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“And if you don’t,” Hammond said, raising his voice, “you can always invent one.”
Smilow came out of his chair so fast, it scraped against the floor. Likewise, Hammond was on his feet within a heartbeat.
Steffi popped up, too. “Guys,” she said beneath her breath. “Everybody’s looking.”
Hammond realized that they did indeed have the attention of everyone in the bar. Conversations around them ceased. “I gotta go.” He tossed a five-dollar bill down on the table to cover his drink. “See you tomorrow.”
He didn’t take his eyes off Smilow until he turned and began making his way through the crowd toward the exit. He heard Steffi tell Smilow to order her another drink and that she would be right back, and then she came after him. He didn’t want to talk to her, but once they were outside she grasped his arm and brought him around.
“Would you like some company?”
“No,” he said, more harshly than he intended. Then, pushing his fingers up through his hair, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Steffi. It’s just been one of those Mondays. My dad came by this morning. This case is going to be a bitch. Smilow’s a bastard.”
“You’re sure that’s what’s bothering you?”
He lowered his hand and looked at her closely, afraid he had given himself away. But her eyes weren’t suspicious or accusatory. They were limpid, soft, and inviting. He relaxed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I just thought that maybe…” She paused to raise her shoulder in a small shrug. “Maybe you were wishing we had talked things through before you decided to end the relationship.” She touched the front of his shirt. “If you’re wanting to let off some steam, I remember something that used to work very well.”
“I remember, too.” He gave her a kind smile which he hoped would appease her ego. But he removed her hand, squeezing it gently before releasing it. “Better get back inside. Smilow’s waiting with your drink.”
“He can go to hell.”
“In that regard, you probably won’t be disappointed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turned and walked away, but she called after him. “Hammond?” When he was facing her again, she asked, “What did you think of her?”
“Who, Dr. Ladd?” He faked a thoughtful frown. “Articulate. Cool under pressure. But unlike Smilow, I’m not ready to—”
“I mean her. What did you think of her?”
“What’s to think about?” he quipped, forcing a laugh. “She’s gorgeous to look at and obviously very intelligent.”
Then, with a jovial wave, he turned away.
Since he didn’t have Alex Ladd’s capacity for lying, he figured it would be safer to stick to the truth.
Chapter 17
The Citadel, respected as one of the outstanding institutions of higher learning in America, was located only a few blocks from the Shady Rest Lounge. Beyond their proximity, the bar and the military academy were worlds apart in every respect.
Unlike the renowned academy with its guarded gate and pristine grounds, the Shady Rest didn’t boast an impressive facade. It had no windows, only cinder-block patches where windows had once been. The entrance was a metal door on which a vandal had carved an obscenity. After the infraction, a slapdash attempt had been made to cover the word with a thin, low-grade paint which, unfortunately, didn’t quite match the original color or fill in the scratch. As a result, the expletive now drew more attention than if it had been left alone. The only thing that indicated the nature of the establishment was a neon sign above the door that spelled out the name. The sign buzzed noisily and worked only sporadically.
In spite of its lofty neighbor and all its own shortcomings, the Shady Rest Lounge was perfectly at home in its environment, a neighborhood of poverty- and crime-ridden streets where windows were barred and visible signs of prosperity made one a target.
With self-protection in mind, Hammond had replaced his business suit with blue jeans and T-shirt, a baseball cap and sneakers. All had seen better days… better decades. But a change of clothing alone wasn’t sufficient. In this section of the city, one needed to adopt an attitude in order to survive.
When he pulled open the defaced door to go into the lounge, he didn’t politely stand aside for the pair of guys on their way out. Instead he shouldered his way between them, acting tough enough to make a statement but hopefully not being so aggressive as to spark a confrontation he would most certainly lose. He escaped with only a muttered slur directed toward him and his mother.
Once inside the lounge, it took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Shady deals were transacted in the Shady Rest. He had never been in this particular bar before, but he knew instantly the kind of place it was. Every city had them, Charleston being no exception. He was also uneasily aware that he wouldn’t last long if any of the other patrons discovered that he represented the County Solicitor’s Office.
Once his eyes had adjusted and he got his bearings, he spotted whom he sought. She was sitting alone at the end of the bar, morosely staring into a highball glass. Affecting disregard for the wary, hostile stares sizing him up, Hammond made his way over to her.
Loretta Boothe’s hair was grayer than the last time he had seen her, and it looked like it had been a while since her last shampoo. She had made an attempt to apply makeup, but either she had done an inept job or this application was several days old. Mascara had flaked onto her cheeks, and her eyebrow pencil had been smudged. Lipstick had bled into the fine lines radiating from her mouth, though none of the color remained on her lips. One cheek was rosy with rouge, the other sallow and colorless. It was a pathetic face.
“Hey, Loretta.”
She turned and focused bleary eyes on him. Despite the baseball cap, she recognized him immediately, and her delight to see him was plain. Eyelids that were saggy and webbed beyond their years crinkled as she grinned, revealing a lower front tooth in bad need of a dentist’s attention.
