by Meg Benjamin
“I did,” Sylvia whispered.
“Good. Should be here in a couple of minutes, then. How about the rest of you? Anybody else hurt?”
Tom glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Deirdre. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Looks like we’re all right, then.”
Another policeman entered from the beer garden. “I couldn’t keep up with them, but Ham had a couple in his sights. He may be able to bring another one down.”
“Thanks, Curtis.” Nando jerked his head at Tom’s captive, now hunched over the pool table. “Put the cuffs on this one and take him down to the station. I’ll be there as soon as I get this sorted out.”
As the second cop was leaving with his prisoner, the aid car arrived, which meant several minutes spent helping the groggy Chico into the back. Sylvia was adamant about going with him, and no one felt like arguing with her, given that Chico never let go of her hand. Nando had a quick conversation with the Steinbruners while Chico was being taken care of, then sent them on their way.
Finally, Nando pulled up a chair and sat, resting one booted foot on the end of the pool table. “Okay, boys and girls, let’s hear it. What happened here? Who were these guys?”
Tom shook his head. “Damned if I know. I never saw any of them before.” He turned to Harry. “You recognize any of them?”
“No, sir. They weren’t from around here. Not unless they all got here within the last two weeks or so.”
“How many were there?” Nando asked.
“About twenty,” Leon said. “Maybe more.”
Tom shook his head. “Nine or ten. But after they took Chico down that was enough.”
Nando had pulled out a small notebook and pen. “What started the fight?”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “They hit Chico, that’s what started it.”
“Were they arguing?”
Tom frowned. “I didn’t see it.”
“No.” Deirdre sighed. “They came through the door from the garden and one of them punched him as soon as they walked in. Then a man at one of my tables hit him on the back of his head with a beer bucket.”
Nando winced, writing a quick note. “Sounds like they wanted to take him down.”
“Sounds like.” A muscle danced in Tom’s jaw.
“So then what?”
“So then they started busting up the place.”
“They didn’t try to take out anyone else?”
Tom shook his head. “Nope.”
“Yes they did.” Deirdre swallowed as Nando turned to look at her. Her palms felt wet, her shoulders were trembling. Reaction. Only she couldn’t afford that right now. “Another one of the men who were at my table tried to hit Tom with a bottle when his back was turned.”
“What happened?”
She swallowed again. Why was her throat so tight all of a sudden? “I hit him with my tray and with a beer bottle. Then the Steinbruner brothers finished him off. He must have gotten away, though. I didn’t see him after that.”
Tom was staring at her blankly. “You did what? Jesus, Deirdre!”
“It worked,” she said flatly. “That’s all that matters.”
Tom looked like he was going to disagree, but Nando cut him off. “So they took out Chico, and they tried to take you out too. And then they busted up the joint. Sounds about right.”
Tom squinted at him. “Right for what?”
“Right for somebody who wanted to put you out of business. What do you think—did they make it?”
Deirdre stared around the room for the first time since Chico and the others had left. The bar was a small disaster, at least half of the liquor destroyed, the mirror cracked, the cooler door hanging from its hinges. In the room itself, most of the tables were standing but a few tottered dangerously, legs broken. More chairs lay in pieces. And the glass from the front window covered a third of the room.
Nando raised an eyebrow. “You check the beer garden yet?”
Tom pushed himself to his feet slowly, as if his body hurt. He opened the door and gazed out the back. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Looks like they took out some of the tables and chairs before they came in the door. How about the outside bar?”
“Broken up. Maybe totaled. I’ll check it tomorrow, in daylight.”
He slumped back into a chair near the door. Deirdre felt a pain in her chest every time she looked at him. Wasn’t this the point at which Mickey and Judy were supposed to hop up and start a dance number? Something about being down but now out? Right now they both looked about as out as she could ever remember looking.
“You got any insurance, vato?” Nando’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
Tom nodded. “Some. Not enough, probably. And it’ll take time to get everything put back together.”
