Page 125 of Forever Dead
Connor picked up his keys.
He hated himself for knowing where he was going.
*
Malone’s sat on a corner near the center of Eagleton, a narrow brick building with black-painted window frames and a new sign above the entrance.
The lunch rush had yet to arrive. Connor counted four customers through the front window before he entered.
The owner was behind the bar checking bottles against a clipboard. Broad shoulders, thinning hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He set the clipboard down when Connor approached.
“Sheriff Chase.”
“You know me?”
“Everybody around here knows you.”
Connor stopped at the bar. “You the owner?”
“Yeah.”
The man studied him for a second. “Morimer send you?”
The question hit harder than Connor expected.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The owner gave a humorless smile. “Funny. He tells me not to open. I open. Then the sheriff walks in.”
“I’m here to take a look at the premises.”
“Why?”
“Licensing and safety.”
“You the fire department now?”
“No.”
“Liquor board?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Connor could not give him an honest answer without destroying himself.
“I’ve had concerns raised.”
“By Walton Morimer?”
Connor said, “I’m not discussing who talks to me.”
The owner folded his arms. “You people all work for the same man now?”
