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Sarnes sighed. “You’re right. I thought you could stake it out instead of asking questions. But if you need to know, the bartender is called Billy Dee. You know, like that Star Wars actor.”
Jack scratched his head. “No, which one?” Shoot, why had he asked that? He didn’t care.
“Lando. The Empire Strikes Back.” The deputy snorted. “The bar is like a tribute to Star Wars. Posters and memorabilia. Makes it interesting. The bartenders and waitresses have Star Wars names. One of the movie actors has a ranch in the county. Didn’t you know that?”
“No.” Jack had been away for too long and still clearly had some catching up to do. “Listen, thanks for the tip. So, I go ask for Lando. No, wait. Billy Dee, like the actor instead of the character.”
“Right. Billy Dee.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“In the meantime, let’s start looking for Blevins. See if he’s home but hasn’t gone to the bar as usual. Find out everything you can about him. I’ll be the one to question him, though.” This Blevins guy could be a witness, suspect, or ... a victim.
If Terra had waited a few more moments, she could have learned about his conversation too. He’d check up on this lead, and if it went anywhere, he would let her know. Part of him wished she wasn’t involved and they weren’t collaborating, but the artifacts and murders were tied together.
Since Bar Wars was a couple of blocks down the street, he took the opportunity to get some fresh air and exercise. Would the place even be open at ten-thirty in the morning?
At the door, he pushed and pulled, but it was locked.
A bulky man—midfifties, graying yellow hair—slowly walked toward him and stopped at the door. “Can I help you?”
“I don’t know. Can you get inside the bar?”
He produced a key. “That, I can do. But we don’t open until eleven o’clock. You’ll have to wait.”
Jack hadn’t wanted to throw around his weight, but he didn’t have time for this. He flashed his credentials.
The man quickly covered his frown with a smile.
“What?” Jack asked.
“Talking to the cops is bad for business.” He opened the door.
Jack stepped into the dark, waiting a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. “I don’t see why it’s bad for business. You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?”
The man moved to stand behind the bar and crossed his arms. “No, I’m not. But the way I see it, people come here to talk and let off steam. They won’t feel so comfortable talking to me if they see me talking to you.”
Jack slid onto a stool. “Like anyone could tell I’m a cop. I’m not wearing a uniform.”
The man laughed. “I pegged you as soon as I saw you standing at my door.” He grabbed a couple of small bottles of club soda and handed one to Jack. “It’s on the house.”
Jack produced a five-dollar bill. “Thanks, but I’m more than happy to pay. If we get this over with before you officially open, then you don’t need to worry that anyone will see you talking to me.”
The guy nodded. “Fine. Mind going out the back when we’re done? I usually come in that way but stopped in at the pharmacy across the street.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Thanks for the invitation. That would give him a chance to look the place over on his way out. “So, what’s your name?”
The man started wiping down the bar, a predictable work habit, and right now, an obviously nervous habit. “You mean my real name?”
“That, and I’d also like your Bar Wars name.” Jack took the moment to take in the memorabilia. Huh. Interesting a place like this would be popular in Montana.
“My name’s Chet Reeves. But here, it’s Jabba the Hutt.”
Jack chuckled. “You’re kidding.”
Chet burst out laughing, and Jack joined him. The guy seemed friendly enough, and Jack hoped he could get some good intel.
