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“A little after three in the afternoon.”
“Good. The bar should be open, but not necessarily busy yet.”
“What’s our plan?”
“There isn’t much of one.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “We go in and strike up a conversation with the bartender. Ask if he knows where Emerson is. Bribe him, if possible. Most of it I’ll play by ear. With any luck, we’ll get a location.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The cab dropped to the ground below and we climbed out. I passed off some credits to the cabbie and took stock of the street. There were a few people out walking, but the cold probably chased the rest away. The street itself didn’t look rundown or ghetto, so I took that as a positive sign. There were some legit looking businesses up the way, and what looked like apartment buildings across the street.
In front of us stood a two-level building with a black wooden sign with “White Fox” written across it in white letters. Some of the edging was done in deep orange, much like a fox’s coloring. Windows covered most of the front wall, though they were tinted, and it was hard to see the interior. I couldn’t distinguish more than a few dark shapes.
There was no need to waste any more time, so I strode towards the door, forcing the pain to the back of my mind. I walked carefully but tried not to look like I was favoring my side. This was not the time to show weakness. I pushed the door open and took a few seconds to scan the room. A few patrons sat at a table in the left corner, beers at the elbows and a game of cards in full swing. Two buff men were playing darts on the opposite wall. A few others sat at the bar. A server was cleaning off a chair in the corner, and a bartender stood behind the bar, mixing up a drink.
Taking all that in, I headed straight for the bar. I felt eyes on me as I walked, but I ignored them. Ethan walked in right behind me, and even though he wasn’t the biggest or most imposing man in the room, he still had a presence. If anything happened, he could hold his own; I had seen as much already.
I climbed onto a barstool, which hurt like nobody’s business, and leaned against the bar. Ethan followed suit. I watched the bartender as he finished mixing his drink. He was in his fifties, with snow-white hair and weathered skin. He had a sizeable belly, but it looked like it was because he ate too much good food and not because he wasn’t active. I watched his hands and arms as he moved, and there was noticeable power in them. He might have been a bartender, but I was confident he could fight, too.
After a few minutes, he moved over to us, sizing us up with sharp eyes. “What can I get you?”
“Bourbon. On the rocks.” I didn’t hesitate. If I wanted something from him, I needed to be a paying customer.
His eyes moved silently to Ethan.
“Same.”
Without a word, he turned and grabbed a bottle of bourbon and began pouring our drinks. I tried to study the area behind the bar to glean any information about the man that I could. It was neat and clean. Messes were confined to specific areas, and the glasses were kept aligned. It appeared as though he liked to keep things neat and orderly. The floor was clean, and there were no personal belongings or pictures or anything like that.
Our drinks were placed in front of us precisely, without spillage and without fanfare. I took a sip and let the alcohol burn through me. I hoped it would help dull the pain a little. I didn’t want to have much, because I needed to be clear-minded, but I thought a little couldn’t hurt.
My eyes met those of the bartender. He hadn’t moved away, and he was looking at us like he was drawing on patience. I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Yes?” I asked.
He tilted his head to the side. “What do you want?”
I waggled my drink at him, making the ice clink. “A drink. I got it.”
“What do you really want?” He wiped his hands on a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you in here before. There’s something you’re after.”
I debated with myself internally. I could pretend I had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t seem the type to appreciate me dragging this out. I tapped a finger against the side of my glass, considering my options.It can’t hurt to be honest at this point. He already knows I want something.“I’m looking for information.”
The bartender smirked. It disappeared quickly though. “What do you want?”
“I want to know where Captain Emerson is.”
“Who?” There was a subtle shift in his shoulders, a tightening, that told me he knew exactly who Emerson was.
I smiled at him, trying to soften him up a little. “Oh, don’t play coy. I know you know who he is, and I bet you know where he is, too.”
His whole body went still. I focused on his face as I took another sip. “Is he planet-side?”
There was a slight twitch around his mouth and cheeks. My hopes rose. “He is. Good. I bet that means you know where I can find him.”
“Who are you?”
“Diverting the conversation. Nice stalling technique.” I set my glass down carefully, keeping my senses alert to my surroundings. “Name’s Carter. Emerson and I are acquaintances. He has something of mine, and I want it back.”
It was a boldfaced lie, but I had learned long ago how to lie well. The bartender blinked suspiciously at me. “He’s never mentioned you.”
