Page 227 of It Happened on the Lake

Joel ordered a double bourbon, neat, and knocked it back.

Liquid courage consumed, Joel was about to leave when he saw a familiar face—older, but one he recognized—in the mirror over the bar. Trick Vargas, dressed in a gray suit and open collar, got off the elevator. His hair was darker and cut into a thick mullet. He wore oversized, wire-rimmed glasses with shaded lenses, a low-rider beard covering his jaw. But he was definitely Vargas.

“Hey, man,” he said with a smile. “Long time, no see.” He clapped Joel on the back. “What’re you doing in Portland? I thought you moved away. Wasn’t it somewhere in California? Maybe the Bay Area?”

“Moved back a while ago,” Joel said, not elaborating.

“Me, too. I was down in Arizona. Scottsdale. Buy you a drink?”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Joel said. It wasn’t really a lie. “Got a meeting.”

“How about just one?” Trick offered. “For old times’ sake. Come on. Let’s catch up.”

Joel checked his watch. He guessed he had ten minutes to spare. And he didn’t want to get to the attorney’s office too early. Didn’t want to appear too eager or, worse yet, desperate. “Just one,” he said, and Trick ordered another double for Joel as well as one for himself. They sat at the bar, and when the drinks came, they clicked glasses and took long drinks. Conversation flowed surprisingly easily, Joel thought, surprised because he’d always been a little wary of the drug dealer.

As he was finishing his drink, Trick said, “I heard you married Harper Reed.”

“Divorced now. But how’d you know?”

Trick grinned, showing off that overlapping front tooth. “I’ve kept up. You scored big.”

“As I said, divorced. I messed up.” He left it at that, didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to inheriting a goddamned fortune, only to have blown the whole deal by thinking with his damned cock. “But I’m going to see if I can get things right. Seeing the attorney today.”

“That’s the spirit. You gotta work for what you want, man. Hey, bartender, another round.”

“Oh no,” Joel said. “I’ve gotta run. And I can’t be plastered.”

“Just one more,” Trick cajoled and leaned closer. “I hear you have a kid.”

“I do.” He was proud of her. Always had been. A stellar student and good athlete, Dawn was a great kid. Lately she’d stumbled a bit, gotten in with the wrong crowd and started dressing like she was going to her own funeral, but he figured she would snap out of it.

He had a picture of Dawn in his wallet and fumbled for it as two new drinks appeared. Where the hell was that photograph? “It’s her senior photo,” he explained, not looking up as he searched for it. “She’s in college now. U of O. My old alma mater! Doin’ great, too. Has her own apartment just off campus.” He shuffled through the pictures and cards, absorbed in the process, and when he finally came up with the picture, he traded the head shot for a short glass in Trick’s hands. “Oh, thanks. Here she is.”

He slid the photo across the bar.

“Pretty,” Trick said, eyeing the photo. “Real pretty. She’s down in Eugene?”

“Yeah.” He pointed at the picture where Dawn was looking seriously at the camera, her hair dyed black, her makeup pale, several necklaces draped around her neck. Her eyes were over-accentuated with black liner and mascara. “Dawn is kinda into the Goth thing, but hey, she’s young. We were all into something at her age.”

“Weren’t we?” Trick agreed. “Speaking of which—” He lowered his voice but the bartender had stepped behind a curtain leading to a back room. “—I’ve got a little coke.” His eyebrows arched over the rims of his shaded glasses. “Thought you might use a bump.”

“Nah.” Joel held up a hand. It was tempting but dangerous. “Those days are over for me.”

“Seriously?” Trick wasn’t buying it. “Maybe you could use a little something for the meeting you have to go to. You seem pretty uptight about it.”

Joel considered. What could it hurt? Trick was right. He could use a shot of bravado in dealing with Arista. Besides, back in the day, coke had been his go-to drug.

“Uh, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I should be clearheaded.”

“You will be, man. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Again, the confident smile. Back in the day Trick had been a supplier, and the drugs he’d peddled had always been good. Trick reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and flashed a tiny packet.

“Okay, fine.” Joel could use something to bolster him. And the added benefit would be that Trick would leave him alone. Joel could get rid of him.

“Outside,” Trick said and pulled a pack of cigarettes from an inner pocket. “Let’s go out for a smoke.”

If the display was for the bartender who had reappeared, it didn’t seem to matter. The guy was caught up in taking some kind of inventory, so Trick and Joel slipped outside and around the corner to a covered area where there were ashtrays and a few stools.

Joel felt a little off. His legs were a little wobbly. No, make that a lot wobbly. And he had trouble focusing. What the hell?