Chapter 14
I turned slightly on my stool, trying to see where he’d gone, then almost had a heart attack when he stepped up beside me.
I dropped my head down and opened Facebook, pretending I was engrossed in the feed.
As I leaned farther over the counter and tilted my head a bit to the right, a hunk of black hair dropped across my shoulders and onto my chest. I was ready to grab it and fling it off of me when I remember I was wearing a wig, which meant the lock I’d been ready to fling was attached to it.
It also meant the game warden wouldn’t recognize me.
Whiskey walked back out of the kitchen and looked my direction. The grin he’d been wearing disappeared completely as he locked eyes on the game warden. He approached us without even looking at me.
“Help you?” Whiskey asked.
“Jack and Coke,” the game warden said.
Whiskey tossed a few ice cubes in a glass, poured in some Jack Daniel’s and dashed it off with soda, then he pushed it across the bar. “Eight dollars.”
The game warden stared at him for a couple of seconds, the tension between the two of them so high I could almost see it. Finally, he pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
Whiskey scowled as the game warden slid off his stool and headed toward the two men I’d been about to check out.
I repositioned myself on the stool. They would have to wait.
The last thing I needed was the game warden thinking I was stalking him.
I already had one too many on the hook and hadn’t even been in the bar fifteen minutes.
“Friend of yours?” I asked.
Whiskey snorted. “Not hardly.”
“You own the place, right?”
“Yeah. Me and my brother.”
“Then tell him to leave. If I owned a joint and someone I didn’t like came inside, I’d invite them to walk right back out.”
He frowned. “Normally, I would, although ‘invite’ is too nice a word for what I’d do, but in this case, I ain’t go no choice. He’s Joe Law.”
I glanced over at the game warden again, feigning disbelief. “He’s a cop?”
“Worse. Game warden. Runs around in a boat all day busting hungry people for catching too many fish.”
“Oh. Someone told me the other day that game wardens can just walk in and poke around in your house—dig in your underwear drawer and everything—and without even having a warrant.”
“That’s true enough. They’re supposed to have reason to suspect someone is committing a crime, but that hasn’t stopped them from harassing folks who weren’t doing anything.”
“I can’t imagine he’d be popular with the crowd here,” I said. “Why do you think he’s here?”
Whiskey shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. A lot of other people in here won’t like it either.” He headed back into the kitchen.
I couldn’t say I was exactly thrilled to see the game warden there, but I did find it interesting.
The Swamp Bar wasn’t the sort of place reputable people hung out.
So why was he there? Especially since he claimed he had his man with Petey.
Did he have questions about the evidence as we did?
Had he heard about the special barbecue gator being served at the bar and decided to check it out himself?
I watched as the game warden talked with the two men at the end of the bar.
Neither of them looked pleased to be interrupted.
He wasn’t there very long before he turned and headed back in my direction.
I started to flee, not wanting to risk being recognized, but then decided to stay put.
He’d taken a hard look at me before. If he hadn’t recognized me then, he shouldn’t now.
He slid onto the stool next to me and gave me a once-over. “You from around here?”
I struggled to keep from rolling my eyes at such a clichéd opening.
“Atlanta,” I said. “Got a cousin in New Orleans I came to visit. She talked about this place so I figured I’d check it out before I headed home.”
“Your cousin likes this place?”
“No. She hates it. Said it was a wart on the butt of humanity and was single-handedly lowering the IQ of the state. Hell, I couldn’t resist.”
He laughed. “Bit of a goody two-shoes, your cousin?”
“Just a bit,” I said. “You live around here?”
“Couple towns over. What’s your name?”
“Susie.”
“Nice to meet you, Susie. My name’s Trevor.”
“You come here for the barbecue or to get your IQ lowered?”
He let out a single laugh. “Definitely the barbecue. A friend told me I shouldn’t miss it when Whiskey cooks again. I wasn’t in town last time he offered it.”
“So it’s good, huh?”
“Supposed to be the best.”
“Price seems a little high, but I said I’d have a plate. So are you a shrimper?”
He looked somewhat insulted. “No. I’m a game warden.”
“Really? That sounds like an interesting job. You catch any criminals this week?”
“Got a poacher sitting in jail in Sinful.”
“What was he poaching?”
“Alligators.”
