Page 53 of Roughing
“Were there any suspicious guys hanging around her or acting odd?” Briggs asked.
For the first time, the two men actually looked at him. The older man squinted as if to get a better look. “Do I know you?”
Briggs shot a glance in my direction, and I shrugged. We were winging this. It was fifty-fifty whether telling them he was an Icehawk would be a disadvantage or an advantage.
“I play for the Portland Icehawks,” he said.
“Icehawks? That’s a hockey team, right?” the bartender asked.
“Yeah, Mike, it’s our new team. How could you not know that?” Older Guy rolled his eyes.
“I’m not a hockey fan,” Mike shrugged.
Briggs frowned, and I put a comforting hand on his thigh. The hockey team had probably been a big deal where he’d played before. After lots of hype and high expectations, they hadn’t caught on in Portland yet because of their dismal record.
Older Guy studied Briggs for a long moment. “I’m not really familiar with the team members. I’m a Sockeyes fan.”
Briggs shrugged and steered the conversation back to the missing woman. “So did you guys see anything suspicious that night?”
“We’ve been over this with the detectives. None of us saw anything abnormal. Just an average night.”
“Who else was here that night?” I asked.
“Most of the people you see are regulars and were here.”
I held up my phone to show them a picture of Gordon. “Was he in here?”
“Who, Gordon? For a little while. He comes in often, but he wasn’t here at closing.”
“So Gordon’s a regular?”
“More like an irregular regular.” Mike laughed at his own clever phrase, and I managed not to roll my eyes.
“Did he have any conversations with her previously?” I pushed.
“We all did. What are you, an undercover cop?” Older Guy scowled and turned his back on the both of us. The bartender moved to the other end of the bar. I’d pushed too far, and we’d been effectively snubbed.
“Maybe I overdid it,” I whispered to Briggs.
“We’re learning.” Briggs grinned and put his hand over mine. “We know a few things, such as Gordon wasn’t in here, but he was in the Puck that night, and she didn’t leave with anyone.”
“Let’s try another group.” We picked up our drinks and carried them to an empty table next to a larger table full of jolly, beer-soaked patrons.
Briggs and I listened but didn’t find out anything new.
After another hour, we were ready to give up when Desmond came in the door. Several patrons and the bartender greeted him by name.
“Desmond is a regular in here?” I hadn’t known that, and I thought I knew Desmond quite well. My friends and I often hung out with him. As usual, he was dressed like a million bucks. All of his friends assumed he was gay, even though he never officially came out. I figured his sexual orientation was his business. He had a right to do whatever he pleased with his private life.
Desmond turned and saw us. He waved in greeting.
We continued to bumble our way through getting information, but as the night wore on, more and more patrons, especially the regulars, began to regard us with distrust.
“We’re not going to get any more out of this group tonight,” I admitted.
“Nah, they think we’re undercover cops or something.” Briggs was joking, but his jest wasn’t too far from the truth. I’d screwed up and pushed too hard, causing the patrons to be wary and avoid Briggs and me.
We left the pub and drove the several blocks back to our building. On the way, we saw flashing lights, multiple police cars, and an ambulance. As we got closer, yellow crime scene tape was strung around a construction zone.
