Chapter 34
Jennifer Steele’s house was less than a mile from the Winchester, so she decided to stop for a quick change of clothes. Walking into a cowboy bar wearing an FBI windbreaker wasn’t the most effective way to extract information. She had decided to use another tactic and by the time she and Silk reached the bar, the transformation was complete.
“You’re one talented FBI agent,” Silk said, leering at her spaghetti-strapped top and tight-fitting jeans.
Steele was uncomfortable using her body as a tool, but she despised the alternative that Silk represented.
They were outside of the Winchester. Steele applied lipstick while looking into a compact mirror. “You are going to give me a decent shot at this, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Hey, a guy takes one look at you and he’s spilling all of his secrets including some stuff about his mom.”
“Thanks. I think.” She put the finishing touches on her face, then snapped her compact shut and slipped it into her tiny purse, next to her gun. “Give me a couple of minutes head start,” she said, leaving Silk to pace on the creaking wooden floorboards that fronted the bar.
The Winchester had been a large barn that was converted into a cowboy bar over twenty years ago. The Berlin Wall had crumbled and private citizens were planning space travel, yet time seemed to stand still inside of the Winchester. Other than a few obvious tourists, the standard attire included jeans, cowboy boots, Stetson hat, and the occasional bandanna. There were piles of hay bound up in strategic spots, giving the place more authenticity than it really needed. On the overhead speaker system, Willie Nelson pleaded for mommas not to allow their babies to grow up to be cowboys. It was already too late for most of the clientele.
Steele scanned the room. The bar itself was a square-shaped, wooden frame with shelves of whiskey covering up a full-length mirror. A bartender rang a cowbell, then dropped a few dollar bills into the silver bucket tip jar that hung from a nail.
She wasn’t inside more than a minute before someone took the bait.
“Buy you a drink, Ma’am?” Steele turned to see a thin, young man wearing a large Stetson hat that might have weighed half his body weight. The hat was supposed to make him look older, but his baby face worked against him. He pushed the brim of his hat up with the tip of his longneck bottle of beer. “Be my pleasure,” he added.
“Sure,” she said. “That would be nice. I’ll have a draft.”
The man smiled. He hurried over to the bar as if Steele’s acceptance might have a short shelf life. It gave Steele just enough time to adjust to the darkness and by the time he returned she was certain that Angel wasn’t there.
“Here you go,” the man carefully handed her the overfilled glass of beer. “They don’t cheat ya here.”
“No, they don’t,” Steele said, sipping the foam off the glass of beer. They were standing dangerously close to the dance floor and several slow-dancing couples moved them back a couple of steps. “I’ve never been here before, how about you?” she asked.
“A few times,” he said, in an overly innocent tone that made Steele think he slept in a room out back. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.
“Jennifer. What’s yours?”
“Zeke,” he said with a straight face.
“Hi, Zeke.”
Steele waited a brief moment, then acted like she was trying to fill the awkward pause with conversation. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Angel? I understand he hangs out here sometimes.”
Zeke looked up at the high ceiling in deep thought. Probably considering which answer would benefit him the most. “I think I do remember a guy by the name of Angel. Why? Is he a friend of yours?”
She rubbed her index finger around the rim of her glass and offered a crooked smile. “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have one of those right now.”
Zeke’s eye’s widened. “Um, well, why are you looking for him?”
“My brother lost some money playing pool with him and I was looking to pay him off. It’s a big sister kind of thing.”
Zeke nodded, as if the story rung true. He’d probably lost money to Angel himself. “Yeah, I can see that happening.”
Steele lowered her head and whispered into Zeke’s ear. “I was hoping you might know where I could find him, so I can free myself up for the rest of the evening.” She lingered a little before backing up and for that brief moment she allowed herself to imagine it was Matt McColm’s cheek she was brushing against. It surprised her how quickly his image had popped into her head. They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since the shootout. Was that the cause for the butterflies now swirling in her stomach? She needed to focus on her assignment, but for some reason she felt compelled to permit the small fantasy to creep into the fray. If even for a brief moment.
She must’ve been glowing when she stood upright because Zeke’s blush deepened. He appeared willing to help her, but his face told her that he didn’t have the information she wanted. He shrugged slightly and looked at his boots. “I really don’t know him all that well,” he admitted.
Steele smiled. “It’s okay.” She rubbed his arm. “Do you know his last name?”
He shook his head. He looked deflated.
“Is there anyone here that might know something about him?”
Zeke brightened. He nodded toward the stand of pool tables on the opposite side of the bar. “Rocky over there is his playing partner. The one in the white shirt. They play in a lot of pool tournaments together. I’m sure he knows stuff.”
Steele saw a solid-looking man with a white tee-shirt tucked tightly into faded jeans. He was holding a pool cue in front of him with both hands and was tapping it against the floor in time to the music. The man he was playing with was a tall, thick Native American Indian with a braid running down his back.
Steele leaned toward Zeke and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Sweetie. I owe you one.”
Zeke’s face held eternal hope as she turned to go.
It was still early, yet the bar was more than half full. Steele meandered between single men trawling for young girls and couples holding hands on their way to the dance floor. She found the man in the tee-shirt hanging over one of the four pool tables, lining up a long shot. She casually leaned over the pocket where he was aiming. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so he got the full treatment. He had one eye shut and was sliding the tapered pool cue through his curled index finger when he noticed her smiling at him. He came up for a moment and ran his eyes up and down her body. Then he returned to his crouch and smacked the cue ball into the 5-ball, which slammed into the back of the corner pocket right below Steele. She jumped back.
The Indian smiled at her reaction.
The man picked up a cube of blue chalk, twisted the tip of his stick into the cube, then placed it back onto the ledge of the table. He moved around Steele and as he crouched down for another shot, he bumped her aside with his hip.
Steele crossed her arms. “Am I in your way?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said without looking at her.
The Indian seemed to enjoy the free entertainment.
Steele saw Silk playing at a pool table next to them. He was gliding around the table, on the prowl for a good shot. When their eyes met, he winked at her.
Another ball slammed into a pocket and the man continued lining up his shots as if she weren’t there. She noticed he was wearing a silver belt buckle with the Confederate flag flying in the center of it.