I shook my head, attempting to look impressed. “Isn’t that something. You don’t hear about that kind of thing in Atlanta. This poacher, is he dangerous? I mean, other than to alligators?”
He frowned. “Doesn’t appear to be. Seems a little slow if you ask me, but he was caught red-handed. You never can tell about some people.”
“I bet you’re really smart. How did you catch him? Did you set a trap or was it some of that fancy CSI stuff I see on TV?” I chugged back a huge gulp of beer after delivering that piece of nonsense, afraid I might choke on the words.
“Nothing so elaborate. Just following up on an anonymous tip. A lot of cases are solved that way.”
“Anonymous tip. Well, thank Jesus there’s always a good citizen around.”
“Not always. I do plenty of my own fieldwork.”
I struggled not to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you do.”
“Yeah, I’m wrapping things up here. Got an offer from the state of Florida so I’ll be headed out in a couple weeks.”
“That’s great,” I said, keeping my response brief.
I figured I had exhausted what little information I was going to get out of him and needed to get away before he took things in a personal direction.
He’d already spent more time staring at my chest than my face, so I had a good idea where the conversation would veer off and I wasn’t interested in pretending any longer.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said. “Little girls’ room.”
I jumped off the stool and headed for the hallway at the back of the bar with a sign that read “Crappers” above the entry. You had to give the place points for keeping it classy. I wondered if they actually had toilets inside and not just a hole in the floor.
The bathroom looked like it was on a quarterly cleaning schedule, but there was soap and running water and two stalls that contained actual toilets.
I didn’t have to go, thank God, because if ever there was a reason to hold it, I was looking at it.
I took a minute to check my wig in the cracked mirror and wiped a bit of smeared mascara out from under one of my eyes.
I reached for paper towel to wipe it off and had a thought.
A padded bra would have to wait for a trip to New Orleans, but I could pad my own right here.
At least then the next guy who tried to feel me up during a selfie would only be grabbing cheap paper towels.
I pulled a couple sheets of the towel off the roll and folded it into a square, then stuffed it in my bra.
I turned from side to side, checking out the difference, then repeated the process and stuffed a second layer.
It wouldn’t amount to much of a visual difference in the dim light of the bar, but the layers of padding definitely reduced the ick factor of potential groping, which reduced the potential of my breaking someone’s hand before I remembered the mission.
I fixed up the other side to match the first, then headed out of the restroom, scanning the room for the game warden as I stepped into the mix of people. I didn’t see him where I’d left him at the bar, so I pulled out my phone and sent Ida Belle a text.
Where is game warden?
Her reply came a couple seconds later.
Near dartboards.
A moment of worry zipped through me but then I remembered the game warden hadn’t seen Gertie that day. Only Ida Belle and me.
Another text from Ida Belle came through.
I’m heading outside to check out boats. Let me know when someone is leaving the bar.
I texted a response, then made my way through a crowd of people dancing and scanned the counter.
I hoped I could engage the two men I’d had on radar before now that the game warden was out of the way.
I headed to the far end of the bar, happy to see that they were still on the same stools and a stool next to them was being vacated by an old man who looked as though he wasn’t going to live long enough to make it out the front door.
I slipped onto the stool and nodded at the two men as I sat.
First guy. Six feet even. One ninety-five. Good muscle tone. No visible flaws other than the fact that he’s in the Swamp Bar.
Second guy. Six feet two. Two sixty-five. Looks like he stepped out of an offensive line and into the bar.
I wasn’t overly worried about either one of them as a single threat, but put together, in a crowded bar, they made a fairly lethal combination. They both checked me out, then apparently finding me an acceptable interruption, one of them launched into conversation.
“You the broad with the game warden?” he asked.
“God no!” I said. “I’m not a big fan of most law enforcement. Spend a lot of time harassing regular folk while getting paid by our tax dollars. Can’t help who hits on me at a bar, though, can I?”
They both grinned and I figured I’d passed the test.
“I’m Buck,” the first guy said. “This is Trick.”
“Trick?” I asked.
“Momma was expecting a girl,” Trick said. “Said she was tricked.”
“If your birth size was comparable to your adult size,” I said, “I can see why she felt that way.”
They laughed.
“I think I was a pretty big one,” Trick said. “She talks about it every year on my birthday—thirty-two hours of labor, all that crap.”