by Ron Fisher
A long bar ran down the right side, with a couple of bartenders behind it. To the left stood a dozen tables and beyond them, a small stage and dance floor on against the wall. A homemade sign sat on an easel next to the bandstand that announced that “The Roadrunners,” were performing Friday and Saturday nights from 9:00 p.m. to midnight. It was still a little early for them, the only music coming from a jukebox. It was playing another Skynyrd number.
In the back were more tables and booths and a couple of pool tables. A half-dozen Dixie Demons surrounded the pool tables, easily recognized even from where I stood by their “colors,” the club emblems on their backs.
I walked down the bar and found an empty stool, sat down and ordered a tap beer from a bald-headed bartender with a drooping Pancho Villa mustache. A man on the stool next to me turned and gave me the once-over. I returned the favor. He was probably in his fifties and had thinning short hair, going gray, He wore blue coveralls with a label on the pocket that read, “Dave’s Tire and Wheel.” He had ground-in grease on his knuckles. Not a Dixie Demon, I assumed.
“How ya’ doing,” I said.
“Fair to middling,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”
“Doing better now,” I said, lifting my mug at him.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he answered, nodding.
“You come in here much?” I asked, already knowing that he probably did. I’d caught a bit of his conversation with Pancho Villa when I sat down, and they sounded like old friends.
He raised an eyebrow and gave me a quizzical look.
“If that’s a pickup line, my friend, you’re in the wrong bar,” he said. “There’s one of them kind of places down the street.”
He had chuckled, so I guess he was pulling my leg. Maybe.
I chuckled too. “I’m just looking for anybody who hangs out in here a lot.”
“I guess I fit that bill, I’m Dave,” he said and stuck out his hand.
“J.D.,” I said as I shook it, and I pulled out my wallet photo of Kelly and showed it to him, “Have you seen this woman in here recently?”
He studied the picture for a moment. “You a cop?”
“No, I’m just trying to find her.”
“You got woman trouble, that’s your business, friend. I ain’t getting in the middle of nothing like that.”
“There’s no trouble, I met her once but lost her number. I’m trying to find her again. Can you blame me? Look at her.”
He looked at the picture again. “Naw, I don’t blame you,” he said and studied my face. “Yeah, I seen her. A couple of nights ago. Hard to miss somebody in here looks like her. She was talking to the bartender.”
I glanced over at Pancho Villa, standing a few feet away, talking to another customer.
“Not him, “her,” Dave said, pointing down the bar at another bartender.
I turned and saw an attractive redhead with freckles and a cute little turned-up nose, probably in her twenties somewhere. I watched her for a moment, then turned back to Dave and nodded toward the pool tables in the rear of the bar.
“What about those boys in the back? You see her talking to any of them?”
“So far, they been pretty much keeping to themselves,” he said. “They ain’t really been socializing with the local folks much. They tend to bring their party with them. A close-knit bunch. Some of the local riders ain’t taking that too well, but nobody’s screwed up enough courage to front them about it. Everybody knows there’s only about six or eight of them here now, but, come August they say there’ll be over five hundred of them.
“Them that’s here now seem to be on their best behavior,” he added. “What with making arrangements and stuff, nailing down campgrounds, and lining up box lunches for a big ride I hear they’re gonna’ take into the mountains, they’re playing nice with everybody. God knows what they’ll do when the whole bunch of them get here.
We both discreetly watched the bikers for a moment.
Dave added, “But I did see one of them belly up to the bar next to your lady in the picture. He said a few words to her, but she must have cooled his tater pretty quick, because he didn’t stick around her but about a minute, and he was in the back again with his buddies.”
“You remember which one of them this was?”
“Yeah, it was the one with the curly black hair and the beard that ain’t so wild and woolly like the rest of them. The big guy, standing by the pool table on the right. I think he fancies himself God’s gift to women. He sort of swaggers when he walks, and I’ve seen him hit on several young ladies who come in here. He’s the only one of em’ who seems like he wants to fraternize. As long as it’s with somebody with tits.”
I saw who he was talking about and the guy did cut a striking figure, well-built and looking a little bit like the Jason Momoa, the actor.
“She talk to anybody else in here?” I asked Dave.
“I don’t know, I went home. She was still up front at the bar when I left.”
I thanked Dave and dropped a five-spot on the bar for Pancho Villa. I took my beer and went to see if the cute bartender would talk to me. There was an empty stool in front of her, and I took it.
“Something I can getcha’?” she said, coming over. She didn’t have that I’ve-heard-everything-and-nothing-you-can-say-would-shock-me look that many bartenders have, especially in places like this. She had a sweet girl next door innocence about her.
“I’m fine,” I said, setting my beer on the bar and placing the photograph of Kelly next to it. “But I would like to talk to you about this girl.”
She leaned over and studied the photograph. When she straightened up, her whole demeanor had changed. The photo had disturbed her somehow, and she was trying hard to hide it.
“Pretty girl, but I’m sorry, I don’t know her.”
“I was led to believe you were talking to her right here at the bar a couple of days ago.”
