Sam
We head back into town and park in front of the newspaper office. When we walk inside, Patricia, the receptionist, looks up from the book she’s reading. When she sees it’s us, she points behind her to Jenny’s office door. “She’s on the phone with the acting sheriff. Have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Cooper says, slipping back into his southern manners.
Patricia stares contemplatively at Cooper. “Do I know you? Did you used to live around here?”
Cooper nods. “I lived here in Sweetwater until my freshman year of high school.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you.” Her eyes widen. “Danny Cooper, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, hell, you don’t need to call me ma’am. I was just two years ahead of you in school, if I remember right. Are you going to be in town long?”
“I doubt it. I’m just here to take care of some business.”
Patricia glances behind her at Jenny, who’s still on the phone. Then she turns back to Cooper. “I remember you. You were tall for your age, with dark hair. Now you’re a silver fox, aren’t you?” She smiles, blushing as she tucks her long silver hair behind her ear.
Oh, my God, she’s flirting with him. I sneak a peek at Cooper, who meets my gaze. He shrugs innocently.
“Danny, I’m glad you’re here.”
We both turn just as Jenny Murphy walks up to the wooden bannister. She opens the swinging gate and motions for us to follow her back to her office.
Once we’re seated inside, she closes the door. “I just got off the phone with the acting sheriff, Denny Williams. Deputy Williams has taken over while the investigation’s on-going. The feds are involved now. A team arrived in town early this afternoon, and they’ve set up an office in the courthouse.”
“Deputy Williams, eh?” Cooper says, chuckling. “We’ve run into him a couple of times today. Once at the diner, and then later on the Sweetwater River Bridge. He gave Sam a hundred dollar fine for jumping off the bridge.”
Jenny’s eyes widen as she looks my way. “You jumped off that bridge? Are you insane?”
“Apparently, he is,” Cooper says, winking at me.
Jenny shakes her head. “Williams is a good guy—you can trust him. His mother is the town’s mayor—you remember Rita Howard? She went to school with us. Well, she’s Rita Williams now—Mayor Williams. It’s Billy you need to watch. He’s not taking this investigation well. He’s insisting your story is nothing more than a delusion. He claims you killed Cody.”
Cooper goes silent, sitting perfectly still. I glance at him, noting the muscle flexing in his clenched jaw.
“And why would I do that?” he says, his voice deceptively calm.
Jenny frowns. “He claims Cody threatened to tell your father about the two of you—that you were lovers—and that you were so afraid of your father that you would have done anything to shut Cody up. Including murder.”
Cooper exhales, but says nothing, and I can only imagine what he’s feeling. He’s a man of honor, before all things. It must kill him to hear such an accusation.
“Is there any truth to that?” she says.
Cooper sighs as he looks at me, as if he’s worried about what I’ll think. “Cody and I were lovers, yes. Did I kill him? Hell, no. He was my first boyhood crush. And as for my father—he was a vicious bigot. Yes, I was afraid of him, but not so much that I’d kill over it.”
Jenny frowns. “Be on your guard, Danny. As long as Billy’s at liberty, he’s a threat. Watch your back. I wouldn’t put it past him to retaliate.”
Cooper nods. “What about Stevens?”
Jenny rolls her eyes. “The last I heard, he’s holed up at his house, on a drinking binge. His wife reportedly left him this morning and went to stay with her mother halfway across the state. She’d long been fed up with his drinking, but a murder charge? That was the final straw.”
“What about the feds?” Jake says. “What’s their angle?”
“They’re investigating Cody’s death as a hate crime,” Jenny says. “That puts his murder under federal jurisdiction—they’re citing the Civil Rights Act of 1968.”
“Who notified the feds?” Cooper says.
Jenny smiles. “I did. I’m sick of how Billy Monroe runs this town. He’s as much a bully today as he was forty years ago. He needs to be held accountable. He and Roger, both.”
