‘I think he’s over there,’ I murmured to Stephen.
‘Why?’ He started to look over and I caught his arm.
‘No, don’t look.’
‘Why not? What’s going on in that head of yours?’
‘They look like bikers; this is most likely their bar because the bartender only grows a personality when he goes over to give them table service. He’s over there now, like he needs to collect their glasses but he’s most likely telling Eric about us asking after him. Giving him a heads up that we’re getting impatient or something.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Your imagination is very vivid. Do you spend all your time trying to figure people out?’
‘These are my skills. Some people are good at tennis or crochet, I’m good at—’
‘Jumping to conclusions?’
‘Hey, I thought you wanted my help with this.’
‘I do. But if he’s over there, what say we use your method from last weekend and simply ask? I don’t feel inclined to stay in this bar any longer than I have to.’
I tried not to feel insulted about the fact he couldn’t wait to get away. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
He got up from his bar stool and I was forced to let my grip on his arm drop. ‘You’d prefer to sit here and wait while he decides what to do with us?’
‘This is their domain.’
‘All the more reason to go on the offensive. It’ll show them we’re not intimidated,’ he said, stepping closer to lower his voice, his breath sweet with bourbon. ‘If you’re nervous, you can wait for me outside.’ And for just a moment I imagined I could see the softness in his dark eyes, concern that made me feel a little safer.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not abandoning you to them.’
‘I can handle myself you know.’
‘This is New York, Stephen, and it looks like we’ve been lured to a biker bar. They’ll eat you alive. They’ve probably figured out you’re loaded by the cut of your fine Italian suit.’
‘It’s a Paul Smith,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘I’m going over.’
‘Dammit. Okay.’
We approached the dingy corner and the four men watched us the entire time. I couldn’t help but feel like a dopey zebra stumbling into a pride of lions.
Stephen stopped a couple of arm lengths away from the tables. ‘Excuse us for interrupting, would any of you gents happen to be Eric?’
The four of them stared at us. They were crowded around something dark on the table but I saw little blocks of white scattered around too, like large pills orteeth. One of the younger ones, with more brown in his beard than grey, tipped his chin up. ‘Not us. Never heard of him.’
Stephen threw a pointed look at me and then thanked them. I thought he was being a little hasty to relax about them and the comment growled at us as we walked away only made me more concerned: ‘You watch yourselves; do you hear?’
Stephen looked back at them and gave a little respectful nod, even though I could feel that he’d tensed up beside me. ‘Perhaps we should cut our losses on this one,’ he murmured as we neared our seats at the bar again, pausing before we sat down.
I was about to answer when I noticed that Stephen wasn’t paying attention to me anymore; he was looking over my head. As I turned to see what had caught his eye, he touched his hand lightly to my waist, making me jerk in surprise, as he subtly pulled me closer.
The young college guys who’d been playing pool were now lined up in a loose semi-circle around us and they’d brought their cues.
‘You the British guy I spoke to on the phone?’ A kid with sandy hair and a red T-shirt stood in the centre and acted as their spokesperson. I say kid; they were full-grown adults and made a significant human barrier between us and the exit.
‘If your name is Eric, I suppose so. You said you had some information about the man we’re looking for?’ Stephen kept his voice neutral.
‘What’s the information worth to you?’
‘How much do you think it’s worth?’ Stephen immediately countered.
