been difficult because of it. I also believe that when you went looking for her, you found her at a local bar. And I also believe that’s where she is right now.”
“You don’t understand, she hates cops. If you go in there, she’ll freak out.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Janey. I don’t blame you for what your father did. You didn’t ask for any of this, it just landed in your lap. It’s a raw deal, but that’s the hand life has dealt you.” Nathan pointed to his face. “I’ve had a raw deal too. Life goes on. The bomb in Sacramento was made of forty pounds of Czech-made plastic explosive. We think Ernie still has three hundred pounds of it. He murdered twenty-four people and wounded fifty-five others. Six of them will never walk again. They’ll spend the rest of their lives in wheelchairs. The blast wave blew people’s arms and legs clean off, and the heat from the explosion was so intense, it peeled the skin from their bodies like barbecued chicken. Have you ever seen a third-degree burn victim, Janey?”
She was openly crying now. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You know why.”
“She’ll kill me.”
“Maybe it’s time you were on your own. Don’t you want to get out of this place?”
She nodded.
“Do the right thing, Janey. Break the cycle. Make something of your life.”
“The Parrot’s Nest. She hangs out there before going to work.”
“Will you show us where it is?”
“What, right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
Henning was visibly surprised at seeing Nathan emerge from the apartment with Janey in tow. She had changed into more respectable attire, wearing a formal, white-buttoned shirt with pressed jeans. Her fuzzy pink slippers had been replaced with tan walking shoes.
“Janey’s had a change of heart,” Nathan said. “She’s going to show us where her mother is.”
* * *
From the look of things, the Parrot’s Nest wasn’t in the best part of town. Most cities the size of Fresno and bigger had a skid row district and this area of downtown definitely qualified. Part of an abandoned five-story building made of brick, the Parrot’s Nest should’ve been called the Rat’s Nest. The small parking lot was lousy with trash, broken glass, dented pickups, run-down hogs, and various other beaters that looked like they may or may not start when their owners finally staggered out to them, assuming they could even find their keys.
“Is that your mother’s car?” Nathan asked. “The red Sentra?”
“Yes.”
Henning frowned.
Reading his mind, Nathan said, “It was in her NCIC file.”
Andrews parked on the curb in a red zone.
“Maybe I should go in with you,” Henning offered. “It looks like a rough joint.”
“They’ll make you right away. Just cover the rear door. Andrews, you stay with Janey.”
Andrews looked at Henning, then back to Nathan. His expression neutral, he nodded.
Nathan climbed out and walked toward the main entrance while Henning traversed the parking lot, heading for the rear of the building. The cracked sidewalk was peppered with hundreds of flattened, black gum wads. A staccato thump of bass emanated from within. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, the street was void of traffic. Most of the coin-hungry parking meters had been vandalized, their half-moon windows broken.
At the door, Nathan took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Chapter 16
Nathan’s entrance ended up as cliched as any cheesy B movie. Every head turned and the pool game stopped. He strolled over to bar and avoided touching the grimy brass rails.
The bartender scowled and pointedly ignored him.
Without looking at the bartender, Nathan walked over to the jukebox, grabbed its power cord, and yanked it free.
The machine went dark. Charlie Daniels went silent. All heads turned.
A few obscene grumbles spewed from dark corners.
“I’d like a Shirley Temple, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
The bartender shot Nathan a dirty look, came out from behind the bar, and plugged the jukebox back in. With his right hand, he pumped a quarter, and punched up another shit-kicker song. The music boomed again. Nathan waited for him to return to his hole, made eye contact, and pulled the plug again. The tension in the room instantly doubled, with all eyes now focused on the battle of wills unfolding. With an irritated expression, the bartender started back over.
A smile formed. Nathan McBride, in his environment.
He observed the bartender closely. Right-handed. Six-three or — four. Two hundred seventy-five plus. Weak left eye. Something was strapped to his ankle under his left pant leg, a knife or small gun. This gorilla probably runs the dive with an iron fist. As the bartender approached, Nathan saw a black nylon cord encircling his right wrist and his hand seemed to be half-closed around something, like a magician concealing a playing card. Using his left hand this time, the bartender reached down to plug the machine back in.
“Don’t do it,” Nathan warned.
The meaty hand froze before being retracted. The bartender straightened up, issued a give-me-a-break smirk, and swung for Nathan’s jaw with an open right hand.
Nathan saw it a split second before ducking. A palm sap.
If that blow had made contact, he’d be unconscious or maybe even dead.
It happened so fast no one in the room actually saw it, although half the room heard it. In less than a second, Nathan stomped down on the man’s right leg just above the ankle. The crunch of ligaments sounded like uncooked spaghetti breaking.
Howling, the bartender went down.
Nathan pounced on the downed man and rendered him inert with a right knee to the jaw. Several teeth flew. Nathan removed the man’s small semiautomatic handgun from its ankle holster and jammed it into his front pocket. Half the occupants scattered for the exits, gone in seconds-bar tabs unpaid. No doubt parolees who didn’t want to be caught in each other’s company when the cops arrived. Two men at a corner table caught Nathan’s attention. A little too clean-cut for this shabby crowd, they looked out of place. He ignored them. For now.
Amber Sheldon hadn’t moved. In fact, she appeared to be enjoying the show, not unlike a kid with a magnifying glass poised over an anthill.
Nathan addressed the silent room. “Anyone else?” When no one made a move, he approached the table where Amber Sheldon was seated. Although her smile had somewhat faded at his arrival, it wasn’t completely gone. He addressed the three men seated with her. “Would you gentlemen please excuse yourselves from the table?”
The politeness in Nathan’s voice took them by surprise, but all three left. One of them bent over the bartender, the other two grabbed stools at the bar.
Amber Sheldon removed a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table and fired it up with a wooden match. Through a slit in her lips, she blew the smoke up and away, and nodded to a vacant chair. “Have a seat, cowboy.”
Nathan sat down facing the center of the room. He caught the two men he’d noticed earlier watching him. He winked and they looked away.
