by T. K. Lukas
Others chimed in, shouting vulgarities. Male and female alike called out to one another what they wanted from the beer wench. They behaved like a pack, each feeding off the others. As the crudeness escalated, the situation quickly spun out of control.
Markus pocketed the order pad. He whistled loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there was an emergency. I know Heidi’s prettier than me, but she’s busy in the dining room. To make it up to you, why don’t I just bring out a few icy tubs of the best beer in the house. First round is on me. I’ll keep the tubs full of beer, water, and sodas until closing time.”
Calm settled over the patio. Friendly chatter picked back up among the bikers. Markus turned and hurried off on his mission, followed by the initial instigator, now offering to help carry the tubs of beer.
“Thanks, man,” Markus shook his hand, surprised at its smoothness. Judging by this character’s rough appearance—the skull and crossbones doo-rag, the pierced ear, the studded jacket and black leather chaps—Markus expected callouses and sandpaper palms.
“Sure. No problem.”
“Can I appoint you to let me know when the tubs need refilling? I’ll be in here helping the restaurant crew. What’s your name, pal?”
“Everyone calls me Doc.”
“Doc, huh? Why ‘Doc?”
“Because I am a doctor.” The man smiled, seeming to enjoy the look on Markus’s face. “Orthopedic surgeon. Surprised?”
“A bit,” Markus admitted, shaking his head. “I was at the hospital earlier. A surgeon wore a doo-rag similar to yours. Is that an insider joke?”
“Doctors are funny individuals, don’t you know? Well… Sorry about the ruckus earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it, and I sure didn’t think it’d turn so ugly. It won’t happen again. Thanks for the beer, friend.” He clapped Markus on the back and strode out, tub of beers in hand.
“Sure. No worries.” Markus made his way to the bar.
Inside, the crowd was beginning to thin. A few clingy couples shuffled around the dance floor while two tables in the dining area were shoved together for a game of cards. The bar was still shoulder-to-shoulder, the boisterous crowd making Markus feel edgy.
One more hour till closing time.
“How’s it going, bartender?” He leaned against the far end of the bar and angled his position for the best view to scope out the crowd. Casual. Nonchalant. A man just having a drink.
“Pretty good,” smiled Sidney. “Turns out I have a knack for this kind of work.”
“Where’s Dieter? Why are you here by yourself?” He bristled at the sight of her alone behind the bar.
“He stepped to the kitchen to load up a crate of clean glasses. I offered, but he said the crates were heavy. What can I get you?” Sidney looked sideways at Markus as she handed two beers to each waiting customer.
“A shot of kirschwasser. And pour yourself one, too.” Markus relaxed—a little.
Sidney set the shot glasses down on the bar, filling them with the crystal-clear cherry water. At the sound of the front door opening, she asked, “Should I pour one for Otto, too?”
Markus looked up expectantly. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”
“Thank you,” said Otto when he reached the bar, his “thank” sounding like “tank.” He took the shot glass from Sidney. “And thank you for helping out. Poor Ruth. She wanted to stay at the hospital, but the nurses told her ‘go home.’ Here’s to Victor’s quick recovery. I don’t see that Ruth could handle another death.”
They toasted to Victor, clinking their glasses together. At the sound of Otto’s voice, Noble came around from where he’d been lying behind the bar, Rex following. The big white dog leaned against Otto’s leg, the bond and affection evident. Rex lay down at Markus’s feet, heaving a sigh.
“Well, look at that,” the male customer, on his way to his well-earned hangover leaned out from his perch midway down the bar. He pointed to the two dogs. “Them look like wolves. How did ya’ hide them stinking animals back there all this time and I didn’t see ‘em?”
“They’re not wolves and they don’t stink. But it’s dark in here. I’m sure that’s why you didn’t notice them. How about a glass of water, or a cup of coffee?” Sidney walked over and reached for the coffee pot. “Black? Cream and sugar?”
