Chapter 8 #2
He drove a short distance past Hemlock Way before doing a three-point turn and slowly approaching the intersection again.
The Spirit was just climbing a rise about a quarter mile away, and Cody waited for it to drop down out of sight again before he turned onto the road, keeping his speed low.
He’d give this whole spy routine another five or ten minutes before turning back for home.
About two miles from 118, Cody leaned in over the wheel, squinting to see through the buttery-yellow evening light.
The Spirit turned off the road to the right and vanished behind a row of windbreak trees that then changed to tall stalks of corn.
Was that a driveway or another county road?
He passed a couple of long driveways that cut between cornfields to farmhouses, and a short distance later, he came to the windbreak and slowed.
A gravel driveway ran along the west side of the trees a few yards before twisting off to the left behind a tussock of grasses as tall as him.
The slight breeze sent the seed-heavy stalks swaying, giving him quick glimpses of a black cinderblock building hunkered down behind.
It wasn’t a farmhouse, that was for sure.
Casting a glance at the sun low in the sky, he told himself to just go home and save the follow-up for another time.
But as if on autopilot, he turned into the narrow track, following the twists and curves until it opened onto a gravel parking lot butted up against the building.
Now that he was closer, he could see that not only had the walls been painted black, but the windows, too.
It had the look of a roadside bar, just with no sign flashing a name, and no neon beer signs or pithy messages on an illuminated marquee board.
A few vehicles were parked around the lot, the Spirit included.
Cody eased into a space a good distance away from the Spirit and cut the engine, the sudden quiet after the crunch of gravel beneath his tires sending a chill through him.
He studied the building. Nothing moved. He couldn’t see any cameras or outdoor lighting except for a pendant light with a tin shade hanging above the door, and a big LED light on a pole at the far back corner of the parking lot.
Tall stalks of corn stood in rows behind and to the sides of the building and lot, extending off into what seemed to be infinity.
He shouldn’t have come this far. He should go back home right now.
The driver’s door of the Spirit flew open and Andy climbed out.
His movements were clipped and jerky as he closed the door then checked to see if it was locked.
It wasn’t, and he swung it open, slapped the knob down, and slammed the door again.
He turned toward the building, paused to adjust the leather jacket, briefly took something small and black out of a pocket to check it, then jammed it back in again.
He walked steadily to the entrance and went inside.
He should go home. Needed to. This could be dangerous.
But Andy had gone inside. And Cody really wanted to learn what Andy knew.
He checked all around the parking lot, but all he saw was a few cars parked in an attempt at an even line.
No one else was in sight. He stared at the black door.
It was just a roadside dive bar. He’d been in plenty of them before.
Hell, the Hollow Leg was only a step or two above this place.
And the sun was still up, at least for another ten or fifteen minutes.
Drawing in a deep breath, he held it to the count of five before releasing.
This was all going to be okay. He’d just take a quick look around and get out.
If he sent a text now, Demmy would most likely call him immediately, and there’d be an argument and Cody didn’t want to go inside this place with that kind of a chip on his shoulder.
He was going to go in there with his usual chip on his shoulder.
He stepped down out of the cab and closed the door.
Opening the monster hunter tackle box in the bed, he selected a silver cross and slid it into the front pocket of his shorts.
After twisting side to side twice to loosen his spine—and grunting again at the gentle tug on his healing injuries—he headed for the door.
It was, indeed, a bar, and the interior matched the vibe of the outside.
Walls painted black, with a long bar on one side and four booths with black vinyl seats and tables lined up against the other.
A few tables with chairs were scattered throughout the area between, a couple occupied by men and women, all of whom turned to look at him.
He nodded and sat on a stool at the end of the bar closest to the door.
A woman stood behind the long stretch of dark red polished wood, studying him.
She had a wide face and nose, and she looked tough and tired of everyone’s shit.
He guessed she had at least a baseball bat close at hand. More likely a shotgun.
She waited a few seconds, almost as if gauging whether or not he’d run out before she could make it down to him.
When he remained on the stool staring back, she sighed and approached.
