Page 41 of Distress Signal

And second, he knew each of us could kick his ass with one hand tied behind our backs.

Hell, we could do it without any arms at all.

Even so, he sneered at Trey. “Pops never wanted those installed in the first place.”

That much was true. Exterior cameras on all local businesses was an ordinance the town council passed several years ago, when a string of break-ins and vandals had cost owners—and insurance companies—a lot of money in repairs and payouts.

The petty crimes dried up pretty quickly after that, and Trey signed a nice little contract to provide all the technology.

Still, quite a few of the business owners had rebelled in what little ways they could. Benny’s dad had been the worst offender of all, never bothering to turn the cameras on let alone allow them to record. Claimed it violated the privacy of his patrons.

We all knew the real reason was that he wanted to keep prying eyes away from the drug dealing business he ran out of the back room. It had worked too. Lane and his department had failed to find enough evidence to arrest him before he died, and no one was sure if Benny had taken up the mantle or not.

“Answer the fucking question,” West said evenly, though his tone brooked no room for argument.

“They’re working,” Benny gritted out.

“Get me the footage,” Trey said.

In the interest of protecting the privacy people weren’t even entitled to in public spaces, Trey didn’t record any footage onto the servers at his house. That responsibility fell on the shoulders of the business owners.

Benny gave a curt nod and turned to head to the back, but Trey stopped him.

“Gonna need everything you’ve got from March seven years ago as well.”

Returning his attention to Trey, Benny’s eyes were wide. “There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“I’m sure there are old tapes or something around here somewhere,” Trey said with a wide, fake grin. “Your dad hadn’t always been such a pain in my ass about it.”

Benny sighed, dragging a hand down his face in obvious annoyance.

“Probably in the attic,” he mumbled.

“Great!” Trey said happily, jumping to his feet. “I’ll help.”

West and I muffled our snorts in our arms, occupying our mouths with twin swallows of our beers. We knew what Trey was doing, offering to go with, and Benny likely did too. Trey wasn’tgiving him the option to dick around and pretend he didn’t find anything.

We had no time to waste, not when a woman’s life hung in the balance.

Two, if you considered what the loss of her twin would do to Reagan.

As a twin myself, it was fucking unimaginable.

Once Trey and Benny disappeared, West and I picked up our drinks and walked to the other end of the bar, pulling up stools at the corner perpendicular to the three grizzled men.

Rusty, Jim, and Dodger were indeterminate ages, though I guessed they were all north of sixty. They were a sure thing in this life. Like death and taxes, finding Rusty, Jim, and Dodger seated in this same spot in this bar on any given night was one thing you could count on.

“Boys,” Rusty grumbled, and the other two dipped their chins in acknowledgement.

“Look,” West started. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. There’s a woman missing, and this is the last place she was seen. She’d been here last Tuesday night. You guys know anything about that?”

Dodger’s rheumy, bloodshot eyes narrowed in our direction.

“Buying us another round might jog our memories.”

I rolled my eyes but got up, went behind the bar, grabbed three bottles of Budweiser out of the cooler, uncapped them, and placed them in front of the men.

Each took a healthy drink, smacking their lips as they set them down.