On our way out, Cooper asks Jenny, “Where’s a good place for us to grab some dinner and beers?”
“Tucker’s. Head east four blocks. You’ll see it on the corner, on your right. The food’s good, and the prices are decent. It can get a little rowdy in there—it’s a bit of a meat market—but I’m sure you boys can hold your own.”
* * *
We park on the street within easy walking distance of Tucker’s Tavern. Sam and I secure our firearms in a gun safe hidden under the floorboard in the rear of the vehicle, but Jake keeps his. We don’t want to be too conspicuous going into this place, but we don’t want to be completely unarmed either.
We walk the two blocks, past a hardware store and a florist’s shop, to the bar. It’s five o’clock and the downtown retail shops are closing up for the night. Only the diner is still open, the movie theater, and the bars.
I stop abruptly at the tavern door, and Cooper nearly runs right into me. He grabs my shoulders to steady us both. “Sam? What’s wrong?”
I can’t help laughing. “Two gay guys and a hitman walk into a redneck bar. What could possibly go wrong?”
Jake laughs as he reaches around me to open the door and push me inside. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
Tucker’s has got to be one of the original fixtures in this town. The wooden door is an antique with a little peep-hole window, and inside the old wood floors have been burnished over the years to the color of fine whisky. The bar runs along the back wall, extending nearly the width of the building. To the left are dining tables and in the back there’s a sign indicating restrooms. To the right of the bar are pool tables and dart boards.
The dance floor is currently empty, but most of the seats at the bar are occupied, as are half of the dining tables. It looks like this place is a popular spot for dinner.
A pretty brunette with a perky ponytail hustles by us as she carries a tray laden with empty glasses to the bar. “Take a seat, fellas,” she says as she passes us. “I’ll be right with ya.”
Jake stakes out the corner table and sits with his back to the wall so he’ll have a clear view of the room. Cooper takes the other seat facing the room.
“Age before beauty, eh?” I say, taking one of the shitty seats with my back to the room. As usual, I lose out to seniority.
It’s warm in the room, so I take off my jacket and hang it over the back of my chair.
Jake takes one look at my T-shirt and rolls his eyes. “Way to fly under the radar screen, pal.”
I glance down at my T-shirt—My Boyfriend Is More Badass Than Yours—and shrug. “What can I say? It’s true.”
The juke box is playing some lame country song from the previous century, so I get up and amble over to the machine to cue up something from this century. I luck out with a couple of my favorite Beyoncé songs, a classic Lady Gaga, two Sam Smith’s, and an old Elton John song, Rocket Man—my only concession to the last century. Cooper will appreciate the Elton John song—it’s old school, like he is.
I don’t know about the other guys, but I plan to do some dancing tonight. This town is way too serious and full of drama. It’s time we kick back and have some fun. If I’m lucky, I’ll meet up with a bunch of girls who will let me dance with them, like I do with Beth and Lia when we go clubbing at home. I prefer dancing with girls, cause they’re mostly there to have fun. I get hit on a lot at nightclubs. Cooper wouldn’t be upset if he saw girls hitting on me, but if he saw a guy hitting on me—hell. He’d shit a brick. None of us needs that kind of drama.
Just as I return to our table, our server—the cute brunette with perky tits—comes to take our orders. She’s petite and curvy as hell in all the right places, and she’s got her eye on Jake. She’s got a twinkling crystal piercing in her left nostril, and her belly button is pierced—that’s obvious thanks to her low-cut, crop top, which reveals more than it covers. Her name tag says “Carrie.”
“What can I get you, gentlemen?” she says in a charming southern accent. As she writes down our orders, her gaze keeps returning to Jake. Yep, score one for the big guy! Going by the flush in her cheeks and the way she’s batting her eyelashes at Jake, I’m pretty sure our server is sending Jake an open invitation. It’s a good thing he has his own room—he could get lucky tonight if he wants to.