She was broad shouldered and wide-hipped, but she carried herself well and moved with authority.
A faded denim shirt over a white t-shirt looked clean and fresh.
Her hair was dirty blond and pulled back into a tiny knot at the base of her neck.
“Want something?” Her voice was low and surprisingly warm.
“Yeah. A beer.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Any particular brand catch your eye?” She tipped her head to where empty bottles were on display above the cash register.
His cheeks warmed, and he ordered something familiar. When she turned away to grab the bottle from the cooler, he pressed a palm against the cross in his pocket, reassuring himself it was still there. The woman twisted off the cap and set the bottle before him.
“Cash or tab?”
“Cash.”
“Five fifty.”
He slid a ten across the wood. She placed the change before him, held his gaze a moment, then returned to the center of the bar.
Cody sipped his beer and slowly took stock of the place.
Beyond the far end of the bar was a back area that hadn’t registered when he’d first walked in.
Three guys and two women stood around a pool table there, all wearing some combination of denim and leather.
All ignoring the game and staring right back at him.
Darkness crowded the edge of his vision, and an empty feeling bloomed in the top of his head. Dropping his eyes to the beer, he took another pull. The cold, sharp taste helped bring him back.
The glow of a phone screen lit up one of the booths near the back, catching his eye. He glimpsed the face of the Spirit’s driver—shadowed eyes, heavy scruff, hollowed cheeks. Cody looked away, back toward the bartender. She was drying a glass, but had her eye on the guy in the booth.
“Hey, Marlowe, can we get another pitcher back here?”
The shout came from one of the guys standing by the pool table, and the bartender—apparently Marlowe—waved in acknowledgment before slotting a pitcher under a tap.
She carried it and fresh glasses back to the group, and Cody heard a few whispers he couldn’t make out.
A short time later, Marlowe returned to her spot behind the bar.
She caught him watching and gestured his way.
“Need another?”
“Yeah,” he said without thinking about it. Dammit, he didn’t need another beer, but he was too nervous for this undercover bullshit. She grabbed a fresh bottle from the cooler and opened it as she approached. When he held out another ten, she waved it off. “This one’s on me.”
“Oh, um, thanks. But you don’t have to do that.”
“I know. It’s just my friendly nature.”
He snorted a laugh as she checked the guy in the booth over her shoulder.
“Friend of yours?” Cody asked, lowering his voice.
When she gave him her attention again, he noticed the vibrant blue of her eyes. Another long silence, and then she said in that smooth-as-river-rock voice, “Haven’t seen you here at the Screw before.”
“My first time.” He squinted. “Did you say The Screw?”
“Name of the place. The Rusty Screw.”
“Got it. Okay. There wasn’t a sign.”
“Some places don’t need one.”
He nodded, then lifted his bottle and waved it to indicate the bar. “Well, I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Thanks.” She wiped a ring off the bar, but threw another look over her shoulder.
“He making you nervous?”
“Most people make me nervous.” She studied Cody as if sizing him up.
Then she leaned in slightly, and he found himself doing the same.
When she spoke, her voice was so low he could barely hear her.
“Third night in a row he’s been here. Buys one beer and nurses it all night. Just sits there, watching people.”
“Maybe his internet’s out?”
She smirked. “What about you, Stretch? What brought you in tonight?”
“Me?” He swallowed hard, hoping the dim lighting hid it. “Nothing. I just wanted to have a beer in a new place.”
“I see. Tired of the Hollow Leg?”
“What?” Cold zipped through him, head to toe. “How’d you…?”
She shrugged slightly. “Calculated guess. To find us out here in the country, you’d have to know the area pretty well, so you must live close by. And the Hollow Leg’s the only other watering hole available without driving all the way to Harriettville.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. Well, I’m just here until I finish this beer.” The phone screen in the booth lit up again. Cody managed to keep from looking that direction. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Neither do I.” She raised an eyebrow then turned her back. He released a long, slow breath and wiped his palms on his thighs. His thumb brushed along the cross. It was probably time for him to leave.