Cain shrugged. “Old habits…”
“Yeah. Anyhow, I don’t know who he is. He calls in a pizza order every so often. Picks it up and leaves. Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“You know where he lives?”
She shook her head. “Don’t even know his name. He always places the order under the name Running Wild. Always asks for jalapeños on half the pizza.” Joanie smiled, then slid the cold mug of beer in front of Cain. “Now, I need your opinion on something.”
He nodded a thank you. “Go for it. One thing I’ve got plenty of is opinions.”
She shook her head. “This is a serious question. How do you think folks around here would take it if I changed the name of this place to Joanie’s Too?”
The first night Cain had walked into the place, he hadn’t needed to be told why she was the one behind the bar instead of his high school friend Larry Reynolds. They'd always called each other by their last names and that would never change. One of the worst days of his life was when he’d received notification on the battlefield that Reynolds had given his life for his country.
To others walking into the restaurant, the tri-folded American flag hanging on the wall above a picture of Joanie’s late husband in his uniform, said everything. An engraved plaque gave the specifics that Reynolds had been killed in a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.
After he died, she’d taken over both sides of their businesses—Joanie’s Pizza, Pub and Pool Room and the cafe next door known simply as Joanie’s. Cain figured since he’d become somewhat of an outsider around Crayton after more than a decade, he might be the closest thing to an unbiased opinion she’d get.
“First of all, I think most people don’t care what the name is. They just like being here.” He paused for a sip of the cold beer. “Second, if anyone has anything out of line to say, just show them the door.”
Joanie smiled, then as the cook shouted from the kitchen that he needed help, she blew out a sigh. “Gotta go. Thanks for the advice.”
“Reynolds would be proud of you, Joanie.” Cain raised his mug in a toast to her. “One thing he’d tell you to do, though, is hire more help.”
“I think about it every so often. But what else would I do on Friday nights?” Her voice cracked as she swiped the bar towel across the counter, then glanced toward the front. “Looks like JB just walked in. Make sure he gets the right pizza.”
Cain watched her walk through the doorway into the food prep area. Most everybody in town liked Joanie, and when the day came she needed help of any kind, they’d be there for her.
Chugging the rest of his beer, he realized his own friends were few and far between. Partly because of his work in the DEA, but mainly because trust and commitment had never come easy for him. But in the past couple months he’d been back in town, Cain had made a couple new friends and reconnected with one from his childhood—JB Bradley.
“You look like someone kidnapped your dog, stole your cycle and wrecked your new truck all in one fell swoop.” JB eased onto a stool at the counter. “I thought you and Betsy might?—”
“Steven needed a partner.” Cain nodded in Betsy’s direction, then turned back to his friend. “And I don’t have a dog.”
“Too bad.” JB had been an agent with the FBI before he quit and moved back to Crayton a month before Cain. Once home, JB had got back together with his wife, Marcy, plus joined the Crayton Police Department. He was currently the acting sheriff and would probably be the next sheriff once Marcy’s uncle retired.
“Yep. What about you? You’re heading home late.” Cain pushed the pizza box in JB’s direction. “Joanie said Marcy already paid.”
JB nodded then lifted the lid, slid one slice out and took a couple of bites. “Been a long day. I just drove back from the DEA in St. Louis. Had a meeting with them about the influx of heroin.”
“Problem?” Cain flinched the minute the word left his mouth. He kept telling himself that drugs, cartels and runners were not his concern now. He was on a leave of absence. But damn it, he kept falling back into the old questions.
After sliding another slice of pizza from the box, JB leaned closer. “What do you know about Interstates 44 and 70 being prime routes?”
Cain shook his head. “Last I knew, 44 was busy. Got a straight shot up to Chicago that way. But you and I both know that’s been going on a long time. What’s changed?”
“Seems to be picking up. There’s a rumor of somebody trying to make a move on the region’s boss”
“You get the drug captains and lieutenants fighting” —Cain shook his head— “there’s no telling where that can lead.”
JB grabbed the pizza box and turned to leave, then stopped and glanced back. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too. I’ve got a feeling the police are going to need all the help they can get on this one. Can I count on you for advice?”
Cain didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no. Didn’t take the bait and offer to help. Or flat out tell his friend to take a flying leap. He didn’t even look away from the empty glass on the counter in front of him.
“Good night, JB.”
“Night, Cain.”
Shadowing bad guys on his last deep cover assignment had almost turned him to the underbelly of crime. This was supposed to be his downtime. His time to recoup his mind, body, emotions and… He just needed some time away. Time to save what was left of his soul. Time to let others take care of the good guys-bad guys fight.