“How about I decide what I wanna drink? Make it another whiskey and coke.” His slurred voice was loud and could be heard across the room, turning the heads of Heidi and the customers she waited on.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t. I remember hearing Dieter say that last one would be your final round.” Sidney saw in her peripheral vision that Markus had stepped closer to where the troublemaker sat.
“Well, he ain’t here. You can get me a whiskey, then you can get me what I really want.” He elbowed the stranger sitting to his right, speaking companionably to the unfamiliar person, as drunks will do. “What I really want is some of her tight blond pussy.”
“All right, pal, that’s enough.” Markus lifted the man by his shirt collar and dragged him backward off his barstool.
Despite the man’s inebriated state, his fight-or-flight reflex instinctively kicked in. He scrambled to his feet and came up swinging. Markus dodged the sloppy punches and tried to grab hold of the man’s jacket, wanting to pull him off balance.
The man dashed a hand into his jacket pocket and came out with a knife. With a flick of his thumb on the spring-loaded button, the switchblade jumped to life. “Aw’ right. Come on.” His hands made a welcoming motion, inviting a fight.
Faster than anyone thought possible, Otto ducked behind the bar where he kept his shotgun, and then ducked back out. The loud slam of the butt-end of the gun striking the top of the bar where Otto stood caught everyone’s attention, including the man with the knife.
“I don’t allow fighting in Edelweiss,” he shouted, the meaning of his words not hampered by his thick German accent.
Seeing his opportunity, Markus karate chopped the knife out of the man’s hands, and followed up with a punch to the gut. The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
Otto turned to Sidney. “Go trade places in the kitchen with Dieter. Have him phone the sheriff.”
“Yes, sir.” Sidney slid from behind the bar, easing past Otto. She aimed for the double doors, glancing over her shoulder to see Markus give orders for the man to stay on the floor, flat on his belly.
Markus felt the weight of Sidney’s eyes on him. He realized it was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that he’d let this woman hear him give that order to someone—that she’d seen him unleash violence against another person.
But it was necessary. Both instances, they were the perpetrators.
He felt it coming on, the gray-out that proceeded the dark episodes. Hazing his vision. Pushing in. Pricking at the corners of his eyes. Markus tightened his jaw and ground his teeth as he blinked the fog away. With great effort and determination, he willed it not to intrude. He knew he must focus on his prisoner. On his mission. Focus.
CHAPTER 16
Alpine
Sidney stayed in the kitchen until the sheriff left with the handcuffed, drunken troublemaker. She’d overheard the statement given, and again, Markus managed to leave her name out of the police report. His terse account conveyed the event to the sheriff: The drunken patron requested another drink; the bartender refused his request and asked him to leave; he pulled a knife and Markus disarmed and disabled him. No one sitting at the bar offered his or her opinion to contradict Markus’s version. With so much alcohol addling his brain, chances were good the drunken customer wouldn’t remember the blond behind the bar he was harassing, or his crude comment that started the scuffle.
At least, Sidney hoped that would be the case.
“I overheard what you told the sheriff.” She took a seat at the end of the bar next to Markus. “Thanks for keeping my name out of it. That’s twice today. Should we go for a trifecta?”
&n
bsp; “I’m okay with not. Glass of wine before we head back to the ranch?”
“Sure.”
Markus stepped behind the bar, seeing that Dieter was busy at the other end. He handed Sidney a glass and they sipped their wine and watched the few remaining guests spin around the dance floor as the band cranked out the final song of the night, a country-and-western classic.
Sidney hummed along, singing a few phrases and thinking to herself that being in Amarillo by morning, as the lyrics suggested, might not be a bad idea. She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her and thought Alpine in the morning might be just fine, too.
“I like this song.” Markus eased off the barstool and pulled Sidney along with him. “Come on, I’d say we’re due a little fun.”
