day.”
Chapter 21
Tommy sat at the bar and picked at the stale peanuts while nursing down his beer. Special Forces, FBI and National Guard were scouring the town for this Lister guy while Tommy was stationed at the Sonoran Brewhouse. A local pub where Eddie Lister was known to hang out.
The place was a dingy pub with wood columns along the ceiling and booths along each side of the main room. At least it was quiet, making it easier for Tommy to inspect each individual as they entered. He watched a West Coast college football game on the TV while keeping an eye on the door.
A little after 10 P.M. a man came in and stood inside the doorway allowing his eyes time to adjust to the darkness of the dreary tavern. Tommy watched through the mirror behind the bar as the man headed his way. He was tall and athletic-looking, maybe early-fifties. Sitting a couple of stools down from Tommy, he ordered a draft beer. He wore a button down shirt and blue jeans. Too fancy to be a local. Since they were the only two people sitting at the bar, the man took notice of Tommy and raised his glass in a mock toast. Tommy returned the gesture.
It was the fourth quarter of the football game and UCLA was beating Oregon State by three touchdowns. Tommy was losing his patience waiting for this guy to show up, especially since he didn’t have any action on the game.
“You’re not from around here,” the man next to him said.
Tommy turned in his seat to face him. “You pick that up with just my clothes?”
“Naw,” the man said. He seemed to have a mid-western accent. “I’m good at reading people. Sort of a hobby of mine.”
Tommy placed his elbow on the bar and rested his head in his hand. “Really?”
“Sure,” the man said, picking up a peanut from the wood bowl and popping it in his mouth.
“Okay,” Tommy said. “Where am I from?”
Now the man swiveled to face him. He appraised Tommy with a pair of intense eyes. “From your attire, to your demeanor, to your accent … I’d have to say somewhere around the East Coast, maybe Washington D.C. area.”
Tommy smiled. “You’re good,” he said extending his hand. “I’m Tommy Bracco. Baltimore.”
The man shook his hand with a firm grip. “Norm Jennings. West Lafayette, Indiana.”
Tommy snapped his fingers. “I had you pegged for the mid-west,” he said. “West Lafayette. The home of the Purdue Boilermakers.”
“That’s the place,” Jennings said.
“How’s the basketball team doing this year?”
“Lousy.” Jennings said, then took a sip of his beer. “Just one and four so far.”
“I see,” Tommy said. He drank his beer, then returned his attention to the game. He pulled his phone out and checked the Purdue Boilermakers’ record, just for something to do. One and four, just like the guy said.
“Bracco?” Jennings said. “Any relation to the sheriff?”
Tommy nodded. “My cousin.”
“Really?” Jennings seemed to perk up. “You two must be close.”
“Very,” Tommy said. “Pretty much grew up together.”
“So are you in law enforcement as well?”
Tommy chuckled. “Hardly. I just came by for a visit after one of these terrorists took a shot at him. ”
“That’s right,” Jennings said, swirling his finger around in the bowl of peanuts until he found the one he wanted. “I read about that. Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Tommy said. “He’ll be even finer once we catch the rat bastard.”
“I see. So you’re helping him track this guy down?”
“Something like that,” Tommy said, suddenly realizing he’d been answering a lot of questions. “How about you? What brings you into a war zone like Payson?”
“My mom lives up here and refuses to leave. I thought I’d better keep an eye on her if she’s going to stay.”
“So you’re staying with her?”
“Yes. How about you? Are you staying with your cousin?”
“I am,” Tommy said, checking out the new arrivals as they entered the bar. Two girls and one guy. The guy fit the description. He watched the trio slide into a booth. The guy, maybe Eddie Lister, opened up the plastic menu from between the salt and pepper shakers and looked it over.
“People you know?” Jennings asked, following Tommy’s gaze.
“Maybe,” Tommy said. He returned to his beer trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation. A little patience might help him, but Tommy wasn’t so good with patience.
“Is there something I could do?” Jennings asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean with this terrorist,” Jennings added. “Is there anything I could help you with?”
“Sure,” Tommy said. “Just tell me where he is and I can go home.”
“Hmm,” Jennings said. “That’s a good question. Where would you hide if you were trying to outrun the authorities? In plain sight, or tucked away in a cabin somewhere?”
“Me, I’d hide out. But then, I’m not into killing innocent Americans.”
“Why do you think there’s such a spike in violence recently?” Jennings asked solemnly, like a schoolteacher searching for the correct answer.
“Beats the crap outta me,” Tommy said.
“Do you know what I think? I think there’s too much violence on TV. Kids can turn on any channel twenty-four hours a day and see explosions in the Middle East, or movies with special effects so real, who can tell the difference anymore? First time I saw the towers going down on September 11th, it felt like I was watching a movie.”
Tommy nodded. “I know what you mean, you get desensitized to the pictures you’re seeing.”
Tommy noticed Jennings was sipping his beer even slower than he was.
“Listen,” Tommy said. “You wanna give me a hand here?”
Jennings looked interested. “What do you need?” he asked, placing his beer down and wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand.
“Just make sure no one blindsides me, okay?”
“Blindside? What do you intend to do?” Jennings asked.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing,” Tommy said. He looked at the man who was already twisting in his bar stool and facing the room behind them. “You with me, Norm?”
Jennings gave a small and decisive nod. “I have your back.”
Somehow, the way he said it, Tommy believed him.
The bartender paused in front of them as he was going past. “You two still okay?”
They both held up their hands.
“Hey, wait a second,” Tommy said. “Could you get me a small bag of ice?”
The bartender had a questioning look on his face.
Tommy flexed his hand and twisted his wrist. “I messed up my hand at work,” he said. “I just need to get the swelling down.”
The bartender nodded. Before he could leave entirely, Tommy added, “And a clean bar towel.”
The bartender waved his acknowledgment as he left.
Tommy returned to his beer.
“You okay?” Jennings asked.
“Huh?’
“Your hand,” Jennings said.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just thinking ahead.”
