by Martha Carr
“He damn well is. New York two months ago wasn’t the first time I saw that red stamp. I reckon it won’t be the last, not until I find that fucker and put him behind bars.”
“That might be stretching it a little. After fifteen years out of the game, he came back in one city with only one known location where those thugs we dealt with above the vape shop were working on their little distribution baggies. That doesn’t make for—”
“It’s all I need to make my case, darlin’. That ain’t all of it, either. If the Red Boar wasn’t in that shop the night my kid was murdered, I’m outta the game again. For good. And I know I’m right, so tryin’ to pull me out of it ain’t gonna do no good.”
“Okay.” Lisa set the stapled transcripts onto the table beside the armchair and nodded.
“So now you know.” Johnny scratched the side of his head. “And if you ain’t still willin’ to stick around when the times comes, I won’t—”
“What do I have to do? Say it three times to make it real?” Lisa chuckled. “I told you I’m in whenever you’re ready and have the pieces together. So stop asking.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and stared at the hounds stretched across the floor at the foot of the bed.
“So for now…” Lisa picked her tablet up with both hands. “Why don’t we take a break from the Red Boar and focus on this case for a while. We might as well while we’re here, right?”
The bounty hunter rolled his eyes and gestured for her to continue. “We might as well.”
Chapter Twelve
“Eight human victims,” Lisa said as she flipped through her tablet. “I think we should start with finding the best one to pay a visit to and ask a few questions.”
“The best one?” Johnny scoffed. “Ain’t no best one when they all lost their minds.”
“I mean given the circumstances. So I’ll simply go through them and you tell me which one sounds best. Fair?”
“I’m all ears.”
“Okay. Victim one was…oh. Transferred to a psychiatric hospital four weeks ago.”
He lay back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. “Dud.”
“Well, yes. Number two was also admitted to a psychiatric health facility. Nope.”
“You mean the looney bin.”
“I mean exactly what I said.” She glanced at him but he stared fixedly at the ceiling. “Three went home to California so aren’t accessible here. All right…victim number four is a ten-year-old boy.”
“Shit.” Johnny grimaced. “I ain’t fixin’ to go question a kid about his nightmares.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something we can put on the back burner as a last resort.”
“And the rest of ʼem?”
“Victim five is a week into time served for reckless endangerment of a minor. It looks like the guy freaked out and—Jesus.”
Johnny raised his head off the mattress and looked at her. “What?”
“He tried to get his kid to jump off the Morrison Bridge with him to ‘get rid of the voices and save them both.’”
“Shit.”
“The boy’s with his mom still, though. At least there’s that. It looks like the dad was one of the first victims of whatever this is.” Lisa flipped to the next page. “Six, seven, and eight, as far as we know, are still in the area. They have no charges and no hospitalizations or psychiatric holds and any one of them would do fine, I think.”
“The first one.”
“Christopher Folsum. He lives about seven miles from this hotel and works for himself as an independent contractor.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Carpentry.”
“Huh.”
“He’s single with no kids and lives alone.”
The dwarf shrugged and shifted a little on the bed. “He sounds good to me. We can head out for a house call first thing tomorrow.”
Lisa looked up from the tablet. “It’s only six o’clock.”
“Yep. Which makes it suppertime in my neck o’ the woods, and I ain’t fixin’ to sneak up on a crazy man’s house in the dark and make him lose whatever’s left of his mind.”
“Okay, yes. That’s a fair point.”
He pushed up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did they put a mini bar in these rooms, or do I gotta fill it myself too?”
With a snort, she nodded at the large cabinet door centered in the bottom of the dresser. “Right under the TV, I think. At least mine was.”
The dwarf slipped off the bed and hurried to the large cabinet door that looked like another drawer until he pulled it open sideways and peered inside. “All right. At least the fridge ain’t powered by community experience.”
He rifled through the bottles in the fridge and grew increasingly frustrated. Finally, he sat back on his heels and thrust his entire head into it. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
“What’s wrong?” Lisa watched him and tried not to laugh as the dwarf shifted to fit his head and an arm inside. Bottles clinked together and toppled over.
“Nelson knows what to stock in the goddamn fridge!” Johnny jerked away from the open door and pounded a fist on his thigh. “He booked the rooms.” Got your message loud ’n clear, asshole. But I ain’t your charity case.
“No whisky?”
“Not even the kind I don’t touch. Only tiny water bottles and this shit.” He studied one of the bottle labels and grunted in disgust. “Whatever the hell Pillowfist hazy IPA is.”
“I think that’s a beer from one of the breweries up on—”
“It doesn’t matter where it’s from, darlin’. It ain’t my drink.”
A bottle of water fell out of the fridge as he pushed to his feet. Luther trotted toward it and sniffed madly. “We’ll take whatever you don’t want, Johnny.”
Rex lifted his head from where he lay and thumped his tail on the carpet. “Pillowfist sounds good to me. Think it has any of the same stuff as the smelly lady’s treats?”
Johnny kicked the mini-fridge closed before the smaller hound could stick his nose in it and stormed across the room.
“Where are you going?” Lisa asked.
