Flash and Bones - Kathy Reichs [31]
Painted windows kept the Double Shot’s interior dim. Overhead fans created a jumpy, surreal effect by dancing the neon oranges, reds, and blues glowing from wall-mounted beer signs.
As my eyes adjusted, my mind logged detail.
Three wooden booths ran the wall to the right of the entrance. A pointing-finger sign indicated that toilets lay somewhere beyond the booths.
Straight ahead, tables filled floor space fronting the bar. Behind it, a gray-bearded man washed mugs by moving them on a brush fixed upright beside the sink.
Every patron was male. Three were heavily tattooed. Four badly needed a trip to the barber. Two had shaved heads. Despite the ninety-degree heat, all wore jeans and heavy leather boots.
Slidell’s eyes probed every shadow as we crossed to the bar. The tension in his shoulders told me he was locked and loaded.
Though Gray Beard never raised his head, I knew he was tracking us. Slidell and I stopped in front of him and waited.
Gray Beard continued his piston-cycle moves with the glassware.
“You want I should flash the shield, impress your upscale clientele?” Slidell said, not all that quietly.
“They know who you are.” Gray Beard set down a mug. Picked up and started cleaning another.
“That so?”
“They can smell cop.”
“Look at me, dipshit.”
Gray Beard’s eyes rolled up. In the gloom, their whites looked urine-yellow.
“We can chat here,” Slidell said. “Or we can chat someplace nice and official. And while we’re gone, I can have every inspector north of Aiken checking this dump out.”
“How can I help you, Officer?” Faux-polite.
“How about we start with your name.”
“Posey. Kermit Posey.”
“That a joke?”
“I don’t joke.”
“This your joint?”
Posey nodded.
“I’m interested in a guy name of J. D. Danner.”
Posey set the mug beside others sitting on a blue-and-white-checkered towel.
“I’m waiting, asshole.” Slidell’s tone was dangerous. “But not very long.”
“This look like a place folks trade business cards?”
“J. D. Danner.”
“I might have heard the name.”
“I have a witness says Danner was a regular here back in ’ninety-eight.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Says Danner rolled with a group called themselves the Patriot Posse.”
Posey hiked one shoulder. So what? Could be? Who knows?
Reaching across the bar, Slidell grabbed Posey’s beard and pulled the man’s face to within inches of his own. “Having trouble hearing me, Kermit? That better?”
Posey gagged and braced both hands on the bar. To either side, conversation and burger consumption halted. Behind us, pool balls stopped clicking, and the banter went still.
“Danner still enjoying a brew now and then?”
Posey nodded as best he could, then a wet sound rose from his throat, half gag, half cough.
“Where can I find him?”
“I only heard rumors.”
“Indulge me,” Slidell said.
“Word is he lives in Cornelius.” Posey cough-gagged again. “Honest to God, that’s all I know.”
Slidell released his grip.
Posey tumbled backward, fingers clawing the counter for purchase. The towel flew. Mugs hit the floor in an explosion of glass.
Slidell chin-cocked the shards.
“Saved you some washing.”
Back in the Taurus, Slidell again attacked the AC. While he phoned headquarters, I dialed the MCME.
Larabee told me that the landfill John Doe had been confiscated under a provision of the Medical Examiner/Coroner’s Guide for Contaminated Deceased Body Management.
“Because of the ricin,” I said.
“Which is bullshit. The ricin toxin can’t spread from person to person. You’ve got to breathe or eat the stuff.”
Or get jabbed with an umbrella.
Slidell barked something, then tossed his phone onto the dash.
“Where was the body taken?” I asked Larabee.
“The FBI is stonewalling on that. But I’ll find out. I’ll goddamn well find out.”
Slidell positioned the mock Ray-Bans, clicked his seat belt, and shifted into gear.
“Keep me in the loop,” I said, then disconnected.
Gravel flew from our tires as Slidell gunned from the lot.
“Get an address for Danner?” I asked.
“They’re working on it.”
Knowing