Read Online A Bullet Apiece by John Joseph Ryan - Free Book Online Page B

dingy grey, and the ceiling was burnished brown by all the cigarette smoke and dust. A heavy brown HVAC system was perched on a reinforced shelf over one end of the room. I hadn’t ever noticed that before. As I walked past the pool table, I saw that the Schlitz lamp above it was turned off, too, which is probably why the pool table’s felt looked like pale, dried vomit. As I got to the bar, the colored lights usually illuminating the shelf beneath the bottles of hard stuff, were off, too. Seeing the room in that light just might be the first step to getting a guy off the bottle.
    I took a seat at the bar in front of Jimmy. I guess expecting he would give me a drink was too much. He took a slug from the bottle of bourbon and then sealed it back up. I lit a cigarette and waited.
    â€œThe Beef is dead,” he said with a sigh of finality. I read both melancholy and relief in his tone.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œSomeone sapped him in the back alley and then slit his throat. Or vice versa. Either way the job was done.”
    â€œHave you called the police?”
    He gave me a look like I was a slow learner.
    â€œWhat the hell for? They’d ruin my business for months. Maybe even do me for good. Nah-ah. I’m hirin’ you.”
    â€œI’m flattered, Jimmy, but this is a police matter. If we don’t report this, you could be charged as an accomplice after the fact—or, at the very least, for obstruction of justice. Hell, it could go the same way for me.” I gulped some nervousness back into my gut. Jimmy’s eyes narrowed further as I finished. “I’m not interested.”
    â€œFor a dick you don’t notice a lot.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” Big man or no, I still had some pride.
    â€œI know who did The Beef.”
    â€œThen what’d you call me for?” I was regaining some composure with a lungful of cigarette smoke.
    â€œBecause it ain’t that easy. Kira!” he shouted, turning to face the kitchen off to the side of the bar. The red curtain parted and out came Kira in some kind of pajama-kimono. As ridiculous as Jimmy looked in the robe, Kira looked sexy as hell in silk. My eyes must have registered this incontrovertible fact, because Jimmy growled at me low and menacing. “Get your hard-on somewhere else.”
    I said nothing, but loosed a lungful of smoke in the direction of the puke-colored pool table.
    â€œKira, tell Mr. Darvis what you saw. And no ching-chong crap!” Kira ignored him and looked at me. Even at this hour her face was damn near immaculate.
    â€œYou want drink, Misser Darvis?”
    â€œFunny you should ask—”
    â€œNo drinks! The goddamn story!” Jimmy’s arms flapped in the air, one tattoo on his forearm looking cheap and ink-smeared in the direct light, as his sleeve slid up. Kira poured me a shot of bourbon anyway from the same bottle Jimmy had just corked. I fought my usual smile in her presence and slugged the shot. I set the glass down hard, and for a moment only the concussion of glass against wood lingered in the air.
    â€œNow tell it,” Jimmy commanded. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and took a fast drink. He seemed overly nervous to me.
    Kira looked from me to Jimmy. She folded one arm atop the other across her chest. Not folded exactly, because her palms lay flat; more like she was summoning some energy—or maybe nerve—to begin. I stubbed out my cigarette and kept my eyes on her. She looked back to me.
    â€œI cleaning the bar top. Jimmy, he go in kitchen.”
    â€œKira,” Jimmy growled. He took hold of her shoulder. “Drop that crap!” She snatched herself away from him.
    â€œAll right, Jimmy,” she said in a tone of affection—laced with poison. “Here’s what I saw, Mr. Darvis. George was the last one to go tonight. I woke him up myself. He was mumbling and looked as though he could barely see. But he