Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [8]
“Look at that guy over there,” Scooter said. “Holding a fifty-dollar bill like he’s never seen one before. You think he found it on the sidewalk? Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”
“Oh, boy,” said Chuck. On numerous occasions over the years the Finnigans found themselves sucked into crazy schemes with Kasey and Scooter, and more than once they’d had interviews with police or security personnel afterward. No matter what happened, Chuck always thought it was a grand adventure, while Fred dreaded the fiascoes.
Jennifer tugged at her boyfriend’s arm and said, “Chuck, you be good.”
“I’m always good, baby. You know that.”
“Except when he’s bad,” said Fred, sulking.
The local man wore a plaid work shirt, jeans that had seen better days, and the faded, angry smirk of a man who’d been trampled by life. He looked like a character actor in a CinemaScope western, his leathery skin a weathered contrast to a close-set pair of icy blue eyes.
Scooter said, “Hey, man. You didn’t happen to find some money outside, did you? My buddy here dropped a bill.”
“What kind of bill?”
“To tell you the truth, it was a fifty-dollar bill. Ulysses S. Grant. My favorite drinking president. Except for the one we got now, of course.”
“I didn’t find no money. And our president don’t drink no more.”
“Neither do I,” Scooter said, hoisting a brew.
“Don’t mind them,” Jennifer said, stepping forward. “They’re just trying to have some fun.”
“She’s absolutely right,” admitted Scooter. “The truth is, I saw you with that fifty and was wondering if you could change a hundred for me.” Scooter proffered a hundred-dollar bill as crisp as the bill the man had jammed into his jeans.
“You boys are from Bellevue, are you?” he asked without turning.
“Clyde Hill,” Kasey said. “Hey. Let me pay for that beer.” He slid a twenty across the bar and sat down next to the older man. “You know where we can meet some women around here?”
The local sipped from his beer, glanced at Jennifer, and said, “You lookin’ for women, are you?”
“We’re always looking for women,” said Scooter.
“Do you prefer the kind with teeth or the kind without?”
They waited five long beats and then began laughing. They laughed for a while and then Kasey said, “That was a good one. I guess we deserved that.”
“I guess you did.”
Moments later a small woman who dressed like a man trotted in, stood close to the local, and ordered the same brand of beer the man was drinking, all without making eye contact with anybody. Her short-cropped hair looked as if she cut it herself without a mirror. When her beer showed up, she gulped a couple of swigs and stared dully at the countertop.
“To tell you the truth,” said Kasey, “we’re up here looking for some friends. We were supposed to hook up in North Bend, but somehow we got our wires crossed. You wouldn’t happen to know about the mountain biking trails around here, would you?”
“Did you ask at the bike shop?”
“We tried there. We tried all the gas stations, too.”
“Are you talkin’ about an overnight trip?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Chuck, stepping forward eagerly. Scooter wished he hadn’t done that. Both Finnigans were huge, and they were intimidating this geezer, who just might know something. “We’re looking for a group of guys riding mountain bikes up into the hills.”
“Why you lookin’ for these fellers?”
“They’re friends of ours,” said Fred.
“Two hours ago I carried all their camping gear up in them hills. Base of the falls at Panther Creek. ’Course, it’s not really a creek this time of year. Barely enough runoff to keep it going.”
“Is that where you got the fifty?” Kasey asked.