Holly just smiled, leaned back on the stool, and let the sheriff make the introductions.
“Nicole, this is Holly. He’s a federal agent sent here to complicate my life. Bring us both one of these.” Clayton tapped his empty glass.
Holly held out a hand. “It’s Simon, and you better make his water.”
Nicole cupped his hand with both of hers and leaned in close, making sure Simon got an eyeful of the same award-winning cleavage she’d showed off to Clayton earlier. She spoke in a whisper. “I was just about to call his wife to come get him.”
“I got him,” Holly said, and winked at her.
“Cool,” she said, and off she floated to the other side of the bar. Holly leaned forward and watched her move. This time, Clayton did, too.
“Your day go any better than mine?” Clayton said.
“We had an incident off Highway 27 near a place called Broadwater. I was close, so they put me on it.”
“An incident?”
“Yeah, looks like a hijacking gone wrong. We got one body.”
“Who bought the farm? A hijacker, or hijackee?”
“Hijacker, we’re assuming, unless he was jogging along the highway with an assault rifle and a clown mask. The scene was scrubbed clean before the state boys got there, but we impounded an empty moving truck, and we think there might have been bikes involved. We found a broken Harley side mirror, and the skid marks are consistent with someone laying one down.”
“Bikes,” Clayton said. “Is it related to our thing?”
“I’m not one hundred percent, but I’ve got ears in Florida that tell me they were moving a bundle of cash this way. It fits with the schedule they keep. But nothing is cement right now. The staties are dragging ass on telling me anything else.”
“That’s because half the state patrol is in Halford’s pocket. That whole area around Broadwater is a dead zone. Did you ID the dead guy?”
“Yup. No ID on him, but we ran his prints through IAFIS . . . Um . . . IAFIS is a national database of—”
Clayton held his hand up. “I know what IAFIS is.”
“Right. Anyway, we got a hit. The guy’s name is Allen Bankey. Does that name ring any bells?”
Clayton thought about it. “Nope.”
Nicole appeared and set two glasses of water down on the bar and a fresh bourbon for Holly. He smiled and nodded politely. Once Nicole bounced away, he kept talking. “He’s ex-military,” Holly said. “We think he was part of a crew but got left after he went down. Surprisingly, the guy’s file is pretty clean except for a bullshit statutory rape charge from a few years back.”
“How is a rape charge bullshit?” Clayton said, looking at his water like it was some kind of alien artifact.
“The girl was sixteen, but you’d never know it looking at her. The sex was consensual. The parents let it go, knowing their daughter was no prize, but the state picked it up and the next thing you know, boom—G.I. Joe is a lifelong registered sex offender. It happens all the time.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“As Elvis. You’re sure you don’t know him?”
“Never heard of an Allen Bankey.” Clayton swallowed the water in two gulps. “But bring the file by the office tomorrow and I’ll take a look.”
“Done,” Holly said, and guzzled half his drink.
“Hey, Sweet Tits,” roared a voice at the other end of the bar. Clayton looked over and shook his head. Big Joe Dooley was back, looking to fill his glass and blowing kisses at Nicole. Clayton pushed up off his stool and put on his hat. “I’ll be right back.”
Holly saw Clayton steady himself from the alcohol-induced head rush but made no attempt to help him. He watched curiously as the sheriff crossed the room and grabbed Joe Dooley by the scruff of hair on the back of his thick, sweaty neck. Before the big boy could react, Clayton pushed down hard and slammed Joe’s forehead into the copper-plated bar. The crack of bone on metal reverberated through the room and knocked over several glasses to both sides of them. People scattered and jumped out of the way, making space for the big boy to fall, but Clayton didn’t let go. He held Joe’s face there against the bar to anchor himself until he could twist one of Joe’s arms up and behind his back. Holly smiled. He was impressed that the sheriff could hold his own as drunk as he was. He used the moment to fish a few Percocet from his pocket and washed them down with the rest of his bourbon.
“I thought I told you to watch your mouth,” Clayton said.
Joe answered the best he could from the position he was in. “No, you didn’t. You . . . you . . . told me to move . . . I did.”
“I told you to stay clear of Nicole.” Clayton pushed down hard, smearing the left side of Joe’s face flatter against the cold metal. Nicole stood back, wide-eyed, with both hands covering her mouth. Holly almost laughed out loud.
“Well, goddamn, Sheriff,” Joe said through the side of his mouth not smashed down against the bar. “How am I supposed to get a drink around here? She’s the only one working.”