“Well, if we figure out who’s behind this, you can always sue ’em.” Nando leveled his Stetson on his head again. “Which is what I’m going to do right now—figure it out, that is. I’ll let you know if that asshole you caught gives me any names.”
“Thanks. I guess I’ll go to the hospital and check on Chico after we board up the window.”
“I’ll go with you.” Deirdre stood up and then put a hand on the pool table. Her knees suddenly felt shaky.
Tom turned back toward her, his eyes bleak. “You should go home and get some rest.”
She bit her lip. “I’ll go with you. Wherever.” It was as close as she could get to a declaration, under the circumstances.
Tom and Harry located some sheets of plywood in the back of Deirdre’s shop and nailed them across the window in front. It wasn’t completely covered, but it was probably enough to discourage anyone from coming in. “Not that there’s much left worth stealing,” Tom muttered.
While they were still hammering, Clem arrived, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in spikes. “What the hell?” She turned to Deirdre. “Helen Kretschmer called me from the police station. What happened? Who did this?”
Deirdre pushed a broom through the shards of glass, concentrating on neat piles. “We were attacked. We don’t know yet who did it. They’ve got a man in custody, maybe two. Nando said he’d try to get some answers.”
“Holy shit. Did they touch my kitchen?” Clem trotted across the room, detouring around broken bottles.
Deirdre followed her. “They didn’t seem interested in it, but I couldn’t see that side of the room.”
Clem flung the kitchen door open, then sighed in relief. “It’s okay. I don’t think anyone was in here except Leon.”
Deirdre stared around the kitchen, then leaned her head against the doorjamb. Suddenly, she felt like crying. “Good. I’m glad they missed something.” She closed her eyes, fighting back the clenching in her throat.
Clem rested a hand on her arm. “Is Chico really hurt? How bad is he?”
“We don’t know yet. I’m going over to the hospital with Tom as soon as they finish boarding up the window. Sylvia’s over there with him.”
“I’ll come too.” Clem peered into the mirror over the sink, brushing through her hair with her fingers. “Damn. I look punk.” She turned back again to Deirdre. “Okay, toots, who do you think did this?”
Deirdre shook her head, her throat so tight she was afraid she might choke. “I don’t know. I told you.”
“But your best guess would be…?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” But the more she thought about it, the more she thought she did. She just wasn’t ready to face the answer yet.
Chapter Twenty
Tom stared down at the beer in his hand. The beer he hadn’t touched in fifteen minutes. He should drink the goddamn beer. He should go home, get some sleep, leave all of this until tomorrow. He should definitely get Deirdre to stop sweeping.
He wasn’t sure why she was doing it. It seemed to make her feel better. He could hear the slight scratching of the broom across the floor, along with the occasional tinkle of glass as she pushed t
he debris into heaps.
He stared down at his beer again, willing himself to take a sip.
Chico had a concussion. Sylvia was going to stay at the hospital until they threw her out, which he figured would be any minute now given her frequent bouts of hysterics. Harry and Leon had already left when he and Deirdre got back. Clem said she’d be back for lunch, even though they probably wouldn’t be able to open.
And Deirdre was sweeping.
He studied her pale face, her hands clenched tight around the broom handle. Probably not healthy. He should be worried about her, but somehow he didn’t have the energy to worry about anything else on top of the Faro right now.
He’d probably managed to fulfill all her family’s worst expectations about his not being worthy of her, to say nothing of his tendency to put her at risk.
He sighed. “Deirdre?”
She glanced at him, reaching down to toss a larger piece of broken bottle onto the pile. “What?”
“Leave it. I’ll start the clean-up tomorrow.”
“I’m almost…”
“Leave it!” Tom snapped, then winced. He didn’t want to start taking out his frustrations on people who were trying to help, particularly not on Deirdre who had apparently saved his worthless hide from a concussion like Chico’s, which would probably have led to the complete destruction of the Faro.
