“His name is Bowen Dale Cooper. And I’m pretty sure he’s a professional criminal.”
“How do you know him?”
“He liked to drink at my bar. A lot. He’d come in and he’d tell these stories. The details would usually be vague, like he was keeping something secret, but there’d be just enough of the right stuff there that, either he’s superb at telling stories, or he’s a professional criminal.”
“So, you brought us out here to follow up on some story that a guy told you in a bar?” Crash says, eyebrow raised.
“I’m a bartender. I know when a guy is feeding me a load of bullshit over some drinks and when he’s telling the truth. And I swear, this guy was telling the truth.”
“Was? Did he stop showing up?”
I nod, the gravel crunches under my feet as we make our way up the mass of dirt, gravel, and bits of ruined asphalt that lead toward a dusty single-wide mobile home.
“About six months ago, it was near closing time and Bowen Dale was in the middle of one of his stories. Something about some airplane in the seventies, I couldn’t quite make it all out because he was drunk. Well, the next day he comes in and the first thing I do is ask him about his airplane story. As soon as I say that, he gives me this funny look, turns right around, and I never see him again. We used to be close, too.”
“Close enough to know where he lives, at least,” Snake says. “You hook up with the dirty old man?”
I laugh. “No. I know where he lives because I had to call a cab for him at least two dozen times because he was too drunk to drive. I was sad to lose him as a customer; he drank like there was no tomorrow and he always bought the top shelf stuff. The margins I made off him were ridiculous. The old man would go through a bottle of fine Russian vodka or premium Cuban rum practically every other night.”
“Old, criminal, and loaded, huh? OK, at the very least let’s meet this guy,” Crash says.
We get to the door to his mobile home and I knock.
“I’m sure he’ll talk to us and hear us out, he always struck me as lonely, but he’s suspicious of strangers, so let me do the talking first, OK? But, once you get to know him and he opens up to you, BD is actually a sweet old guy.”
Both of them just nod. Seconds later, the door opens and I see the familiar sight of my former best customer, Bowen Dale Cooper. He’s a rotund and short old man, with a thick white goatee and mussy gray hair. Even on days when he’d show up in my bar wearing nicer clothes than the overalls and flannel that he’s wearing right now — usually with the excuse that he’d just finished a date — his hair always looked like he’d been struck by lightning just minutes before.
His eyes go wide at the sight of me. And he smiles and holds his arms out for a hug.
“Violet Cassidy, as I live and breathe, it’s sure been a while.”
I give him a hug and he squeezes me tight. “Bowen Dale, it sure is good to see you. I’ve missed having you around the bar. How have you been?”
“Well, for a number of reasons I had to cut back on my drinking. Not least because my doctor wouldn’t get off my ass about it. But he’s retiring in a couple months, so once he does, you’ll probably see me back in my old stool again.”
“I can’t wait. It’ll be so nice to have you back.”
“So, what brings you and these big ugly strangers to my doorstep?”
“We need your help with a job,” Crash says.
The second those words leave his mouth, Bowen Dale’s eyes narrow. He looks first to Crash, then to Snake, and then to me. Inside those rheumy old blues, there’s malice and a sharp cunning.
“Violet, what did you tell these two gentlemen about me?”
I try to answer, but Crash steps up to my side and takes charge. “She told us enough for us to know that you’re in the same kind of work that we are. Your secret’s safe with us, old man. Hell, I got a lot of respect for someone that’s been in the game as long as you have.”
“Get off my property,” he growls and, before I can protest, there’s a gun in his hand and it’s leveled right at Crash’s chest. “I won’t tell you twice.”
I impose myself between the two squabbling men and stare BD right in the eyes.
“BD, this is serious.”
“And so am I, Violet. I’m going to count to three and then start firing. Best get to running, you and your two boys.”
I raise my voice. Loud enough that BD flinches.
“Bowen Dale Cooper, this is about Kendra. She’s been kidnapped by that monster, Switchblade. And if you don’t help us, he will do unspeakable things to her.”
As quick as it appeared, the gun is gone.
“Come inside,” he says.
I enter, and Snake and Crash follow close behind me. But the second they cross the threshold, BD holds out a restraining hand. “Not you. Just her.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Crash, but even with my reassurances it’s still a tense moment before he and Snake turn and leave.
“Tell me what happened,” Bowen Dale says the instant we’re alone. His voice is sharp, like a sergeant delivering orders.
“He broke into her home just after she’d sent Josie off to school. He knocked me unconscious and took Kendra and we’ve searched all over Carbon
