Day two arrived.
I cracked my eyes and stared at the grey clouds. Inhaling until my lungs hurt, I sat on the edge of my stained bed. The day melted into night. My legs were cramping, I started to pace.
This part of the process was the worst. Sitting in a wretched motel room and counting the cracks in the windowsill was not exciting.
Finally, I saw my man.
It had to be Hecko, though his green hair was fading towards yellow. Even from behind, I could see he was too young to be the killer from Marina's past. He'd have been a child sixteen years ago.
It didn't matter. He was my only lead.
Leaving the motel, the weight of the gun comfortable under my jacket, I gave the bouncer another few bills and kept walking.
Hecko had been inside the bar for no longer than fifteen minutes. The three empty glasses in front of him and the fourth drink in his hand implied otherwise. The guy was a drinker, putting away the stuff with efficient practice. That was good. People let slip much more information when they were drunk.
He was alone in his corner of the bar, tucked onto his stool like he was holding out for a downpour to stop outside. There was no rain, the skies outside were calm. But I was coming for him.
I was the storm.
Nodding to the bartender, I ordered a gin and tonic and approached Hecko. He didn't see me, his body jerking in surprise when I put my arm around his shoulders. “Hot damn!” I cried out. “Is that you, Hecko?”
Spilling liquid on his lap, the guy shoved at me. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”
Leaning away, I lifted my glass high. “You're kidding! Don't tell me you don't remember me? I hung out with Frankie all the damn time!”
He was skeptical, and he should have been. I was relying on the power of time and alcohol—mostly alcohol—to aid me in convincing him.
Hecko flicked blood-shot grey eyes to my shoes, then to my face. “Did you? I don't...”
“Man, all the titty bars he would take us guys to,” I laughed loudly. Shaking my chin, I clapped Hecko tightly on the shoulder. He glared at my hand, but didn't push me off this time. “I miss the guy. Still can't believe he's gone.”
He looked down into his drink, taking a big gulp until the bottom was empty and I could see his face through it. Breathing out, he slammed the container on the bar. “I do miss him, yeah. But I don't remember you. Sorry, what was your name?”
“Cory,” I lied, swirling my glass. I hopped onto the stool beside him. “I'm only a little offended that you don't remember me.” I winked. “To be honest, we never talked much. I was too busy throwing dollar bills at the girls. I recognized you from the doorway, though. Your hair hasn't changed at all.”
His smile was hesitant, but real. “Frankie used to call me the Gecko.” Self-consciously, he scrubbed at his short clumps of hair. “He always told me to change it. I never listened.”
Sipping my gin and tonic, I watched his face closely. “Guy could be scary.” Hecko's eyes jumped to me, flashing. “But he meant well, most of the time.”
“Scary,” he muttered. His chuckle was cynical and empty. “Yeah. That's right.”
Sensing I was onto something, I waved for the bartender. “Another drink for my friend.” When the woman poured it, and when Hecko was nodding appreciatively and swallowing half of the caramel colored junk, I leaned close. “Honestly, Frankie did some messed up shit. You know?”
Holding the glass like it was a shield, the guy squinted at me. I saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, noticed him fidgeting. “Maybe. I don't know. He's dead now, either way.”
“True, and bless his soul,” I said, saluting to a man I didn't give a damn about. “But come on, Frankie was no saint. Neither was that guy who worked with him.”
There. A riptide of fear roamed across Hecko's face. “What are you talking about?” he hissed at me, acting dumb but failing.
I put my drink down heavily, swaying as if I was growing drunk. “Come on, Hecko! You're young but you knew Frankie, right?”
“Of course I knew him.” He looked side to side.
“Then you know what I'm talking about. The big motherfucker who was missing a tooth, used to pull the 'pay us so we'll protect you or else' shit with him.” I was making a lot of assumptions, but it was intentional. If this guy knew Frankie, he'd slip and give me something I could use.
Shuddering, Hecko's brows hooded his eyes. He bent towards me, furious and with foul breath. “Would you shut the fuck up? Don't bring him up here, I'm not supposed...” He trailed off, eyeing me with sudden paranoia. “Did he send you?”
My stomach prickled. Here was what I wanted. “What do you think?”
Like a falling star, Hecko crumpled. He grabbed his glass and finished it with a cough. “I'm not involved in that dark shit anymore, I had my fill. Tell him to leave me alone.”