“To get a drink. Y’all better hop to if you’re comin’ with.”
“Duh.” Luther trotted after him.
Rex uttered a canine groan and stood. “We could use a drink too, Johnny. Hey, isn’t bacon-flavored stuff a thing?”
The agent stood quickly and tossed her tablet onto the pile of scattered papers from the Operation Deadroot file as she hurried to catch up.
The hotel lobby was much busier now than when they’d first checked in. Johnny scowled at the full tables around him and the people seated to eat their meals. Some of them talked and laughed, but most were in their late twenties and early thirties and spent their meals with their smartphones in one hand and a fork in the other. Or a brightly colored drink.
He shook his head and marched toward the bar. Real-life people sittin’ there right in front of them, and all they do is take pictures of their damn food. I think the whole city is losin’ their minds, magical mark or not.
“Whoa, Johnny, check it out.” Luther stopped as his master kept walking, and Rex yipped sharply.
“He meant watch out!”
The dwarf stopped barely in time to avoid a collision with a woman with dreadlocks who streaked across the hotel lobby on rollerblades. “What the fuck? Hey. Those are for outside.”
She made a neat one-eighty and grinned at him before she glanced at the hounds. “And your dogs should be on a leash.”
With a shrug, she spun and raced away.
“Bite me,” he grumbled and wove through the people with weird-colored hair and even weirder choices in wardrobe. There’s always somethin’. Either the clothes are too tight or it looks like they tore a curtain down and wrapped it on. Are there any goddamn normal folk in this city?
Most of the locals who milled around the wide curved bar held a drink and sipped casually as they held their conversations with seri
ous expressions and slow nods. He finally reached the counter and rapped his knuckles on the counter.
The bartender—wearing a scarlet vest that looked like it had been cut from an 1850’s smoking jacket and a bright teal bowtie—nodded at him. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
He shook a stainless-steel drink mixer and held it a foot above an ice-filled glass to pour, then lifted it even higher as the booze drained.
“All right,” Johnny said. “Now how ʼbout—”
“One moment, sir.” The bartender nodded and picked through a silver tray of garnishes. He sprinkled some herbs on top of the drink and smiled at the conversations happening around the bar. With a small frown of concentration, he took an orange from a plastic tub, tossed it over his shoulder from back to front, and delicately shaved the peel over the drink.
Lisa finally caught up to her partner and leaned against the bar. “Do they have what you’re looking for?”
“Look at this.” Johnny stared in disbelief at the bartender, who seemed determined to extend the orange shavings ritual as long as possible. When the fruit was returned to the bin, the dwarf tapped the bar again. “Right. So all I want is—are you kiddin’ me? What kind of a drink needs a damn blowtorch?”
“It’s all part of the process,” the man muttered as he glanced at him, although his smile had faded a little.
“For the love of liquor, man. Pour the damn thing and move on!”
The handheld torch clicked on and the bartender lowered the flame steadily toward the surface of the drink. It burst into flame with a whoosh, followed by a round of oohs and ahs by the locals standing nearby.
A woman on the other side of Lisa leaned back to look at Johnny and gave him a crooked smile. “You shouldn’t try to rush him. What he’s doing is an art form.”
“Naw, that’s blasphemy is what that is. And a waste of everyone’s time.”
“Johnny, we can try somewhere else,” Lisa suggested.
“I’ve been standin’ here for a damn lifetime, darlin’. I’m stayin’ to get my drink.”
The woman beside Agent Breyer—who’d opted to wear a black-and-white checkered pantsuit and a top hat with feathers sprouting from the brim—chuckled and studied him curiously. “Where are you from?”
The bounty hunter scowled as the bartender slid the finished drink toward his customer and ran the man’s card. “Somewhere I’m wishin’ I never left.”
Wiping his hands on his apron, the man headed toward Johnny and tried far too hard to look inviting and personable. “Thanks for your patience. What can I create for you?”
The dwarf snorted. “All right, bartender—”
“Mixologist.”
“Say what?”
The man’s smile tightened as he leaned forward. “I’m not a bartender. See, there are certain tiers, if you will. Schools for mixology, which I attended. I got to study under—”
“Yeah, okay.” He rubbed his mouth. “Give me a Johnny Walker Black. Neat.”
“Oh…” The mixologist nodded. “We don’t carry that.”
“What the hell kinda bartender are you?”
The conversation around them lowered dramatically in volume as people nearby turned to look at the dwarf who seemed ready to cause a scene.
“Sir, I’m a mixologist.”
“You said that.” He pressed his knuckles against the bar.
“We cater to a little more refined palate, if you will.” The man snatched a piece of thick card stock from behind the bar and slid it in front of her. “Here’s a list of our signature craft cocktails. If you’re looking specifically for whisky or bourbon, we have that right—”
“It ain’t an either-or kinda thing.”
When the bartender looked at Lisa, all she could do was raise her eyebrows at him with her lips pressed tightly together.
Scowling, Johnny studied the list and wrinkled his nose. “Starry-eyed Mistress. Lava Drape. What is this shit?”
Someone gasped, and the conversation at the bar all but ground to a halt.
