“Who is he working for?”
“If I tell you he made a move to the FBI, I’m guessing you won’t feel a whole lot better.”
Melia watched Johnny’s face. He was a quick study, always had been. She could see the wheels turning in his brain.
“Is the FBI one of the agencies you mentioned?” she asked McCabe.
Johnny held his position. Smart man. He knew enough to stay clear until she calmed down all the way. “Satyr works for Mockerie, so Mockerie’s in on the deal, and he has friends in the FBI,” he responded. “We thought solo act at first, but it seems he has at least one or two more on his payroll.”
“Interesting.” She pointed at McCabe. “But I was talking to him. And if you tell me I’m being childish, I’ll belt you again.”
“The FBI’s a government agency,” McCabe put in. “They have good people and bad, like any other division of the government. Some of those people can be bought. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. Others are moles, inserted long before they’ll ever be needed, but always knowing they’ll be called into service one day.”
Melia turned from McCabe to Johnny and back. “Either Satyr or Mockerie just lost three men. I can’t believe that’ll make either of them happy. How many others do you think there are?”
McCabe drank again, smiled blithely. “As many as their collective mood dictates is how many they’ll send.”
“This is Satyr’s fight,” Johnny reminded him. “Satyr’s valuable to Mockerie. I think Mockerie will let him call the bulk of the shots.”
Exasperated, Melia stared. “And that means?”
“Low numbers coming at us. Wit and guile. Who’s new to Deception Cove?”
“Two weeks new? Jesus, Johnny, they’re building a high school on the edge of town. There are twenty or thirty people working on it at any given time, mostly from outside. The supermarket’s expanding, too. That’s another ten or more workers.”
“How many of them are local?”
“I don’t know. Some. Maybe a quarter. Steve Saxon’s new to the area. He’s barely been here ten days. He used to fight fires in Miami. Now he raises chickens and herbs. There’s a new teacher, as well. He showed up two or three days ago, but he’s related to my housekeeper.” She frowned. “I think. I’ll ask her about him tonight. She’s a little weird.”
“Weird’s normal in most small towns, isn’t it?”
She knew Johnny spoke without thinking. Regardless, she sent him a look that could have melted titanium.
“I didn’t mean you,” he said. “Try to remember you cared about me once, Mel.”
“Oh, I remember that.” She breathed in, then out. “What I’m having trouble remembering is why. I don’t want you here, Johnny. Or you,” she said to McCabe. “Leave, and maybe Satyr will realize he was wrong. Go back to Istanbul, buy a house, put down roots.”
Johnny shook his head. “Satyr won’t believe it.”
“He might if we went public. I could punch you hard enough to knock a few teeth loose. Or out. I’ll tell you off, you can tell me off, then you can take off, never to darken my doorstep again. I’m sure we could make the whole scene very believable. You’re a good actor, Johnny, as we both know.”
A server came by in jeans and a hot-pink tank top. “You want a drink?” she demanded in a voice that boomed out like Ethel Merman’s.
“He’s on the wagon,” Melia told her. “He’s also not staying.” Her lips quirked up. “But thanks, Flora.”
Flora winked at her. “You got cute friends, doc. Both of ’em. Best not let Sheriff Travers see them.”
“Who’s…” Johnny began. However, one look from Melia and he let the question slide.
The blaring music paused between songs. One of the screen doors slammed. A table full of workers laughed, an arm flew up, and a tray of drinks tipped sideways. It crashed right in the middle of a pool table.
“Oh hell,” Melia said with a sigh. “Here comes the entertainment.”
…
Pandemonium of any sort was a welcome thing in Johnny’s world. He grinned at the prospect of it. He needed a release for all the emotions churning inside, and this would work as well as anything. Maybe small towns had their redeeming points, after all.
“And it begins.” Melia stepped back. “In five, four, three, two…”
Chairs scraped across the floor and toppled. A group of card players roared like angry bulls. Several pairs of fists balled. The smaller of the two men playing pool landed on the table, right in the middle of the smashed glass. Johnny shook his head as the guy howled and jumped up. So far so dull, as bar fights went.
“It’s sure as hell not much,” he said with a shrug.
Melia stood back to watch. “Give it a minute.”
Ignoring his fallen friend, the larger player picked up the cue ball and fired it at the man whose flailing arm had inflicted the damage.
“Hey, I’m cut here,” his friend on the table yelled.
“Shut up, Dirk. You cut yourself worse shaving every Sunday morning.” The larger player grabbed another ball and launched it, shouting, “You owe me fifty bucks, asshole.”
The struck man rolled from his chair. Before he could avoid it, a second ball caught him in the ribs.
“Well, shit,” he growled. The knife that appeared caused more than one person to scream.
Johnny couldn’t deny it. He loved a good brawl. It got the tension out, made the blood flow. But just as he was starting to anticipate that one, a gun went off. The shot appeared to come from a hallway at the back of the room. He had no idea where the bullet went, but the panic level in the bar ramped up considerably.
He didn’t think, didn’t consider what his reaction might mean to the wrong person; he simply did what he had to do. He grabbed Melia and took her to the ground.
He cushioned her landing as much as he could before shoving her under the table. “Stay down,” he ordered. Gun drawn, he came up, already scouring the bar.
“See anyone?” McCabe materialized beside him.
“Not yet.” Johnny squinted through the pushing, stumbling crowd, blocked the shrieks and yells, and focused on the darkened hallway.
Another shot rang out. The panic immediately doubled.
“Meant for us, Mel, or someone else?” McCabe wondered out loud.
Johnny pointed. “The second shot came from that other doorway, back by the jukebox. Bullet hit in the region of this booth.”
He felt Melia behind him, peering around the room. “This might not be what you think,” she murmured over his right shoulder.
Johnny glanced at her. “So shoot-ups are, what, a regular thing around here?”
A third shot rang out.
“Whatever this is,” McCabe remarked, “it’s too close for comfort.”
“There.” Reaching around Johnny, Melia pinpointed a movement in the first doorway. “I’m sure he’s got a six-shooter. If you go outside, you should be able to come up on him from behind. With all the commotion, he won’t hear you.”
“Who won’t hear me?” Johnny demanded.
“Just go.” She gave him a small push. “Do what you’d do in any other situation like this. I could be wrong, and I don’t want anyone to die if I am. Or even if I’m not,” she added.
Johnny gave up trying to figure out what she was saying.
McCabe motioned with his gun. “I’ll cover the front.”
The next shot sounded to Johnny as if it went upward, but he couldn’t be sure.
People knocked each other aside. Most of them bent low as they charged the exits. There was a great deal of bumping and shoving, stumbling bodies, shouts, and threats. The barflies in Deception Cove definitely knew how to swear.
Johnny pushed his way through a clump of agitated individuals and squeezed out onto the street. He passed the guy who’d been hit with the pool balls and the server who’d spilled the drinks. Both looked annoyed, but more or less unharmed.
Another shot came from inside. Johnny processed the tone of it as he skirted the building. He located the entrance he wanted in an alley, eased the door open, and stepped inside. The hallway was short and shadowy with only one high window to emit light.