and fries and a bottle of Coors Light and Sean did the same. The bartender got them their beer and cal ed their order into the kitchen.
Hannah and Sean found a table and with no one else waiting on her, the barmaid made her way to the far end of the bar, where she leaned on the pitted wooden counter, dishcloth in hand, and spoke with the regulars.
SEAN AND HANNAH HAD FINISHED THEIR BURGERS AND
ORDERED A second beer before Sam and two friends made their way inside. Sean saw them first—he touched Hannah’s arm to get her attention and they watched Sam and his friends for a moment. It was obvious that they had already been drinking; though they weren’t drunk, just lubricated in that louche, relaxed, bright-eyed way of the very young at the beginning of a night out. They made their way over to the last free pool table, then Sam came to the bar and bought three bottles of beer. He had no trouble getting served, and he talked to the barmaid like he knew her. By the time he returned to the pool table his friends had already set up and started the first game. Sam pul ed over a stool and sat and watched, exchanging banter with his friends. Hannah wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said, but the vibe between them al was friendly and relaxed.