“You look like a Jagger,” Serena said.
“So people say,” he replied. “Plus, I do a mean ‘Under My Thumb’ on karaoke nights.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
She tapped her empty glass again. Without any hesitation, he added two fresh ice cubes and refilled it from a newly opened bottle of Absolut Citron. He hadn’t charged her for any of the drinks, which made her wonder if he had other forms of payment in mind. She had no intention of sleeping with him, but every drink made him even more handsome, and it was hard not to picture him naked. And hard.
“So Curt says you told him about C-notes,” Serena said. She had the advantage and curse of being a functional drunk, able to pretend she was perfectly sober right up until the moment she passed out.
He noted the same skill and seemed impressed. “Back to business, huh? Yeah, that’s right. Curt sent out a group text, me and like fifty other people. Said he was looking for somebody passing hundred-dollar bills.”
“How do you know Curt?”
Jagger rolled his eyes. “Oh, he’s a flake, but he’s clued in, so I help him when I can. Welcome to the new economy, right? I have part-time hours at four, five places, plus the usual bartending gigs when I can get them.”
“And the C-notes?” Serena asked.
Jagger eyed her curiously. “You want to tell me what this is about?”
“Sorry. Police business.”
“Not even a hint?” he asked. “You have a lot of self-control for someone who’s downed almost a whole bottle of vodka by herself.”
“It’s a gift. The C-notes?”
“Well, one of my part-time gigs is waiting tables at The Kitchen in Superior. I was in there first thing this morning, and one of the regulars was there. He ordered his coffee and chicken-fried steak like he normally does, and when I gave him the check, he passed me a hundred-dollar bill. Well, I hate breaking shit like that, so I asked him if he had anything smaller. He had this big grin and opened his wallet to show me, and I swear, he must have had ten C-notes in there, all crisp, perfect bills.”
“Who is this guy?”
“No idea. All I know is his name. Hink Miller.”
“Hink?”
“Swear to God. He moved into his mother’s place south of Superior a few weeks ago. I guess he takes care of her. Since then, he’s been in for breakfast most weekend days when I’m there. For all I know, he comes in the rest of the week, too.”
“Is it usual for Hink to have a lot of cash?”
Jagger shrugged. “Well, he’s not a big tipper, and most of the time, he pays with crumpled fives and tens. Hundred-dollar bills? No way.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Sure. I said, ‘That’s some cool dough, Hink, where’d you get it?’”
“What did he say?”
“He said he did a job for a friend.”
“What kind of job?”
“No idea,” Jagger replied. “And no, I don’t know who the friend would be. Like I said, it’s not like I know Hink. He’s just a big bruiser of a guy who likes chicken-fried steak, gravy on the side, hash browns with extra onions, and three eggs over hard.”
“Hink Miller,” Serena said.
“That’s him.”
“Do you know his address?”
“No, but I think the house actually belongs to his mother. Seems to me Hink said her name is Florence, but I’m not sure.”
“Did Hink ever mention a man named Gavin Webster?”
Jagger’s brown eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so, but the name’s familiar. Why do I know that name?”
“It doesn’t matter. Does Hink ever come in with anybody else?”
“Not while I’ve been there.”
“Okay. You’ve been a big help. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” Jagger replied. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. Thanks. I need to go.”
Serena began to slide off the barstool, but Jagger took her wrist with a gentle touch. His fingers were warm and firm. He lowered his voice and stared right at her. “Hang on, how are you planning to get home? Cop or not, I can’t let you drive. You’ve had way too much.”
“I’m fine,” Serena protested, although he was right and she was in no condition to get behind the wheel.
“Hey, come on. You’re too smart to do something stupid like that. If you get into an accident, your cop buddies will arrest me for letting you get on the road. You either need to call someone, or you need to sleep it off somewhere.”
“I suppose you have a suggestion about where I should do that?” Serena remarked, meeting his eyes.
He laughed, a charming laugh. He swept a hand through his dark hair, and she noticed the muscles of his arms again. “Well, my apartment’s just a couple of blocks away, but I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate you showing up. You don’t have to go home, but you’re not driving. You want me to call your husband? Or an Uber?”
“What if I promise I won’t drive?” Serena asked.
“Alas, I don’t listen to promises like that. Easily made, easily broken.”
Serena stood up, not wobbling. She grinned at Jagger and spread both of her arms wide, then swung a finger toward her face with the intention of tapping the tip of her nose. Instead, she nearly poked out her right eye with a long, perfectly painted fingernail.
“Shit,” she said.
Jagger was kind enough not to laugh. “What’s your husband’s name and number?”
She surrendered and gave it to him, and he wrote it down and grabbed his phone. Watching him, she flushed and felt hot with a wave of shame. She didn’t want to face Jonny, didn’t want him to see her like this, didn’t want him to realize she’d fallen hard. She didn’t even want him to meet Jagger and realize she’d been in a bar alone with a man who looked as good as this one.
“I’m going to wait outside,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”
Jagger made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “First, your car keys.”
“You really don’t trust me, do you?”
“You I trust. But not the Absolut.”
Serena fumbled in her pocket and found her key ring. It took her several tries to separate the Mustang fob from the other keys she had, but eventually she slapped the fob on the bar. “I wasn’t going to drive, you know.”
“I know.”
She stalked away from Jagger toward the front door of the bar. Fumbling with the doorknob, she let herself out onto the sidewalk. There was no traffic on Grand Avenue. The cool night air hit her face but did nothing to revive her. Her buzz gathered speed like a skier at Spirit Mountain, and she could feel her body and brain breaking into pieces. Her Mustang was parked across the street, and she thought about waiting for Stride inside the car, but then she realized it was locked and she didn’t have her key anymore.
With her head hung low, she wandered down the sidewalk toward the corner. A potholed asphalt road dipped sharply as it led toward the thick line of trees. She bent over and steadied herself with her hands on her knees and her hair spilling forward. The pavement at her feet was overgrown with weeds pushing up through the cracks. A foul odor wafted from a nearby sewer grate, and she was afraid it would make her sick. She straightened up too quickly, feeling a wave of dizziness, and she turned her face to the sky, where the stars seemed to streak like comets.
She closed her eyes.
Opened them.
And that was when she saw the woman in the street.
The woman wasn’t far away, maybe twenty yards. She looked to be about Serena’s age, and she had messy, highlighted brown hair tucked behind her ear on one side and falling over her face on the other. She was short, with a bony figure emphasized by her skinny red jeans. Her dark eyes were wide and scared. Her skin was a ghostly shade of white, which made the river of blood that was going down her forehead stark and shocking.