“Sir, most of these cocktails have won numerous awards in the—”
“Stop. Please, stop. Go make your frilly damn whatever-the-hells. This is ridiculous.”
“Have a good night, sir.” The bartender nodded and stepped away to take care of his other customers with more refined palates.
“Goddamn.” Johnny turned away from the bar and scanned the lobby. “And now the whole damn place is bein’ overrun by ʼem.”
“By what?” Lisa asked and tried to ignore the dirty glances and muted whispers directed at them.
“You mean the hamsters, Johnny?” Luther stood at his master’s feet and scanned the lobby. “Just tell me where.”
“You want us to flush ʼem out?” Rex added.
Johnny turned toward the checker-suited woman and jerked his chin at her. She grinned. “Are you stayin’ at this hotel?”
She laughed and bit her lip. “No. I only come here for the craft cocktails.” She studied him speculatively again and added, “And the company, depending on the night.”
Lisa widened her eyes.
“Uh-huh.” The bounty hunter gestured at the crowded tables in the lobby and the large groups of mingling Portlanders. “And what about all these other…them?”
“Most people here in the evenings are locals. This merely happens to be one of the best new venues and a hotel.”
“Yep.” He cleared his throat, then fixed her with a curious expression before he pointed at the feathers in her top hat. “Did you get in a fight with a peacock?”
“What?”
He snapped his fingers before he pushed through the standing crowd. The hounds trotted obediently after him and sniffed the ground and the locals they passed.
Lisa glanced at the other woman’s hat and gave her a thin smile. “Don’t take it personally.” She followed the path Johnny had already cleared through the lobby when everyone offended on the mixologist’s behalf stepped away from him to let him pass.
The bounty hunter thumped both hands against the front door and shoved it open.
“Johnny.”
“Lisa.”
“Where are you going?”
He looked up and down the street, scowled furiously, and turned left up the sidewalk. “I aim to get myself a drink. I assume at least one liquor store in this damn city has what I’m lookin’ for.”
“You know what? I bet a different bar that isn’t so…uh…”
“Hipstery?”
“Where?” Luther turned in a tight circle to scan the street and the sidewalk. Rex trotted after their master with his nose pressed against the concrete.
“I intended to say upscale, but sure.” She jogged until she caught up with him. “Another bar might be the best idea.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you look like you’re about to explode if you don’t blow off a little steam.”
He stopped abruptly and turned toward her with a raised eyebrow. “Are you askin’ me out to a bar, darlin’?”
“I’m saying let’s explore the city and if we happen to find a bar, it’s probably not the worst place we might find ourselves if you don’t take it easy.”
He glowered at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.”
Lisa chuckled with exasperation. “Great.”
He pointed at her. “But it ain’t a date.”
“I never said it was.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m sayin’ it again.” Johnny shoved his thumbs through his belt loops and glanced around the street. “Do you know any bars?”
“Nope. And that’s the fun of it.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Haven’t we already been down this street?” Johnny turned in a slow circle on the sidewalk in Old Town.
“Are you serious?”
“’Course I am. Everything here looks the same—old, fallin’ apart, and tryin’ to be somethin’ it ain’t.”
&nb
sp; “Or this city is exactly what it’s trying to be.” Lisa grinned and kept moving up 3rd Avenue. “We’ll find you something.”
“We shoulda gone with the liquor store idea.”
The streets were busier now beneath the long summer days and Portland’s nightlife had only begun to stir. The hounds remained dutifully at their master’s side, although they sniffed the sidewalk and jerked their heads up to greet every person who passed them.
“Hey, lady. Nice clown shoes.”
“What is that guy wearing? Is that spandex everywhere?”
“Where does he keep his snacks? Ooh, this one smells like that shop with the treats lady. Hey, Rex. Look at him.”
“Whoa.” Rex chuckled. “Think he’s got enough plants?”
“Hey, hey! A food truck!”
“Johnny! Can we—”
“No.” Johnny snapped his fingers, and the hounds fell into line again.
“Oh, wow. Luther, someone painted a flying hound on that building.”
“Well, it’s not Balto, but I guess we can go pay tribute. How ʼbout it, Johnny?”
“No.” A tall man wearing platform combat boots and a long-sleeved fishnet shirt knocked against the dwarf’s shoulder. “Hey, come on!” Johnny protested. “Do you see all this space? Pick a side, bud.”
The stranger cast them a disdainful glance over his shoulder and strutted down the sidewalk with his hands thrust into the pockets of his way too tight jeans.
“Look at this. Complete chaos.”
Lisa smirked at him. “Compared to what?”
“Everywhere else.”
She laughed. “You think Portland is more chaotic than New York?”
“Without a doubt. Do you see that guy? Folks in New York learn to avoid each other in crowds. We have all the space in the world here and that asshole had to walk into me. I’m the only other guy on the sidewalk.”
“But he didn’t acknowledge you when you challenged him.”
“That’s my point!” He threw his hands in the air with a frustrated grunt. “New Yorkers are dependable. You shout one insult and they retaliate. It’s called synergy, darlin’.”
