"How did that start?”
Bailey gave me a flat look. "Like it always starts. Over some guy.” She laughed as the memory flashed before her eyes. "Noah Graham. He was so hot. Marissa dated him forever, then he dumped her for Sydney. Noah was as dumb as a stump, but easy to look at.” She sighed. “It didn't last long with Sydney. She required a little more intellectual stimulation. I think they dated for all of two weeks, then Noah moved on to Jill Wexler. Those two deserved each other," She muttered aside. "Anyway, Marissa never forgave Sydney, and they’ve been enemies ever since. Which is really kinda silly. They were friends before that, sort of.” She almost giggled. “You know what’s funny? I saw Noah a few weeks ago. Fat and bald.”
I pulled a card from my pocket and handed it to her. "Get in touch if you think of anything else that might be helpful."
She sniffled and nodded as she took the card. "I will. Do you think you'll find out who did this?”
"We've got a pretty good clearance rate, and we've got plenty of good leads to follow up on."
That put her somewhat at ease.
Bailey took a deep breath, then looked out across the floor. "I guess I should get back to my tables." She wiped her eyes again. "How do I look?"
"Great," I said.
She mustered her resolve, then marched back into the fray.
We left the restaurant, hopped into the van, and drove back to Diver Down. By that time, my stomach rumbled. We ordered dinner. I chowed down on a Baja Burger topped with cheddar and avocado with our own special zesty Baja sauce. Jack went with the steak fajitas.
We filled our bellies as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in pastel hues of pink and red.
Afterward, we met the guys in the band at Oyster Avenue, then hit a few bars. We ended up at Vibe to catch Fuzzy Logic. They were a heavy Shoegaze band that had been gaining momentum around the island. We figured they might be a good opening act for a Wild Fury show.
The place was full of leggy beauties in tight skirts. Not a bad place to be.
I took drink orders, made my way to the bar, and squeezed up to the counter. Wild Fury had played the club a number of times. Most of the bartenders knew who we were, so we got preferential treatment. I didn’t have to wait for ages like everybody else. Perks of being the band's manager.
The bartender took my order and poured the drinks.
With the precision of a seasoned professional, I scooped up five drinks and set out to deliver them.
SMASH!
I had no sooner turned around when a delightful redhead crashed into me.
10
Drinks went flying.
It wasn't her fault.
Glass shattered against the floor. Shards danced, and fine whiskey was wasted.
Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.
Two big guys had squared off. One had shoved the other. He tumbled into the redhead, who dominoed into me.
The two idiots were about to come to blows.
I drew my badge and approached. With a red face and veins bulging, I shouted, “Knock it off, or you’re both going to jail!”
They both looked like two raging pit bulls, neither about to back down. Then one of them said to me, "Holy shit! Tyson Wild.”
It took me a second to recognize him. "Shane Dalton!?"
We clasped hands and bro hugged.
When we broke apart, he looked at his adversary and said, "Beat it, punk."
