“Oh, God,” Ben mumbled, trying not to sound too pathetic. “I was just backing up. I—I—”
“He didn’t mean it,” Christina said, stepping between the larger of the two thugs and Ben. “This brain-dead bully over here was forcing him backward.”
“This what?” Redbeard echoed. “Whaddas that mean?” He shoved Christina aside, not gently.
By this time, most of the people in the bar were rubbernecking for a better view of the show. Ben had nowhere left to maneuver. Opposing hands clamped down on both his shoulders. He knew he was finished. What Redbeard didn’t do to him, Skull-and-Crossbones surely would.
“All right, nobody moves,” Ben said, swallowing hard.
Skull-and-Crossbones laughed heartily. “What the hell?”
“Nobody moves,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “I’m an undercover cop. Kincaid, Tulsa PD, Vice. Badge number 499.”
The two men looked skeptical. “Yeah?” Redbeard said. “So show us your badge.”
“Can’t you see I’m in disguise, idiot?” Ben muttered. “Undercover cops don’t carry badges.”
Skull laughed. “The one that busted me last year did. Nice try, though.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, guys, I got an idea. I think it’s time for a game of darts.”
He dragged Ben into the darts quadrant and shoved him against the wall. Two other thugs wearing matching jeans jackets held Ben in place in the target area.
“I don’t play darts,” Ben protested. “I wouldn’t be a challenge for you.”
“Not true,” Skull said as someone handed him a fistful of darts. “I haven’t played in years.” He aimed a dart at Ben’s face.
“Ben!” someone squealed. It seemed to come from the dark-haired woman hanging on Skull’s shoulder. “It’s Benjy!”
Ben squinted his eyes and peered into the darkness. “Mona?” he whispered.
It was Mona. It wasn’t a face he was likely to forget. The current spouse of the senior partner in his firm was there, at the Red Parrot, with this biker. She was dressed in a dark-blue denim jacket and a black, hip-hugging, leather miniskirt, with some cheap metal jewelry dangling from her ears and wrists.
Skull asked, “You know this weasel?”
“Yes, yes,” Ben said quickly. “I know her. We go way back.”
“You been with my woman?”
Ben stuttered. “Buh … well, no … I mean, not—”
“Hell, what do I care?” A deep and scary laugh erupted from Skull’s lips. “Who hasn’t been? She’s older than this bar!”
Mona’s face seemed to melt. The product of hours of skillfully applied cosmetics disintegrated in an instant.
“I do know him,” she said softly. “You’d better leave him alone. He is an undercover cop.” She winked at Ben.
“Really? Christ. Why didn’t you say so?” He turned halfheartedly toward Ben. “I thought we knew all the narcs around here. No hard feelings, huh? Just having some fun.”
“Right,” Ben said, nodding.
Christina appeared behind his right shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Show him the picture. While we’re buddies.”
“Oh, right.” Ben saw that most of the bar’s attention was fixed in his direction.
“Look,” he said loudly, “I’m going to pass around a photograph and I want to talk to anybody who knows anything about this man. And I mean anyone.” He cast a mean look in the direction of his former adversaries.
“Don’t press your luck,” Christina whispered.
Ben passed the picture to Skull, who accepted it without saying a word. Mona’s identification of Ben as a cop seemed to have seriously altered the degree of respect he was receiving.
“He’s been here,” Skull said after examining the picture a moment. “Not recently, but he’s been here.”
“Do you remember if he was here Monday night, last week?”
“Yeah. That sounds right. He sat in one of the back booths talking to some other guy. I guess it was a guy—I never actually saw a face. Was wearing a long white overcoat with one of those high collars. They both left together. That’s all I know.”
Why is it, Ben wondered, other strangers come here and go unnoticed and unmolested, but I’m here maybe ten minutes and practically a dead man? He circulated the picture throughout the bar. A few people remembered seeing Adams the night he was killed, but no one had anything to add to what Skull (whose actual name turned out to be Marvin) had said. No one had seen the face of the person he talked with.
Ben returned the photo to his wallet and started toward the door. He saw Mona and stopped.
“Thanks,” he said.
She placed her right hand against his cheek. “I’ve missed you, Ben. Ever since the night of the party. It meant a lot to me. I think about you all the time. You haven’t been returning my calls.”
Ben smiled uncomfortably. He couldn’t tell whether Christina was hearing this.
Mona twirled her finger through a lock of his hair. “You don’t have to run off, you know. The night is young.”
Ben took a step back. “Thanks, but I have a court hearing tomorrow morning.”
“Hey,” Marvin said, stepping beside Ben, “I’m sorry about everything, man. I mean, the darts and the rough stuff. I’ve been drinking. I got a little crazy—you know how it is. I didn’t know you were friends of Mona’s. Maybe we could all get together sometime and double date or something.”
Ben swallowed. “Yeah, or something.”
“Yeah, it’d be fun, huh?” Marvin put his arm around Mona, then slapped her on the backside.
Mona gave him a chilly smile. She clearly had not forgotten his earlier remark.
Ben waved, and he and Christina left the bar. The cool night air was bracing. “I feel like I just crawled away from the edge of a crumbling cliff,” he said.
Christina smiled. “You know, that Marvin dude was kind of scary at first, but when you got to know the real man inside, he was all right. Kind of cuddly, actually.” Ben didn’t say a word.
24
TEN AFTER TEN. THE judge was late.
Probably reading the briefs at the last moment, Ben mused. He hoped the waiting didn’t last much longer. Bertha sitting in the chair next to him at the defendants table, was already so nervous Ben had serious misgivings about having her testify. But he had no choice. She was his only witness.
He had tried to calm her; he carefully described a domestic proceeding to her as a sort of miniature trial without a jury and most of the procedural hassles. Despite his efforts, the idea of cross-examination and Perry Mason tactics sent her into a quiet panic.
Not that Bertha had an exclusive on nervousness. Ben felt a trembling in his knees he feared would not disappear when he stood up to address the court. Derek, of course, was no help at all. He had ambled to the courthouse and now sat in the back row of the tiny spectators’ gallery. Earlier, Derek had opined that it would not be to their advantage to have more lawyers sitting at their table than the Department of Human Services did. The Raven firm already had a reputation for being overpriced big shots—the kind of lawyers state court judges, who typically come from small firms or unsuccessful solo practices, hate. They didn’t want to seem to be overdoing it or trying to strong-arm the judge. Therefore, Derek explained, he would not sit at counsel table with Ben and Bertha.
Besides, Derek had told Ben, you have to learn to fly solo sometime. Being in court is a long series of tough, quick decisions made by the seat of your pants. It won’t do you any good to have me there to defer to when the hard decisions come. This is your chance to prove you have the fire of a litigator. So Derek sat calmly in the back of the courtroom while Ben prepared to bring the experience of not quite two weeks of private practice to bear before the court.