Whether it’s day or night, the place is a black hole, void of light. The walls are paneled in cherry throughout, which doesn’t help the lighting situation. Not that it matters. Most people who spend any amount of time at Clementine’s aren’t there for the ambiance.
They’re there to forget.
Every local regular has their own sordid story and reason forneeding escape. If you’re there long enough, you’ll learn many of them the further into the bottle they get. I’d still be among those regulars if not for Shirley Clementine, the owner.
She gave me a verbal slap upside the head and told me to get my shit together. She might own a bar, but the woman hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in forty years. She said she watched so many others ruin their lives on booze that she put her whiskey on the shelf and never looked back. When she told me I should do the same, I listened. One does not argue with Shirley’s logic.
Now, I don’t even come here for the food.
Tonight, I don’t have a choice.
The body that Alyssa spoke about was Jenna Cruz’s. She was found right where Alyssa said she would be. I have so many questions about the validity of this supposed psychic, but I have to move on the information she gave me, despite Captain’s warnings.
The hard part is going to be pretending I don’t know anything. I have a personal history with Jenna. She was a good girl. Didn’t deserve what happened to her.
The dickhead mayor insisted we keep a lid on the findings until his team is able to pull together a PR strategy.
“Nick,” Amanda calls from the bar. “Long time no see. How ya been?”
She’s worked here for the past ten years and has had to deal with my drunk ass on more occasions than I’m proud of.
“Amanda,” I say, lifting my chin as I move toward the lacquered bar top. “Things are good. Placed an order.”
“Double cheeseburger with extra pickles and a side of fries?”
I grin. “That’s it.”
It’s what I ordered damn near daily when I used to frequent the joint. It’s the only edible thing in the place, as far as I’m concerned.
“Should be right up,” she says, turning toward the wall of liquor and pulling a bottle of bourbon from the shelf. Her yellowClementine’s T-shirt rides up her body, revealing skin and a pink thong peeking out from the top of her blue jeans. I turn my gaze away quickly, only to find several of the other patrons staring like the perverts they are. I shoot a look that warns them to knock it off, and it’s met with grunts and mumbled curses, but they all go back to what they were doing.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked in here tonight. My fear was that I’d be itching for one drink. One would turn to two, and before I knew it, I’d be drunk off my ass with no way to get home.
Like it used to be.
It was always Amanda or Jenna that would help my bombed ass to their car and go out of their way to drop me at home.
Pathetic.
That need for a drink is absent. There’s not a part of me that wants that life again. I’m here to play chicken with my job by looking into Alyssa’s other tip. Glancing around the bar, the one person I hoped to see is absent.
Might not be getting anywhere tonight with my investigation.
“How’s it been?” I call to Amanda.
When she turns to face me, I see the tears welling in her eyes.
“Have you heard anything about Jenna? We’re all really worried.”
I swallow down the lump forming at the base of my throat, putting on my best face of stone.
“Nothin’. Sorry.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Nick. She just up and left. No call or nothin’ to Shirley. The woman’s distraught.” She shakes her head. “At first, I didn’t question it. She was always talkin’ about skippin’ town. Figured she finally did it and we’d hear from her once she got settled.”
“I’m sure everyone wants answers,” I say, trying to decide how to change the subject, but Amanda plows ahead.
“As soon as we saw her car on the news, we knew somethin’ ain’t right.”