He gazed around the room again, charting the rubble. His bar. His place. His wreck. At least he still had a pool table and a kitchen. Now he had to figure out how to put the rest of it back together again.
Deirdre slid into the chair opposite, her face pale in the dim light. She licked her lips, and amazingly enough, he felt a slight jolt of heat. Maybe he wasn’t as dead as he thought he was. Or as dead as he felt.
She took a deep breath. “Tom, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “For what? You didn’t do this.”
“No, but you think my father did, don’t you?” Her eyes were fathomless, dark pools of pain. “That he ordered it.”
A muscle spasmed in his jaw. “I don’t know who did it.”
“Did Craig threaten you when he was here before? Something you didn’t mention at the time?”
Tom sighed. The hell with it. She was too smart to be lied to. “He said if I didn’t take his offer, I’d regret it. This is probably what he was talking about.”
“Which means my father was responsible for this.” She gazed around the room again, then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. You didn’t do it. I’m a big boy, Deirdre. I can take care of myself. And I make my own decisions. You didn’t talk me into this.”
She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. “Can we go home now?”
“Sure. I’ll walk you.”
“And stay?”
“I don’t…” He blew out a breath. Too many things to think about. Too many things to take care of. “I should probably stay here. Make sure nobody comes back.”
“Right.” Deirdre’s lips firmed. “They missed the kitchen, didn’t they? Maybe they’ll swing by again and take another shot.”
“Deirdre…”
She waved a hand at him. “It’s okay. We both need to get some sleep. We’ve got lots of work to do tomorrow.”
Tom looked around the wreckage of the Faro, feeling the numbness gather in his chest again. Not we. Me. My place, my problem. “Lots of work.”
Deirdre considered calling her father as soon as she got home. Let him see how he liked being awakened at two in the morning by an outraged daughter. But she wanted this to stop, and further pissing off her father was probably not the best way to go about it.
She managed to drag herself out of bed at seven to call his cell, but he didn’t answer. “Dad,” she said when she heard the beep of his voice mail, “it’s me. We have to talk about this situation. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”
After breakfast, she dialed his office line. He usually got in early, assuming he was there and not sitting somewhere in the vicinity of Konigsburg, gloating.
Her father’s assistant, Alanis, answered the phone. If she was surprised to hear from Deirdre after a several-week absence, she didn’t show it. “Your father’s not here, Miss Brandenburg. He’s in Europe—Slovenia this week.”
Slovenia. Well, as an alibi it was unique. “What day will he be back?”
“On Friday, assuming he doesn’t change his plans. He’d originally planned to be back last week, but apparently the negotiations have been more difficult than he anticipated.”
And then perhaps he’d also decided it was best to be out of the country when his plans finally clicked into place. For a moment, she wondered if he’d even considered that she might be in the Faro when his goons showed up to break the place to splinters.
“Shall I ask him to call you when he returns?”
Deirdre squared her shoulders. “Yes, Alanis, thank you.”
Plan B was to find Craig, who had to be hiding out somewhere in Konigsburg. Although getting her father to call everything off would be easier. Putting Craig on notice before she approached Nando or Erik Toleffson might be enough to keep the goons from coming back for another shot at the Faro. But when she looked at her watch, she decided to put that step off, at least for the moment. She had more important concerns, namely Tom. She ate a quick breakfast, then headed back to the bar.
As she’d anticipated, he was there, hammering some of the tables back into shape, the ones that weren’t smashed or missing legs. As she hadn’t anticipated, Clem and Marilyn and Bobby Sue were there too, sweeping up glass. Harry was behind the bar, doing inventory. The door to the beer garden swung open and Leon entered, carrying a full trash bag.
“Where do you want the bags?” he asked.
“Put it out back with the others.” Tom shrugged. “Pick-up’s tomorrow.”
“Lot of broken stuff out there.”
