The Queen of Clubs was certainlyrun-down, just like Miss Pitsis had told them. The front of the bar wasvandalized with overlapping tags in black spray paint that no one had botheredcleaning up, the sign above the door was peeling, and there were four split-opengarbage bags spilling stinking waste into an alley right beside the building.The area in general was not the most affluent, and Zoe found herself glancingaround, checking behind their backs. People in these kinds of places didn’ttend to be on the best terms with law enforcement. Justified by socialoppression or not, it still had her wary.
“Inside,” Zoe said brusquely,jerking her head toward the door. Flynn took the hint and surged forward, andtogether, they burst in through the doors and quickly looked around, seeinghardly anyone in the dim and dusty interior.
It was an immediate letdown. Therewere only two old men in one corner of the bar, playing poker with a dog-earedand sticky-looking set that had seen better days and was missing two cards, Zoecould tell, both nursing half-empty drinks. They were white-haired, one of themmissing several teeth, and there was a cane resting up against the side of thetable. Whoever they were, they definitely were not Ezra Pitsis.
It was late afternoon, a naturaltime for the bar to be almost empty. Soon, drinkers would begin clocking offwork and make their way over, but it wasn’t yet time for that. And yet, hisdaughter had believed he would be there. For some reason, Zoe felt like shetrusted that statement. Whether it was true or not, the daughter had believedit. Which meant that there was still a chance Pitsis was around—in thebathroom, maybe.
Zoe approached the bartender,lifting her chin toward him. “Hey,” she called over, lowering her voice more asshe got closer to him. “We are looking for someone who might be a regulardrinker here. Ezra Pitsis. Do you know him?”
The bartender wore an ill-fittingleather motorcycle vest over a gray shirt, only just pulled over a largepaunch, and his long, curled hair was greasy where it fell on his shoulders. “Iknow him,” he said. His eyes were flicking constantly between Zoe and Flynn,their faces and hands, their bodies, as if scanning for concealed weapons. “Heain’t here, though.”
“Was he in earlier today?” Zoeasked, directly, facing him over the bar. He was taller, but she had more fire.She needed to see this case through, and she wasn’t about to let a greasybartender get in the way.
“I haven’t seen him.” Thebartender shrugged, but his eyes were still darting all over the place. Hecouldn’t even look at Zoe while he was saying it. He busied himself withpicking up a glass that needed drying, rubbing it with a cloth. His eyes dartedonce toward the back door and then stayed firmly away from it, fixed on theglass. Two wipes across the same spot, three, four, five.
Zoe knew. In her gut, she knewsomething was off. Pitsis’s daughter had been quick to tell them the name ofthe bar, even though she clearly didn’t trust law enforcement or believe thather father needed to be brought to justice for what he did while drunk. Nowthey were here, and it had taken them time to arrive—a short time, but stilltime enough.
And this bartender looked sonervous, Zoe would have suspected that he had a stash of illegal drugs underthe counter or an underage drinker hiding in the toilets if she hadn’t beenthere investigating a case.
“Head around back through thealley,” Zoe said quickly, turning and pushing Flynn toward the door so that hecould cut off any exit path there. She didn’t bother to explain, and for once,thankfully, Flynn didn’t argue. He rushed out, breaking into a run as soon ashe was through the front door, and Zoe made her own dash toward the back of thebuilding.
She could see it all, the numberslaid out in front of her like a path. She could calculate the amount of time itwould have taken for the daughter to shut the door behind them, dash to herphone, call her father. The time it might have taken for him to get the idea,especially if he was drunk. There was still a possibility that there was time.He couldn’t have just walked down the road—he knew that they were out therelooking for him, and that they probably knew what he looked like.
No, he would have hesitated. Justlong enough to explain everything to the bartender, who was probably loyalgiven the amount of time and therefore money Pitsis spent there. The bartenderwould have watched out the grimy window in the front of the bar and seen theircar pulling up, and two very obvious FBI agents in their suits emerging, and atthe same time Pitsis would have made his getaway.
And where? Right out the backdoor, into the alleyway, around the front of the building and away, while Zoeand Flynn were still caught up in talking to the bartender and trying to getinformation out of him.
But not this time. Zoe wasn’t goingto let him escape. There was too much at stake.
She hit the emergency exit bar onthe back door at full speed, taking the impact to her body without caring orslowing down. She spilled out into a small, enclosed area, storage for bins,with a wooden fence and a gate at one side keeping this part of the propertyprivate from the alleyway.
And a man, halfway over the fence,turning a white and panicked face in her direction at the noise of the doorcrashing open, before he suddenly dropped down to the other side and was gone.
Zoe cursed, throwing herselftoward the fence. She would have to hope that Flynn was in place, that he wasquick enough and strong enough to intercept Pitsis before he could vanish intothe side streets and dilapidated buildings of this part of town. It was hisstomping ground, his territory. He might be able to lose them easily on foot.
She could see the right path overthe fence clearly, the
