Chapter 44
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Red Baron Bar—Sitka, AK
Sam Worlson took a sip of the awful beer and sized up the man behind the counter. Stout, blond, hard features. Probably Russian. “You own this place?”
The bartender wiped the bar with a rag and eyed Sam suspiciously. His hands were both unnaturally red. “My place. You new here?”
The Red Baron Bar was a local Sitka hangout, opened three years earlier on the heels of Prohibition.
Sam figured if he was going to get a line on the man who had murdered his partner and made off with his money, this was a decent place to start.
“I work up in the Chichagof mine—I don’t get to Sitka very often. ”
The bartender draped the towel over his shoulder. “How is beer?”
Sam took another sip of the warm, sour brew.
His throat tightened as he forced back the urge to gag.
A film formed on his tongue and he scraped it against his teeth trying to clear it.
He swallowed as quickly as he could and lied.
“Very good. Just what I wanted.” How could a simple beer be this bad? “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
The bartender turned away and busied himself wiping glasses. “If you are ask permission, answer is no.”
This was going all the wrong way. “Great place you have here. I’m just—well, I’m looking for an old buddy of mine and I figured this was the kind of establishment he might frequent.”
The bartender turned back and looked Sam straight in the eye. “Name?”
Sam glanced at the door, briefly considering just walking out.
“Well, not a friend exactly, just a guy I met a while back—I wanted to see if he could help me with a project. He’s young, a miner, I think.
” Sam ran his finger around the smooth edge of the beer glass.
“He dresses like a city man. Suit, dress shoes, expensive watch. I think he’s—”
“No one fancy like that here.” The bartender pulled a couple of new bottles from under the counter and stuck them into an ice chest. Clearly, Sam’s beer had never been in there.
This was going nowhere, and the beer tasted like it had been poured a week ago. The bartender had no intention of telling him anything more and was definitely not interested in small talk.
Sam left the rest of the dreadful beer. He almost asked for a glass of water to wash away the bitter, sour taste, then thought better of it.
He popped a stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum into his mouth, slid a generous tip onto the bar, and got up.
“Okay, well, thanks a lot anyway. You have a nice day.”
The bartender grumbled something incoherent, snatched the cash off the bar, and turned his back to Sam.
Sam headed toward the door and it burst open, almost hitting him in the face.
A skinny kid wearing a plaid flannel shirt blew in past him, nearly knocking him down.
The kid shouted without even looking, “Hey, careful, buddy. Watch where you’re going!
” then strolled to the bar and sat down.
He didn’t look old enough to be in a bar.
“Hey Nik! Nikki! Nikolai! Red Baron of bartenders…How’s it goin? Got a cold one for me?”
The bartender looked at Sam, then back at the kid. He smirked and reached for the tap. “Good see you again. Come right up!”
Sam walked out the door and continued down the street. He’d have to try another angle.