“Who told you that?” she asked and glanced up the bar at Pancho Villa watching us. “If I did talk to her, I don’t remember her. A lot of people come in here.”
“You sure about that?” I said.
“Positive.” There was something in her eyes that said she wasn’t telling me everything. “Let me know when you’re ready for another beer,” she added, and turned to begin washing glasses in a sink behind her. I watched for a moment, her shoulders bent and scrubbing away. Whatever else she was, I thought—the girl next door or toughened bartender in a biker bar—there was one thing she wasn’t. A good actress. She was scared of something and the picture of Kelly had caused it.
Pancho Villa was still staring at me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I grabbed my beer and headed to the pool tables. I didn’t see any reason not to get acquainted with some of the Dixie Demons while I was here. If they knew anything at all about Kelly’s beating, I’m sure they wouldn’t tell me, but I could at least try to read between the lines of what they would say—and get a feel for the Jason Momoa look-alike. Besides, what could they do to me if I pissed them off? Dumb question. They could take me out back and beat me senseless, for one thing. But what the heck. No risk, no reward, they say. But I wondered if anyone ever tried that old saw out on a murderous outlaw biker gang.
These particular Dixie Demons would be gone soon, and I wouldn’t get another chance to take a look at them until they returned in August. As for the red-headed bartender, who I could see out of the corner of my eye watching me, I had plenty of time to talk to her again. I would just need to find a different approach, or a different place to do it.
I walked up to several of the bikers standing in a group. They were either between games or just using the table rails as a place set their beers. Look-alike Jason Momoa was one of them. All of them were wearing what you’d expect outlaw bikers to wear, mostly denim and leather, and looked their parts as if cast in Hollywood. They were laughing loudly at something as I walked up.
“Pardon me, fellas,” I said, interrupting them.
They all went suddenly quiet and turned to stare at me as if I were an alien from another world—which to them, I probably was. I was definitely an unwelcome guest at their party and could only hope they weren’t trying to decide whether to throw me out, or beat the crap out of me first and then throw me out.
“Can I ask if any of you have seen this woman in here?” I said, holding out
Kelly’s photograph. “She’s missing.”
“No,” one of them said, not even looking at the picture.
“No, you haven’t seen her, or no, I can’t ask?” I said.
“What do we look like, Ace?” he said. “The lost and found department?”
Another one of them leaned in closer and looked. “Hot. I ain’t seen her, but I’ll sure-as-shit keep an eye out.”
A hairy guy with a large gap between his front teeth took a look. “Hey, Hound-dog? Ain’t that the chick who shot your ass down?”
Look-alike Jason Momoa stepped over and took the photo out of my hand, studied it a moment, and handed it back. “That your woman?” he said to me.
“I’m just looking for her.”
“Why?”
“She won the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes. I need to notify her.”
“Fuck you, you a cop?”
“No, why do they call you Hound-dog?”
“Because he hound-dogs every chick he sees, man,” Gap-tooth said, and sniggered.
A couple of the others chuckled. Hound-dog didn’t. He gave Gap-tooth the evil eye, then turned it on me. “If she’s your woman, he said, “why don’t you know where she is? She take off on you?”
“Did you hound-dog her?” I asked.
“Maybe I did. Maybe she’s back in my motel room right now, waiting for this.” He grabbed at his crotch.
“Your buddy there said she shot you down. I can see why. You’re not her type.”
“What, she don’t like grade-A meat? Looking at you, she’s probably ready for some.”
“She don’t like guys with an IQ smaller than her bra size,” I said.
A couple of them laughed again. Hound-dog still didn’t.
“This son-of-a-bitch is craving hospital food,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. He took a step toward me and I wondered if my smart- mouth had just attracted a big fist.
An older guy stepped forward and placed a hand on Hound-dog’s arm.
“Let’s all just calm down here,” he said and looked at me. “And you need to be leaving, friend. I don’t know who you are or what kind of suicide wish you’ve got, but we ain’t having any of it today.”
His short brush-cut was greying, and he was smaller than the others, but by the steely look in his eyes and the way Hound-dog quickly backed off, I gathered that this guy out-ranked him—both in club hierarchy and in mettle. Something told me this was the most dangerous guy of them all.
“We’re in town with peaceful intentions,” he went on, still holding his gaze on me. “We’re here to make plans for a family get-together we’ll be having here later in the summer. So, why don’t you just go on about your business, and leave us to ours? None of us know anything about this missing woman. And while Hound-dog here might have put the moves on her at the bar, he’s a horny bastard, and that’s just what he does. But if she’s missing, he ain’t the reason. None of us are.”
Without any real evidence against this Hound-dog character, I did the only thing I could. I took my leave. The good news was that after a testy face-to-face encounter with a bunch of in-the-flesh Dixie Demons, I walked away under my own steam and with no broken bones, bloody nose, or missing teeth.
My inquiries were at a dead-end with the Dixie Demons. I would have to leave their investigation up to Sheriff Bagwell, the Clemson police, and crime scene investigators.
The barmaid was different. She hadn’t seen the last of me.
CHAPTER NINE
Sunday morning, I woke up late, finally getting a good night’s sleep. I felt much better, at least physically. I still had a brush fire going on in my head over Kelly’s health, but at least I had the energy now to deal with it.