Before she could resist, Markus led her to the dance floor. She tried to think of the last time she’d been held in a man’s arms, bending and swaying belly to belly around a neon lit room with other dancers lost in their own private moments. The singer’s nostalgic voice and the sound of boots scratching out a rhythm mingled in a languid, four-beat progression around the floor. The neon glow from the beer logos lining the walls and the soft glare of the television behind the bar induced a sense of calm, allowing Sidney to block out the worries that had dogged her since before she had left Fort Worth. Here, she felt safe. Insulated. Protected.
“You’re a good dancer.” Markus twirled her under his arm, and then pulled her close.
“You’re not too shabby yourself.” She felt his breath on her skin and smiled up at him, enjoying this version of Markus, this relaxed, worry-free side. Yet, there was something about the tense set of his jaw that told her it didn’t come without effort. Of course, it would take determination, she told herself, given the events of the last twenty-four hours. Still, she found it remarkable that he could seemingly shift with ease between full throttle and cruise control.
As Markus spun her under his arm one more time, she caught a glimpse of the television above the bar. A late edition of the news was airing, with the running message scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
“Stop.” Sidney pulled away from Markus. “Oh my God.” A hand flew to cover her mouth.
“What? Did I step on your toes?”
She didn’t answer. Her face went ashen as she slowly walked closer to the bar, straining to hear the reporter and to see the scrolling text. “It’s Aleck.” She shot a frightened look at Markus. “Aleck Stavros, my attorney.”
Markus walked up behind her, gripping her shoulders with both hands. Sidney shivered. The shiver escalated into a full-body tremor. Standing in front of Markus, she leaned her weight against his body to steady herself. Nausea washed over her in waves of prickly heat.
The reporter, a thin woman wearing her hair in a trendy blond bob, stood in front of a building on Weatherford’s historic downtown square. Sidney immediately recognized the building behind the reporter—the building Aleck Stavros shared with his two partners. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the front of the building while police, some in uniform, some plain clothed, threaded in and out the door.
A press release photograph of Aleck taken weeks earlier was displayed in the upper left corner of the screen. He’d spoken at a symposium sponsored by a local women’s shelter. The fundraising event’s goal was to spread awareness about the alarming rise in human trafficking.
“Dieter, turn the volume up.” Markus pressed his body closer to Sidney’s as the band’s final song wound to a close. “Louder. Please.”
The reporter spoke into the microphone, her head pivoting from the camera to the crime scene and back. “Mr. Stavros’s body was found seated at his desk in his office. Police are trying to determine if the file found next to the deceased victim is in any way related to his slaying. Official cause of death has not been released, but our inside source claims Mr. Stavros was strangled, the wire used as a garrote wrapped around his neck tightly enough to cause near-decapitation. The source also said investigators believe this appears to be a gangland style murder. Mr. Stavros’s hands were bound behind his back and a rag was stuffed in his mouth—an obvious message of silencing the victim.”
As the reporter attempted to corner a detective for an official statement, Sidney felt Markus pushing her toward the door. She heard his voice call out to Dieter that they were headed to the ranch and heard him apologize for not helping close up the restaurant. He called for Rex to come. His words settled on her ears as if through thick cotton, sounding strangely muffled.
The night’s cool breeze felt unnerving against her clammy skin as they hurried toward the Jeep. The car door shut with a bang, and she jumped. The sound of the engine whirring to life, gears grinding, gravel crunching under tires, barely registered in her mind.
Her world came crashing down—spiraling out of control—freefalling in a terrifying descent into a hell she had not envisioned possible.
“Sidney, look at me,” Markus demanded in a loud voice, trying to break into her stupor. His left hand gripped the steering wheel, his right hand a vice on her arm. “Sid. Look at me. Talk to me.”
Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, she gazed over at the driver’s side window, not focusing on any one thing, but staring off into the distance. She blinked away her glassy-eyed stare, bringing the moment into sharp focus. The clarity of what she knew, of what she feared, filled her with dread. “I think my husband murdered Aleck.”
“Sid, give me all the specifics—why you think this is possible. Not a sanitized version. Fill in the blanks of Trevor’s email. I need to know everything, every detail.” He squeezed her arm, and then relaxed his grip.
