I finished my cigarette, smashed it out, and dropped the butt in a plastic bag I kept in my truck.
“Where are you, Bull Zolner?” I said aloud. “Because I’d sure like to talk to you.”
At the sound of my voice, Clyde came trotting back. I slipped him a treat from my pocket, and he sat down next to me. I rested my hand on his head.
What if Bull wasn’t actually in Gillette? What if he just wanted someone—and my money was on Roman—to think he was? If you needed to hide, be it from a hired gun or a psychopathic killer, what better way to disappear than to make them think you’re somewhere else?
Denver to Gillette is a ten-or eleven-hour round-trip drive. Far enough away to keep people busy. But close enough to get there and back in a single night. And of course you’d take the old black pickup. Not the flashy red F650 super truck, which would attract a lot of notice.
Cohen’s words about Gillette came back to me. Its biggest claim to fame is some massive rock formation called Devils Tower, he’d said. Which was made famous by that sci-fi movie back in the seventies.
The bartender at the Royal, Delia, had been wearing a T-shirt when I’d talked with her yesterday morning. A T-shirt with a little green alien and something about close encounters. And with a plastic sticker still on it, indicating the size—as if she hadn’t bothered to wash the shirt before pulling it on. The shirt had been exactly the kind of cheap thing you’d pick up at a gift shop. Or an all-night gas station.
I dropped my cigarette on the gravel lot and ground it into the dirt. I touched Clyde’s head.
“Let’s go, boy. The fat lady hasn’t sung yet.”
CHAPTER 28
You get to the point where you’re just empty. Empty of feelings and thoughts. Of bone and flesh and blood. Empty of hope and despair.
You aren’t dead. But you aren’t living, either.
—Sydney Parnell. Personal journal.
“You’re hiding him, Delia,” I said from across the bar.
Delia looked even more tired than she had two mornings ago. Her ponytail hung loose and her bangs lay flat with grease. The bags under her eyes had grown to the size of steam trunks. She’d swapped the Close Encounters T-shirt for one that read I HATE BEING SEXY, BUT SOMEBODY HAS TO DO IT.
The Royal wasn’t any cheerier the second time around. The pool table was empty, and the handful of customers gathered on their stools at the far end of the bar looked like mourners at a wake. Outside, behind the tavern, a dog barked. I’d gone around back to check on it before I walked into the Royal. Figured it was probably the same dog I’d heard on my first visit.
Now, in the low haze of smoke, Clyde’s tail flagged. Maybe he picked up on the desolate vibe, too. Or maybe it was the dog out back, barking, barking, barking.
Delia folded the bar rag she’d been using when Clyde and I walked in and shook her head at me. “You think I’d be working double shifts if I had Fred Zolner stashed somewhere like a backup bag of M&M’S?”
“I think you’re tired because you followed him to Gillette Friday night so he could leave his truck up there. Because that’s the kind of person you are. Always ready to help a friend in need. Especially when that friend is single and comes with a pension.”
She flushed and rubbed at an invisible bit of dirt. “You’re talking crazy.”
“Almost seven hundred miles, round-trip. I’m guessing you guys stopped for gas somewhere between here and there. Probably somewhere remote because Bull was worried about being followed. He wouldn’t want to take a chance anywhere near Denver.” I gave her a heavy look. “Am I going to have to pull every security camera at every gas station between Denver and Gillette?”
She licked her lips. “You want to give me a ‘why’ to go with your crazy story?”
“What ‘why’ did he give you, Delia? Did he let you know that by helping him, you might be putting yourself in danger? If he really wanted people to think he was in Gillette, he should have at least pretended to check into a room.”
She was blinking rapidly now. “What kind of danger?”
“You familiar with the term psychopathic killer?”
She mustered up a derisive snort. “What I think is that you’re crazier than he is. Now I need to get back to work.”
All at once, I’d had enough. The exhaustion and anger came boiling up, a toxic sludge of fury and frustration. When Delia made a move to walk away, I reached across the bar, grabbed her by the arm, and held tight. Clyde barked, and outside the other dog howled in response.
“If you walk away from me,” I said, “I will bust you on code violations. The cigarette smoking. That pool table blocking the back exit. I’m sure I can find a lot more. The city will shut you down so fast you’ll get whiplash.”
Her face paled. “You wouldn’t.”
“Maybe they’ll only shut you down until you clean everything up,” I said. “But that might turn into forever because you won’t be able to make payments without any money coming in. After that, I’ll find a reason for the police to search your home. Maybe for some recreational drugs, or a notice of unpaid taxes. I’m sure there’s something in your past I can work with, Delia. This is a matter of life and death. Do not,” I finished, “fuck with me.”
The stricken look on her face almost made me ashamed. But I got over it.
One of the zombies down the bar stirred and blinked in our direction. I leaned in close to Delia in case he had his hearing aids in. “You’ve seen the news reports about the missing child.”
Some life came back into her eyes. “Lucy Davenport? What’s that got to do with Bull?”
I released her. “He’s got information that might help. Maybe something he doesn’t even know he has.” It was probably a lie, but I wasn’t feeling particular. “So it could be he’s hiding from his gambling debts, or from whoever killed the Davenports. I don’t care. I just need to ask him some questions.”
Down at the other end of the bar, one of the zombies opened his mouth. I was sure I could hear it creaking.
“Delia!” the zombie called. “Another beer if you’re done yapping.”
“Be right back,” she said to me.
I forced myself not to grab her by the throat. I watched as she headed down to refill the guy’s glass. Clyde looked up at me to see if we were ready to go. I’m sure he found the stink of the smoke almost unbearable.
“Hang in there, pal,” I said.
Delia had finished pouring. Now she slipped her phone out of her pocket. Bingo. Speed dial to Zolner, no doubt. Maybe she’d talk him into meeting with me. If not, I’d start breaking the place apart until she told me where he was.
The conversation was a hot and heavy one, it looked like, with Bull doing most of the talking. But after five or six minutes, she slid the phone back in her pocket and returned to me.
“He’s awful pissed,” she said.
“Then everything’s normal.”
“He’s in a room in the back.”
CHAPTER 29
We all have our price. If we’re lucky, we never learn what it is.