Cold Dark Heart by Julie Kriss

Ten

Damon

I didn’t go straight backto my weird apartment, where Carl, my elderly downstairs neighbor, was most likely playing the Road Kings. I was hungry, and I was restless, so I drove around Salt Springs looking for something to eat. I decided on a taco place and picked up tacos to take home. After a long haul recovering from my injuries, my appetite was finally starting to come back.

The sun had mostly set by the time I came out of the taco place, dinner in hand, and walked to my car. My gaze was drawn to the liquor store next door, lit up with a blue sign above the door: FINE WINES AND LIQUORS. I wasn’t looking because I was tempted to have a drink. I was looking because there were two kids loitering outside who were definitely underage, and I recognized one of them.

It took a second for me to place the kid’s face. It was the same kid I’d seen in the gas station on my way into town, quietly shoplifting chips and soda. He was lanky, with a boyish face and light brown hair left to grow a little long. He wore jeans, a baggy gray sweatshirt, and black Chucks. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, talking to a kid a few years older than him who had acne on his cheeks.

I dropped the bag of tacos onto my passenger seat and got into my car, watching the kids from the corner of my eye. There was only one reason an underage kid would loiter outside a liquor store—I’d done it plenty of times myself at that age. Sure enough, a minute later a guy of about twenty came out of the store, a bag of purchases in his arm. The kids jumped to attention and followed the guy to a car, where they all got in. It was the same car I’d seen pull away from the gas station.

And here I was, in this shit position again. Should I do something? Did I actually care that some guy was buying liquor for underage kids? It’s none of your business, Blake. Let it go.

Still, when you’ve spent as long in law enforcement as I had, you develop a gut sense of things. Buying liquor for kids might not be a world-ending crime, but I didn’t like the look of that car. I just didn’t.

I should just forget it and go home.

Fuck.

I started my car and followed in the direction the other car had gone. I’d give it exactly two minutes, and then I’d go on my way.

The car was stopped at a light a block up the road, and I stopped behind it. I could see five people in the car, maybe more. Music was blaring out of it at top volume, a heavy metal song I didn’t recognize, all wild guitars and screaming vocals.

The light changed to green, and the driver of the car stomped on the gas, making the car jump forward. It screeched off, accelerating. A joyride. I just hoped the guy driving hadn’t already started drinking.

Should I follow?

Jesus, Blake, give it a rest. Go home already.

I made a sedate right turn and headed back to my apartment, unwilling to admit that I’d used the oldest cop trick in the book: I’d memorized the license plate. When I got home, I typed the plate number into my notes app on my phone and saved it. I told myself to forget about it. Then I ate my tacos.

* * *

I was stillrestless after dinner. I wanted a cigarette, bad. Why the fuck had I agreed to quit? Oh, right, because Andie English had asked me, and I had the hots for her. Like if I quit smoking when she asked me, I’d actually have a chance.

No. There was no fucking chance. Not with her.

It was full dark now. I put my jacket back on and walked the few blocks to the closest drug store, where I picked up a package of nicotine patches. I’d never tried them before, but there was a first time for everything. Maybe if I stuck the whole package on my arm, the craving would go away.

Carl’s apartment was dark and quiet now, and I tried not to stomp—as he put it—as I walked back up the stairs to my apartment. I dropped my coat on the sofa and pulled out my laptop. I’d had insomnia for as long as I could remember, and there was no way I would sleep. There was something wrong with this picture here in Salt Springs, and I needed to start digging.

I couldn’t have said why I cared. Salt Springs wasn’t my town. These weren’t my people. I didn’t have any people, unless you counted my brother, Alex. But our relationship had been too badly damaged too many years ago, and I wasn’t sure there was anything that could be done about it now.

I didn’t care about Salt Springs, or the Wild, or Terry, or anything that was going on here.

But Andie did.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Spending the day with her had gotten under my skin. I could admit it. Her fucking pride. The way she’d faced down Dave the creep without a whisper of intimidation. The way she didn’t act like beautiful women usually did. That was probably Terry’s doing. Terry had probably spent years making her feel like she wasn’t beautiful, when in truth she was.

If I got Andie naked, I could make her feel beautiful. So, so fucking beautiful.

It was not going to happen.

Andie English wasn’t going to give me the time of day, but she was in over her head. She’d admitted as much when she’d dumped her problems on me on the drive home. Andie was swimming as hard as she could, but it didn’t matter, because somehow she was still sinking.

I couldn’t bang her, but maybe I could help her.

I went to the Wild’s terrible website, found the phone number, and called it.

“Wild,” was the curt answer on the phone. It was the Kenny Rogers lookalike. His name was Jimmy. I had to try and remember that.

“Jimmy,” I said. “It’s Damon Blake, the security guy.”

“Hey, brother.”

“Hey. I’m at loose ends here. Do you need me to come in tonight?”

“Nope, it’s dead as a doornail. Nothing I can’t handle. But Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays can be bad. We should work out a schedule.”

“Yeah, we can do that. I’ll be in tomorrow and we can do it then. I don’t mind bouncing the troublemakers.”

“Hope you don’t mind a few hostile locals and the occasional puke.”

“I can handle it. Since it’s so quiet, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“List me a few of our main suppliers. I want to do a little research into how the place runs.”

“Yeah, I know a few of them.” He listed off four names. “Those are the ones I know of.”

“That you know of?”

“I haven’t worked here all that long.”

This was news. “When did you start?”

“Three and a half weeks ago. I was working at another bar that closed down, so I applied here. Apparently the last guy got fired, so they were stuck with me.”

“Uh huh,” I said, making a note beneath the list of suppliers I’d taken down. “What was the last guy’s name? Do you know?”

“Uh, Doug something. I saw his name on the schedule when I first started, before they took it off. Doug Gardiner, that’s it.” He spelled it. “Why do you ask? Are you going to check him out?”

I wasn’t sure how much to tell this guy. “I might.”

“I hope you do. Apparently a lot of the staff got fired within the last month. I know there’s a lot of turnover in this business, but you work enough bars, you get a feeling for which places have a smell to them. You know?”

I was going to interview Jimmy tomorrow at length, because he had exactly the information I was looking for. But I couldn’t do it properly over the phone in the middle of his shift. “I know what you mean,” I told him. “When are you in tomorrow?”

He told me, and we set up a time. “If you do a check on me,” he said before hanging up, “just ignore the spousal support thing. I’m behind on payments, but I’m trying to catch up.”

We hung up and I looked at my notes, thinking. Then I tapped my laptop awake. Terry hadn’t answered my email.

What are you up to, asshole?I wondered.

I pulled the laptop toward me and got to work.