How many times would he answer these calls? How many times would he trudge down dead ends, follow the same paths that ultimately led nowhere?
He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “As many times as I have to.”
Listings pursed her lips as though considering whether that answer was acceptable. Evan wondered what she’d do if she decided it wasn’t. Probably just sucker punch him or bite his nose off or something.
Evidently he’d passed the test, though. She sat next to him. He raised his drink in mock salute and brought the glass to his lips.
She intercepted it. Grabbed the glass away from him in a smooth motion that spilled not a drop of the murky liquid within, and shook her finger at him.
“If we’re here looking for a killer, then this is official business and you shouldn’t be drinking,” she said. Then she tossed back the drink.
“Thanks for the reminder,” said Evan dryly. It figured that Listings would be able to throw back alcohol like a Russian sailor, too. She probably wrote her name in the snow, including dotting both “I”s.
“Lighten up,” said Listings. “We’ve been here for over an hour. I don’t think –“
“Hey!”
Listings and Evan both turned to find the drunk standing before them. Up close he was larger than he had seemed when seated at the other end of the bar. He was well over six feet tall, and Evan guessed he was upwards of two hundred fifty pounds.
He revised his earlier guess – the guy wasn’t a dock worker, he was the dock.
The big man was weaving, blurry eyes fading in and out of focus as he loomed over Listings. But his finger, which was roughly the size of a horse’s leg, was completely stable and in control as he jabbed it in her direction. “I know you,” he said. He paused, apparently gathering his thoughts.
Evan took the moment to glance at Listings. She appeared completely at ease, leaning back on the bar, arms loose on the wood/Formica/whatever-it-was. A smile played about the edges of her lips, which worried Evan. It was rarely a good thing when Listings smiled.
“You’re the bitch that keeps turning on that song,” said the drunk. “I heard it, like….” He weaved again. Evan started to stand, hoping he could keep everyone from losing their cool.
The drunk shook himself. “… like, a billion times. Bitch.”
Listings slid off her stool. Evan would have stopped it if he could have, but it happened too quickly. His partner getting to her feet was akin to a country warning off its enemies by priming all its nukes and putting them on a countdown.
“Don’t,” said Evan.
Listings flashed him a smile. She was gorgeous, and everything that had happened with Val – not just her death, but the things she had done to him before she died – just made him more aware of that.
But under the beauty… danger.
“I got this,” she said. Then turned to the drunk. “Don’t like the song?” she said.
The drunk drew himself up even taller. Trying to stare down the woman who probably only weighed about half what he did. “Not after the first million times.”
Listings moved uncomfortably close to the bear-man. In his face, in his space. “I thought it was a billion.” Even drunk, Evan figured the guy had to hear the implicit, “Are you too dumb to even count?” in her tone.
The drunk blinked. For a moment he looked like he was going to back down. Evan really hoped that would happen. That would mean everyone left without broken bones or torn tendons or unnecessary trips to the hospital.
Then he blinked again. His eyes both focused on Listings at the same time – a small miracle considering the amount of booze the guy had probably pounded – and he sneered. “Whatever. Hey, I just figured why you like this song. You maybe want me to spin you around?”
He grabbed his crotch.
Evan sighed. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. He didn’t, though. Partly because he felt a duty to keep an eye on his partner, no matter how much she didn’t need it. Partly because what was coming was going to have all the horrific fascination of a train wreck. He just couldn’t look away.
Listings laughed. It was an almost painful-sounding laugh, a rip-rattle laugh that made it clear she wasn’t laughing with the drunk, she was laughing at him. “Classy,” she said. “I assume we’re doing pantomimes because you’re aware the smartest thing that ever came out of your mouth was a penis.”
The big man’s hand clenched on his own groin, as though shock had caused him to clutch desperately for some tangible reassurance of his own manhood. “Wha…?”
Before he could even process the first insult, let alone come up with a rejoinder, Listings had waded back in. She snapped her fingers. “Hey, I know you! I told your boyfriend his shoes were ugly and he tried to hit me with his purse. That was you, right?”