I was surprised enough to stay quiet while considering an answer. O’Shea looked behind me and then signaled the bartender.
“Tracy. We’re gonna take a table,” he called out to her. She waved and he said: “Come on, Max, let’s sit a bit.”
He took the chair against the wall under the St. Paulie Girl poster, leaving me with my back to the crowd. The beer maven above him held six steins and a smile and he matched her grin.
“Good-looking woman that Detective Richards,” he started. “Maybe the legs threw me the first two shifts she did over at the Parrot, but not much more.”
“You knew why she was there?”
“At first, no. I figured the local narc squad was trying to hook into the over-the-counter trade. I’d been told that back in the day every bartender in South Florida had a connection. But that shit’s over. Law enforcement isn’t interested in the nickel-and-dime stuff anymore. And the dealers are way too careful now.”
“She said you hit on her, Colin,” I said, trying to catch something in his eyes.
“Yeah? She like that?”
I felt a warmth rise into my ears.
“I was trying to figure her game,” he said, then took a long drink of his beer. “She was a lousy bar girl. Worked hard, but didn’t work the customers very well. Acted too friendly too soon. Asked too many questions. I watched her do some other locals before she tried me. Bartenders don’t interrogate. They remember the drink you order, not your hair and eye color and any distinguishing scars.”
I could see Richards doing the rail of men at the bar like a lineup.
“Well, Colin, you’ve got the eye of experience to know a good barkeep when you see one.”
“OK, I’ll give you that one,” he said without a hint of offense. “I’ve fucked up in the past. You probably already know about internal affairs in Philly, about my ex and the domestic violence charges. But I’ve never hit a woman in anger, even though I don’t expect anyone to believe me.”
He looked away, maybe with embarrassment, but then turned back.
“I was an ass and I’ll admit it. But fucking disappearing women? Come on, Max.”
His eyes were looking into mine now, and I couldn’t turn away. He knew how cops hate to be stared at by perps. He was trying to show me he wasn’t one of them.
“So you know what the detective’s after. What’s your assessment?” I said, appealing, maybe, to the cop still in him.
“On what? A serial abductor of barmaids? Shit, Max. It’s a target-rich environment down here, but you’re talking about sick. That’s not some sex crime of opportunity. Some sex assault wants that, cruise the beach late at night. Hell, go after the chicks at the dance clubs, drop some Rohypnol in their drinks and voilà! Happens all the time.”
I took another drink. He was right. I let him go on.
“Shit, these girls behind the bar are smart, Max. They got the assholes trying to play them every night and they can see ’em coming a mile away. I don’t see them falling for some crazy fuck.”
“So why don’t you tell that to Richards? Help her out. Get her off your ass?” I said.
“No, no, no, Maxey boy. You must know that one. You wouldn’t be here. What, you got a P.I. ticket and worked a case with her before? She pulled my Philly file and made a connection and sent you on a confidential informant mission?”
I stayed silent.
“No way,” he said. “She’s a man-eater. She wants somebody’s balls on the wall and I’m not handing her mine.”
He sat back then against the wall. Shania Twain was singing high and hard. O’Shea raised his hand to signal someone, then held his thumb and forefinger two inches apart and tipped the small, imaginary glass twice. I wasn’t sure whether to push him or leave him. If I was going to feel guilty afterward, so be it. He hadn’t blinked yet.
“Richards says you dated two women who are now missing, not a trace,” I said. “What was the saying in the academy, Colin? Twice is a coincidence, three times is a felony?”
The bartender left her busy station and came and set down two shot glasses of honey-colored liquor and fresh beers. It was the first table service I’d seen in the place. She put her fingertips on O’Shea’s shoulder before walking away.
“Look, Max. I date a lot of women. I go to a lot of bars. Hell, I