For the remaining drive to the ranch, she kept her eyes straight ahead, speaking in a detached, rapid-fire manner, summarizing her past. The courtship, the wedding, the marriage, the filing for divorce. Winston’s abusive behavior, his intimidations, his threats. Her fears. Meeting Trevor. The video. The S. A. D. file. Rattling off all the ugly details, it was as if the events she described had happened to another person, she the narrator, telling the story of someone else’s life.
She hadn’t registered the fact that they’d driven through the gate, gone past the arena, and were now parked in front of the barn. It stunned her to feel him staring directly at her with such intensity, and she felt a moment of panic that he wasn’t watching the road. Then, realizing the situation and where they were, she let out a relieved sigh that sounded more like all the air in a balloon whooshing out in one single rush.
“And that’s why my gut says it must have been Winston. He may not have been the one who physically committed the murder, but he, undoubtedly, had it arranged.” She turned in her seat to face Markus.
“I’d like to know what file they found on the desk next to Aleck’s body. I don’t have any contacts in the Weatherford PD.” Markus chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Do you?”
“No. But I might in Fort Worth. An Officer Hickson. Aleck brought him to Trevor’s house to give me a quick personal safety lesson. Maybe he could help? He and Aleck were close, and he is also a family friend of Eli’s.”
“I’ll check on Officer Hickson and see what I can come up with. But right now, I want you to get your suitcases packed. You’re not staying here by yourself. I’m moving you into the lodge. And bring your old cellphone and the file. I’ll put them in my safe.”
Sidney didn’t protest.
*****
Feeling numb, Sidney stood in the cozy suite next to Markus’s room. The king-sized bed faced a fireplace that roared to life at the push of a button. Hanging above the fireplace was an oil painting of a spotted fawn almost hidden in a pile of autumn colored leaves. With one glance, Sidney discerned Ruth’s masterful brush strokes. She quickly unpacked her suitcase, gathered the file and her old phone, and stepped out into the hallway. She tapped lightly on Markus’s door.
“Come on in,” he shouted behind the door.
Markus was seated in one of the two overstuffed chairs next to the fireplace.
Another of Ruth’s paintings adorned the wall above the mantle. Lying at Markus’s feet, Rex thumped his tail on the floor when Sidney entered.
“Do all the rooms have fireplaces and Youngblood paintings?” She stepped over to admire the portrait of a wolf stalking invisible prey. Whatever he was pursuing, Sidney was left with the impression that he would make the kill.
“They do. Is your room satisfactory?” His hand stroked Rex’s head while he watched Sidney’s profile studying the painting.
“Yes, very comfortable.” Turning, she held out the S. A. D. file she’d retrieved from the locked tack compartment of her horse trailer, along with her old cellphone. “I appreciate your offering to put them in your safe.”
“May I look through the file first? And I’d like to see the video and listen to the audio recording.”
“Sure. I figured you would, but I’d rather not be in the room when you play the audio. I don’t want that voice in my head.”
“Understandable—I’ll play it later. I’m having a brandy. I poured you one, too.” He nodded toward the snifter sitting on the table between the two chairs. “Have a seat.”
While Markus watched the video, and perused the contents of the Sidney Alexis Dollar file, she checked her email on her new cellphone, hoping to hear from Trevor. There was mail, but it was from Eli.
Sidney said aloud, “I have a message from Eli.”
Markus set the file aside. “What does it say?”
She read aloud. “Dear Sid, please forgive the earlier urgent message I left on your phone. I wasn’t sure yet how bad Trevor’s injuries were. Smoke inhalation, and minor burns on his hands. The doctor says he can probably go home Monday. But home is a relative term. The house was a total loss—the fire completely destroyed everything. I’m staying at a hotel until I can figure out a plan. I have Trevor’s cellphone with me. Please call when you get this message. Love, Eli.” Sidney’s voice was shaking by the time she finished reading.
