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Later that afternoon, the atmosphere at our usual hangout bar feels very different from the solemnity of the funeral. Glasses clink and conversations hum at a low drone. For the rest of the world, nothing at all has changed. That’s always the hardest thing about death, I’ve found. Life keeps going, no matter what. Never seems fair.
Bricker and I take a small booth near the back as we wait for Pony, instead of our usual large team table. When Pony does saunter in, he nods at the bartender for his usual and then looks around before spotting us. He makes his way over, sliding in with a sigh that almost sounds content.
“Tough day, huh?” he says.
Bricker nods. “Tough day.”
Pony leans forward. “So I hear you boys are mole-hunting.”
“Something like that,” Bricker replies. “Who told you?”
Pony’s favorite microbrew appears. He takes a long swig, wiping the foam from his lips with the back of one hand. “Figured it out for myself,” he says at last. “You keep having those quiet conversations, looking at us all like you’re searching for something. So, what’s the story?”
“Well, the thing is, Pony,” Bricker says slowly. “Someonemusthave been leaking intel for things to go the way they did at First National. Have you noticed anything off about anyone lately?”
His eyes dart between Bricker and me before he leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Look, I already told you about Van.”
“It’s not Van.”
I keep my eyes on my beer. I don’t want Pony to know Bricker and I don’t think alike on that particular issue.
“You sure?” Pony asks, puzzled. “But what about that text he got—”
“Forget about the text. You seen or heard anything else?”
“Eh…I don’t want to point fingers.”
Now I do look up. “You said back there at the church that you wanted to talk, Pony,” I point out. “So talk.”
He spins his beer around slowly, considering it as he thinks. “Well…Jazz has been spending an awful lot of time with Nico at the hospital. And you know how hard Nico tried to get into the on-the-ground team, right?” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Seems suspicious to me.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Why?” He frowns. “Well, I mean, why was he so desperate to get out of the van and into the bank?”
“I can think of a million reasons,” Bricker says, his tone lacking any inflection at all, but Pony laughs wildly.
“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “Maybe he wanted to look like a big man in front of his girl. Maybe he didn’t wanna be sitting around with old Pony.” He takes another long sip of beer. “Or maybe someonewantedhim in there. Maybe someone had a word in his ear. Made out like he wasn’t a man if he didn’t go in. In combo with Jazz hanging round him like a stink…” He shrugs, letting his implication waft over to us along with his beery breath. “She didn’t even show up to Rook’s funeral today. That’s pretty heartless. Maybe she feelsguilty.”
Pony’s phone buzzes, and he glances down at the screen. “Ah, crap. I gotta go.” He chugs the last of his beer and stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Catch you guys later.” He nods at Bricker.
“You’ve been a big help, Pony,” I say. “Keep your ear to the ground. We’ll be in touch.” We watch him go, the door swinging shut behind him.
“Jazz and Nico?” Bricker stares at me, drumming his fingers on the table. “That’s an angle we haven’t considered.”
“Honeybee seemed to think it wasn’t all that strange for Jazz to skip the funeral.”
As a bar staff member comes by to clear away empty glasses, my hand shoots out to grab Pony’s before they can take it. “Hey, leave that one. I’m still drinking from it.”
Bricker raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between me and the glass. “You’re…gonna drink his dregs?”
“Hell, no.” I pull out a large Ziploc bag and unobtrusively drop the glass into it before tucking it inside my jacket. “I want to get his prints off it. Jack’s hoping to get some prints from the burned shell of the burner phone we found at the house, but it’ll take some time.”
Understanding dawns in Bricker’s eyes. “Smart thinking. And his suggestions about Jazz and Nico?”
“I think they’re bullshit,” I say bluntly. I reserve my further thoughts about Pony for now, but I plan to tell Jack to get a hurry-on with the prints. “But Jazz sure is making herself look odd, I’ll give Pony that much.”
