Read Online Hugger Mugger by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online Page B

officer,” he said.
    â€œOkay, so Cord got in trouble.”
    Becker didn’t comment. We pulled into the parking lot of my motel. Becker stopped by the front door. We sat for a moment in silence.
    â€œThese are important people, probably the most important people in Columbia County,” Becker said. “Walter Clive is a personal friend of the sheriff of Columbia County, who I work for.”
    â€œYou mentioned that,” I said.
    â€œSo I don’t want you going down to the Bath House Bar and Grill and nosing around there, asking questions about Cord Wyatt.”
    â€œI can see why you wouldn’t,” I said. “That the gay scene in Lamarr?”
    â€œSuch as it is,” Becker said. “Tedy Sapp, bouncer down there, used to be a deputy of mine, spells it with one d in Tedy, and two p ’s in Sapp. When you don’t go down there like I told you not to, I don’t want you talking to him or mentioning my name.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “Stay away from the Bath House Bar and Grill, and don’t talk to Sapp the bouncer. Where is it located so I can be sure not to go near it?”
    â€œMechanic Street.”
    â€œI’ll be careful,” I said.
    We sat for a while longer in silence.
    â€œThe family is peculiar,” I said.
    â€œAnd the horse shooting is peculiar,” Becker said.
    â€œWhat does this suggest?” I said.
    â€œCan’t imagine,” Becker said.

FIFTEEN

----
    T HE B ATH H OUSE Bar and Grill had a Bud Light sign in its front window with a neon tube image of Spuds McKenzie looking raffish and thirsty. The room was air-conditioned. There was a bar the length of the room across the back. There were tables in front of the bar. Along the right wall there was a small dance floor, with a raised platform for live performances. At the moment the music, Bette Midler singing something I didn’t recognize, was from a big old-fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox next to the door. Behind the bar was a chalkboard with the night’s by-the-glass wine selections, and a list of bar food specials. In the late afternoon, the bar was about half occupied and there were people at several of the tables. It was like any other place where people went to avoid being alone, except that all the customers were men.
    The bartender had a crew cut and a mustache and atan. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt and chino pants. I ordered a draft beer.
    â€œTedy around?” I said.
    â€œTedy?”
    â€œTedy Sapp,” I said.
    â€œTable over there.” The bartender nodded. “With the muscles.”
    Tedy was wearing the Bath House uniform—green polo shirt, chino pants, and a tan. His hair was colored the aggressively artificial blond color that musicians and ballplayers were affecting that year. It was cut very short. He was a flagrant bodybuilder. About my size, and probably about my weight. He was chiseled and cut and buffed like a piece of statuary. I picked up my beer.
    â€œThat’ll be three and a quarter,” the bartender said.
    I put a five on the bar and carried my beer over to Tedy’s table. He looked up, moving his eyes without moving his head. He had the easy manner of someone who was confident that he could knock you on your ass. He had a cup of coffee in front of him on the table, and a copy of the Atlanta Constitution was folded next to it.
    â€œMy name’s Spenser,” I said. “Dalton Becker mentioned you to me.”
    â€œBecker’s a good guy,” Sapp said.
    His voice carried a whisper of hoarseness. He gestured at an empty chair, and I sat down.
    â€œYou used to work for Becker,” I said.
    â€œUsed to work for Becker,” he said. “Deputy sheriff. ’Fore that I was in the Army—airborne. Lifted weights. Karate. Married. Trying as hard as I could to be straight.”
    â€œAnd you weren’t,” I said.
    â€œNope. Wasn’t, am not now. Doesn’t look