I smelled bacon frying from the kitchen, got up, dressed, and went down to join my sister and my niece.
“Good morning,” Eloise said, as she and Mackenzie were getting breakfast on the table. It was a huge country meal of bacon, eggs, grits, and cathead biscuits with sawmill gravy. It was as if we were expecting a group of field hands to join us before they went to tend the crops for a hard day’s labor. Some things in the south never changed.
“Are you guys going to church?” I asked Eloise. Sunday services were a ritual for my sister.
“God can hear my prayers for Kelly from here just as well as at church,” she said. Besides, Sheriff Bagwell called this morning to say he has Kelly’s telephone records and volunteered to bring them out for us to look at. I want to see them. Maybe I can help.”
“When’s he coming?”
“He’s on his way. According to him, he pulled some strings and got more cooperation out of the phone company than he’d expected. They sent them to him sometime during the night.”
I was about to tell Eloise about my trip to the Tiger’s Tail last night and meeting the Dixie Demons, then quickly changed my mind. I’d wait for Bagwell to arrive. They would both be angry with me, albeit for different reasons—Eloise for placing myself in a potentially risky situation, and Bagwell for my meddling in an investigation. So why not wait and tell them at the same time and avoid getting chastised twice? I sat down for a quick bite of Eloise’s field-hand breakfast before he could get there. Better to get yelled at on a full stomach, I always said.
Bagwell showed up thirty minutes later, just as I was sopping the last gravy off my plate with a piece of biscuit. He had a folder stuck under his arm that I took to be Kelly’s phone records. Eloise offered Bagwell breakfast, but he said he’d already eaten, so she and Mackenzie cleared the table.
Bagwell turned to me and smiled. “Before we get started, I’ve got some good news for you. I hope you know that I never considered you a suspect, but as I said, we had to eliminate you. It’s the standard procedure in things like this. Well, now it’s official, you are cleared as a suspect. One of Ms. Mayfield’s neighbors saw two men, one with a ponytail, come through her backyard from the general direction of Ms. Mayfield’s place, then, thirty-seven minutes later she saw you pull into the driveway.” That’s enough for me.”
“Thirty-seven minutes? This neighbor timed it that precisely?”
“Seeing those guys in her backyard scared her, so she kept time on the neighborhood comings and goings from that moment on.”
“I appreciate you telling me,” I said, but the fact that he had even checked me out in the first place, procedure or not, was still absurd. I couldn’t be all that grateful for him clearing me. He was still smiling, and I was about to wipe that smile off his face.
I announced to them that I had something to say too, before we got started. I guess I had spoken too gravely. All three of them took their seats and waited.
“I went to the Tiger’s Tail Bar and Grill last night and had a little conversation with some of the Dixie Demons biker gang.”
I told them all about it, watching Bagwell’s jaw muscles roll from the grinding of teeth as I spoke. I’d tried to do his job for him once before, and he didn’t like it then, either. I was convinced he would never have learned about Hound-dog hitting on Kelly just twenty-four hours before she was brutally assaulted. I still believed that the Dixie Demons would say things to me they would never say to a uniformed policeman.
I knew I would be in for it when I was finished. And I was.
Bagwell sat with his eyes closed, slowly shaking his head. When he opened them, he looked at Eloise, not me, and I knew that her being there would save me from the worst of his anger. He wouldn’t unload on me like he wanted to.
“Dadburn it, Bragg, I ought to lock you up,” he said finally. “You had no business interfering
with a police investigation.”
“I agree with him, John David,” Eloise said. “Seriously, did you actually confront a gang of Dixie Demons? What were you thinking? Are you trying to end up in a bed down the hall from Kelly?”
“I thought they would say things to me they would never say to Sheriff Bagwell,” I said.
She said, “But at least Arlen wouldn’t have been alone. And he and every officer with him would have been carrying guns.”
“Okay, okay, enough,” Bagwell said. “And you,” he said, turning to me. “You stay away from these guys, or I promise you, you will end up being an extended-stay guest of Pickens County. We will look into it. This is our job, so let us do it. If this guy who came on to Ms. Mayfield at the bar doesn’t have an iron-clad alibi for Friday night, believe me, he won’t be going anywhere. I will hold him over until we find out exactly where he was Friday night.”
Then he looked at Eloise and me.
He said, “I hope y’all understand the predicament this creates. If this Dixie Demon is guilty of the heinous attack on Ms. Mayfield, that’s one thing. He’ll get what’s coming to him. But if he isn’t our guy, he could still be a problem. If word gets out that a Dixie Demon was even considered a person of interest, it could play hell with the upcoming event this summer.
“The fact that we’re already having trouble like this, with just a small advance party in town, portends what might happen when we get hundreds of them here. We don’t need to stir people up needlessly, which this would, especially those against these Dixie Demons coming here in the first place. That could lead to either a public outcry to cancel the event, which personally wouldn’t bother me, or build up animosity with the locals against the bikers and cause trouble, maybe even violence, when the whole bunch gets here. That would bother me.