I opt for something light tonight—just a salad with grilled chicken—because I want to dance and have fun. And I plan to get lucky tonight with my own big guy.
Carrie returns to our table twice more, asking if we need any refills. She stands close enough to Jake to give him a front-row view of her bountiful cleavage. “Is there anything else I can do for you, hun?” she says, giving him a come-hither smile.
“No, thanks, I’m good,” he says, making a point to look anywhere but at her tits.
She reaches across him to retrieve his discarded menu, blatantly brushing her breasts against his bicep, but he doesn’t respond. Oh, hell, I don’t even play on her team, and I can tell she’s smoking hot, so I wonder what Jake’s problem is. He’s not dating anyone. In fact, I can’t even recall hearing him ever talk about a girl. He’s not gay—my gaydar would have picked up on that a long time ago—so what’s his problem?
By the time we’re done eating, the bar is packed. Most of the tables are filled, and the dance floor is finally seeing some action. Some slightly inebriated folks across the room are playing pool—very loudly—and shooting darts.
I finished my beer ages ago, and I’m dying of thirst, but ever since Jake gave our server the brush-off, she’s been avoiding us. If I want a refill, I guess I’ll have to go get it myself. I stand. “I’m gonna get a refill. You guys want anything?”
Jake nods. “I’ll take another Coke. Thanks.” Right—he’s armed tonight. So, no alcohol for him.
I look at Cooper.
“Sure.” He holds up his empty beer bottle. “I’ll have another.”
I skirt around the crowded tables and head up to the bar, which is equally crowded with folks standing two and three deep. The staff behind the bar is hustling to fill orders. As I wait in line to place my order, somebody bumps me from the side. I glance over at a guy in his early twenties, with short black hair and gorgeous dark eyes. He’s holding an empty tumbler, and his eyes are a little too bright—I think he’s halfway trashed.
“Sorry,” I say, smiling apologetically as I give him a little room.
He moves with me. “No need to be sorry,” he says, winking at me. Yeah, he’s skunked. He reads the slogan on my T-shirt and laughs. “I like your shirt.” Then he reaches over and skims his finger down my arm.
Wow, subtle. I smile and shake my head. “Sorry, buddy, but I’m not interested. Thanks.”
He pouts prettily, and damn if he isn’t a little hottie. He’s half-a-head shorter than me, with a tight, fit body. I wonder what it’s like for him living in this small town. As he doesn’t seem to be cowering in fear, I’m hopeful that things have changed around here since Cooper was a kid.
“You’re new here,” the hottie says, giving me a coy smile. “I would have remembered seeing you before.”
I nod, keeping my eyes forward. I don’t want to encourage him. “Just visiting from out of town.”
He steps closer again, so that our arms are touching, and tips his head back towards our table. “I saw you come in with those two guys. Are you with one of them?”
“Yep.”
“Which one? The muscle guy or the old guy?”
I laugh. “The old guy.”
Hottie takes another look at my T-shirt and chuckles. “I’ll bet,” he says, glancing back at Cooper. “There’s something to be said for the older guys, right? At least they know what they’re doing.”
I’ve had enough of this guy, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
“If you wanna hang out for a few minutes, I’ll give you a tour of the place,” he says. He nods toward the dimly lit hallway left of the bar, where the restrooms are located. “There’s a door back there that leads to the alley.”
I get hit on all the time and it usually doesn’t bother me—I just smile and slough it off. But for some reason, this guy rubs me the wrong way.
“No thanks.”
“Hey, come on. I’ll even buy you a beer.”
The bartender saves me from having to tell this guy no a second time, when he says, “Hey, son, what can I get you?”
I hold up my empty beer bottle. “Two of these, please, and a Coke.”
“Sure thing,” he says, rushing off to fill my order.
When my persistent admirer puts his hand on my lower back, I turn to him with a smile on my face. “Get your hand off me, or I’ll break it.”