Tom’s shoulders stiffened. “Just clean it up, Leon.”
Deirdre leaned into the kitchen and grabbed another broom. Lucky they had so many. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself together, then walked back in. “What do you need done?”
Tom glanced at her, then shrugged again. “Clean-up mostly. Then I can start figuring out what comes next. Insurance adjuster should be here sometime this afternoon. I want to have a preliminary run-down by then.”
“We need this room cleared by lunchtime,” Clem called from the side.
Tom turned toward her, and Deirdre caught her breath. His face was gaunt, dark shadows beneath his eyes. She wondered if he’d slept at all last night. “We’re not opening for lunch, Clem, accept it. It’ll probably take a couple of days.”
Clem’s chin rose imperiously. “You get some tables set up, and I can cook. We can open.”
Tom gestured toward the boarded-up front window. “There’s no light. It would be like eating in a cave. I’d rather not open than open and have people see the place like this and not want to come back here again.”
Clem folded her arms across her chest. “We could serve in the beer garden.”
“The beer garden’s in worse shape than the main room. I don’t think any of the tables are in one piece out there.”
Deirdre took a breath. “I’ve got those three tables for the shop. And some chairs. They could go in the garden.”
Tom glanced at her, his lips becoming a taut line. “I’ll think about it.”
Clem snorted and went back to sweeping.
Light was a problem, Deirdre realized. One of the hanging fixtures over the pool table had been smashed, while the other was missing half its shade. The boarded-up window cut off all the sunlight from the street. The dim overheads made it hard to see the floor, but she swept as much as she could. Wood splinters, broken glasses and bottles, overturned ashtrays. Hard to believe a twenty-minute fight could produce this much chaos.
“How’s Chico?” she asked Tom the next time she emptied her dustpan into the plastic garbage bin in the mi
ddle of the room.
He shrugged. “Concussion mostly. Some scrapes and bruises, just like the rest of us. The doctor said they might let him go this evening if he doesn’t have any other symptoms.” He turned back to the table he was working on.
Deirdre thought about apologizing again, but decided not to. All the apologies in the world wouldn’t make up for this.
The front door swung open, sending a shard of sunlight flashing through the darkness. A large shape was silhouetted against the light. “My, my, my,” a deep voice said. “What a freakin’ mess.”
Tom sighed again. “Morning, Chief.”
Erik Toleffson picked up a barstool, placing it upright beside the bar as he stared around the room. “Somebody really did a number on you, Ames.”
“That they did.” Tom wiped his hands against his jeans, then walked toward the chief.
“Any idea who?”
Tom shook his head. “Nando grabbed one of them. He said you’d question him.”
“We did.” Erik gave him a dry smile. “Or that is, Nando did. I was at that resort outside Marble Falls with my wife. Delayed honeymoon. Nando called me up there, and we came back a couple of days early.”
Deirdre felt like wincing. She knew Erik and Morgan hadn’t been married long, and she had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t have enjoyed getting a call about a fight at the Faro when he was supposed to be relaxing with his new wife.
“Sorry to interrupt your time off, Chief.” Tom’s smile twisted slightly. “I didn’t exactly enjoy it myself, to tell you the truth.”
“Yeah, I can see how you wouldn’t. Any place we can talk?”
“Sure.” Tom nodded toward the beer garden. “Maybe we can find a couple of chairs out there that aren’t in pieces.”
Deirdre watched the two men walk through the door to the beer garden, her chest suddenly hollow. She swallowed hard. Craig Dempsey was going to be one sorry SOB when she finally found him, but her father was going to be a lot sorrier if she had anything to say about it.
Tom did a quick survey of the beer garden. Leon was sweeping up trash on the far side. The heavy umbrella tables were still standing, but a lot of the smaller, wood-topped café tables were splintered. And, of course, they’d wrecked the bar. Thank god the bandstand was metal and concrete—not much they could do to bring it down, although it looked like they’d tried.
