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Jude took a few sips of his own beer, but Snow could see him eyeing the guy at the end of the bar. The young guy looked lost in his own world. He had a beer in front of him, but his eyes were locked on the phone in his hand.
They waited only a few moments before grabbing their beers and walking to the other end of the bar. Their footsteps on the old floor seemed louder than the damn TV, and Snow could feel the eyes of a few of the big bruisers already giving them looks.
Neither he nor Jude fit into this seedy atmosphere. He curled his hand into a fist, ready for anything. A gay bashing would be just the kind of thing he’d expect in this place.
“Are you Anthony?” Jude asked the guy, who turned to look them up and down.
He was scrawny in a way that Snow was sure he’d never once had enough to eat in his life. There was something hungry and a little desperate in his blood-shot brown eyes. His hair was bleached blond, but it wasn’t a good dye job. It was like he had a sister in beauty school who did it, but she wasn’t the top of the class. It stood straight up in these weird chunks like pale yellow nails sticking out of his skull.
“Who wants to know?” His beady eyes shifted from Jude and locked on to Snow. A slow grin stretched his thin lips, and Snow nearly groaned. Not everyone in this bar was straight. He just had a knack for attracting the strange ones. Though Geoffrey Ralse, a man who’d been somewhat relentless in the past, was looking far more appealing than this punk, not that he’d ever dream of touching Geoffrey when he had Jude in his bed every night. “I may be Anthony for you.”
“Not interested,” Snow sneered.
The guy’s mouth snapped closed and he shrugged, his gaze going to Jude. “What do you want?”
“My name’s Jude. I heard you’re friends with my brother.”
The guy made a scoffing noise and started to turn back on his stool to face the bar. “And who the fuck is your brother?”
“Jordan Torres.”
Anthony’s expression went instantly blank as he paled enough to see even in the low light. “I-I don’t know no Jordan. You got the wrong guy.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve been seen with Jordan by several people. We’re just trying to find out information about where my brother has been hanging out. Was it here with you?”
“Like I said, I don’t know no Jordan.” He turned his back to them and lifted up his phone again, dismissing them. Snow almost wanted to laugh at the balls on this punk. Like they were going to walk away so easily.
“Look,” Jude said as he put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Nobody is accusing you of anything, we just need to—”
Jude broke off when the guy suddenly jumped out of his seat and shoved between them, knocking them back a step to catch their balance. Anthony took off for the door, weaving between tables and patrons who stood, wondering what the sudden noise was about.
“Son of a bitch,” Snow snarled, his spine slamming into the edge of the bar. Pushing back to his feet, Snow took off after the little fucker, dodging people who were now shouting at him and Jude. Jude’s heavy footsteps echoed behind him, only a bit off his own heels.
They busted out the front door and paused for a second to find Anthony running down the sidewalk, his arms and legs pumping as fast as they would carry him. With a growl, Snow took off after him with Jude right beside him.
Anthony was young, small, and fast, allowing him to more easily dart sharply around corners and hop over fences.
But Snow and Jude didn’t slow. Thank God they regularly worked out and ran. He hadn’t expected that they’d need the endurance for a chase through a shadowy part of Cincinnati, but life brought strange surprises around every fucking corner.
Anthony cut through an empty church parking lot and over a sagging chain link fence before cutting through someone’s backyard. Snow swore under his breath as he went over the fence. He didn’t want to be seen running through someone’s yard late at night and risk some homeowner shooting at him and Jude. It would be just their luck that they get shot while chasing after Anthony when they just wanted a little fucking information.
His slick-soled shoes slipped on the damp grass and he exhaled a breath of relief when they hit the pavement again. He’d worn the wrong damn shoes for a pursuit, but then he’d not been expecting to run after anyone tonight.
His breath fogged in the cold, his lungs complaining against the frigid air. His feet pounded on the sidewalk, sending little shocks of pain up his legs and into his knees. Definitely the wrong footwear for a run. He imagined that Jude couldn’t be doing much better, but they were keeping pace with Anthony so far.
