at the bar not talking to each other, and a woman wearing a black cowboy hat, with a big feather, was in a booth by herself with a stack of quarters in front of her on the table next to something that looked like a strawberry soda, but probably wasn't. The jukebox was playing some kind of country western music that sounded to me like a chicken being strangled, though Susan would probably have liked it. A television set above the bar was silently showing a soap opera.
The guy behind the bar looked like a reject from the World Wrestling Federation. He was large with a shaved head and a big, droopy moustache. He was wearing a black tee shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a Harley- Davidson logo on the front. Across his thick upper arm, just below the right shoulder, was a surprisingly neat tattoo which read Born to Raise Hell.
The three guys at the bar didn't appear to be listening to the music or watching the television. They weren't with each other, and maybe weren't with anyone. Ever. None of them paid any attention to the woman in the booth. I slid onto a stool next to one of them, and took out my picture of Craig Sampson.
'Ever see this guy?' I said and held the picture in front of him.
The guy was wearing a yellow rain slicker over a red plaid flannel shirt. He had a half-full beer mug in front of him and an empty shot glass beside it. He stared at the picture and back at his beer and shook his head. The bartender moved down the bar.
'What'll it be, pal?'
I held up the picture.
'Know this guy?' I said.
'We don't 'low no solicitation in here,' the bartender said.
'Why not?' I said.
'Annoys the customers.'
'More than the music?' I said.
'You want a drink, I'll sell you a drink,' the bartender said.
'Otherwise hit the road, Jack.'
'
'And never come back no mo' no mo'.'
'You got that right, pal. We ain't running no fucking information booth here, you know?'
'Gee,' I said, 'and the place seemed so inviting.'
The bartender had a white apron tied around his waist. He stared at me with his big arms folded across his chest.
'I'll have a draught beer,' I said.
The bartender drew it and put it in front of me.
'Three and a quarter,' he said.
'I'll run a tab,' I said.
'No you won't.'
I took a five from my wallet and put it on the bar. The bartender made change and slapped it down on the bar in front of me. All his motions were harsh.
I held up Sampson's picture again.
'Ever see him in here?' I said.
'Who wants to know?'
I looked carefully over each shoulder and slowly around the room, and back at the bartender.
'Must be me,' I said.
'You looking for trouble?'
I grinned at him.
'If I say yes, will you tell me I've come to the right place?'
The bartender opened and closed his mouth. I knew I had stepped on his next line. I was still holding Sampson's picture up.
'Ever see him in here?' I said.
'Jesus,' the bartender said, 'you're a persistent bugger.'
'Thanks for noticing,' I said.
'And a real wiseass too.'
I smiled modestly.
'What about this guy?' I said.
'Don't know him.'
'Never saw him in here?'
'No.'
