Part 35 (1/2)

41.

By eight o'clock things had gotten busy; early as it was, the bar was lined three-deep, and more were coming in all the time. If the current crowd-flow was any indication, tonight was gonna be packed.

Red was at his post by the door. On the jukebox, Jimi Hendrix bemoaned that manic depression that was crus.h.i.+ng his soul. Bonnie and Katy were hustling b.u.t.t, working the tables and bringing orders to the bar. Trent was handling table duty, cutting Syd a little slack.

But even running just the bar was immensely distracting.

Especially while keeping one eye on the door.

Syd dropped his guard when a slew of rowdy frat boys ordered a fresh round of pitchers and Seven-and-Sevens. Midway into the order, the Bud keg ran dry, and Syd had to duck down to change the taps.

Suddenly, flesh was p.r.i.c.kling on the back of his neck. Oh f.u.c.k, he thought, standing, scanning the queue at the door. There was a shadow at the back of the line. A familiar shadow. Patiently waiting its turn.

f.u.c.k! Syd braced himself, automatically trading the drinks for cash. He turned to the register, and his thoughts turned to Jules: how his friend must have felt, the night Vic first walked in. He glanced into the mirror, looking over his shoulder. The hair was longer, but otherwise nothing had changed.

Syd punched the keys and steeled himself, stunned once again by how much sheer power the motherf.u.c.ker exuded. He could feel it with his back turned, from all the way across the room. But even more unsettling was the realization that something felt off, somehow. Unstable. Diseased. This only scared him a hundred times more.

Vic was moving through the crowd, obviously favoring one leg. He'd been hurt, evidently. This was not bad news. Syd counted out the change, hoping he hadn't already tipped his hand. He could smell the intimidation, the mounting, thinly veiled menace.

Jules. Please, he prayed. If you're out there, man, give me strength.

Then he turned back around. And Vic was there.

”Welllllll . . .” Vic began, a big smile on his face. ”Long time no-”

”Hang on,” Syd interrupted, holding one finger up politely. He went over to the college boys and started counting change. ”That's thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and five makes twenty. Have a good one.” They thanked him, took off with their drinks. He swabbed the bar down as they did.

That finished, Syd returned to Vic.

”So,” he said. ”What can I do for ya?”

Vic was confused. Not ten seconds ago, the little f.u.c.k had blanched with mortal terror; now he was staring him square in the eye. Without even flinching. Vic wondered if that car wreck hadn't maybe done some damage, joggled his brain out of its socket.

”Remember me?” It was the first time in his life he could recall having to ask that particular question.

”Yeah, I remember you. So what do you want?” Vic stood there a moment, not believing his ears.

”Well, let's see,” he said. ”You can start by telling me where Nora is. . . .”

”Can't help ya there.” He shrugged. ”But how 'bout a drink?” Syd reached below the bar, came up with a can of beer, plunked it down. Vic looked.

Coors Light. The Silver Bullet.

Syd smiled.

”Funny,” Vic murmured, blood starting to pound in his head. This boy was beginning to p.i.s.s him off. Syd kept smiling, except for his eyes; his eyes held another emotion entirely. There was a wall in there, and something was flickering behind it. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d was hiding something, but Vic was d.a.m.ned if he could suss it out.

”So, let me get this straight. You haven't seen Nora . . .”

”Nope.”

”And you have no idea where she is. . . .”

”Yep.”

”Well, then maybe I'll just sniff around a bit. See what turns up.”

”Suit yourself.”

This idea didn't sit very well with Syd, and it showed. He tried to cover his discomfort, much to Vic's delight. ”Don't mind if I do.”

”Though you can see for yourself that Nora's not here,” he said, thinking shut up now, just shut up. ”I mean, I think you'd know it if she was.”

Syd paused, waiting for a reaction. The lack of one told him exactly what he needed to know. Vic couldn't smell her; he was just blowing smoke, trying to make Syd crack.

The bad news was, it was working. The silence gave Syd's thoughts room to roam, started him thinking about how many ways this could blow up in his face. He wondered whether he should just pull the gun, empty the clip into Vic's head, and hope for the best.

”Look,” he said, fighting his panic. ”Nora hasn't been back. But if she did, you're right, she'd probably come here first. She always liked the tunes.”

He looked at Vic; Vic nodded suspiciously. A small crowd was forming: thirsty people, psychic vultures.

”I mean, if you don't believe me, why don't you just stick around and see for yourself?” He spread his arms in mock-welcome. ”Hang out as long as you like. Crowd's good, the band is smokin' . . . h.e.l.l, the drinks are on the house-”

Vic smiled-a very evil smile-and Syd knew at once he'd gone too far. Why why why did I f.u.c.king SAY that? It was like making a fatal move in chess, except in chess your opponent usually didn't eat your queen if you lost. But one look at Vic told him there would be no retracting the offer.

”So, let me see if I got this straight.” Vic absently fingered his scar as he spoke. Syd stood his ground, revealing nothing. ”You want me to hang out here, all night if I want? And I can drink for free?” He shook his head in ersatz-admiration. ”I guess you just must be one h.e.l.l of a guy!”

”I guess I am,” Syd said flatly. ”What'll ya have?”

Just then, a pack of newcomers pushed through the door, a cute young redhead among their number. She looked vaguely familiar to Syd, though he couldn't quite place her face.

Vic followed Syd's line of sight, and his expression changed to one of sly bemus.e.m.e.nt. He tracked the redhead's descent down the steps and into the room. The redhead saw him, smiled. Vic nodded appreciatively, then turned back to Syd.

”Now that ya mention it, I guess I will hang out a while. Seein' as how you offered.

”A little tequila, if you please.”

”You got it.” Plunking a shot gla.s.s down on the bar, skipping over the Cuervo in favor of the overproofed brand. All the while thinking great! NOW what do I do?

He came back, set Vic up with a double. Vic picked up the gla.s.s, held it up to the light. Then he kicked it back, set it back down again, and tapped his finger expectantly on the rim. His eyes were bright with mirth.

Syd dutifully poured him another. ”Anything else?” he said. Meaning f.u.c.k you, too, pal.

”Not at the moment,” Vic replied. ”But if I think of anything, I'll be sure to let you know.”