Page 72 of New Nebraska Heat

Perusing the liquor bottles, I casually blurted, “Conrad Marchand.”

“Uh, excuse me, Detective?” His eyes went a little too doe-like, a bit too Bambi, for my liking.

I fixed my stare on his and pulled out another name syllable by syllable. “Armand Vincenzo.”

His eyelids peeled back before returning to their previous look of confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s happening here. Am I supposed to know these gentlemen?”

He was a solid bronze-level bullshitter. Probably had plenty of practice. Tone and body language largely believable, feigning ignorance well, he might have easily fooled a rookie or a less-experienced cop.

Unfortunately for him, he was dealing with the king of bullshitters.

“Just a couple of names on my mind. You’ve obviously never heard of them though, unfortunately.” I scanned the fridges, whistling softly. “Fancy shit. You got a beer here somewhere?”

He shuffled along to a fridge on the bar’s far side and hurriedly popped the top on a slender green bottle, handing it to me with a sheepish grin.

I swigged the chilled liquid’s biting bubbles and enjoyed its ice-cream froth as I checked out the label. “German. Nice. Expensive too, I bet. How much I owe you?”

He knocked his eyes upward, smiling. “No charge for New Omaha’s finest. Enjoy.”

I raised the bottle in casual salute. “Mighty nice of you. Jackie, you thirsty? It’s good stuff.”

Teddy Bear shook his head. “Trying to cut down.” He fixed his glare on the bartender, clearly also having clocked the vamp’s subtle bullshit. “Alcohol tends to bring out myviolentside.”

The bartender swallowed hard.

Clunking the half-empty bottle down on the bar, I unzipped my vest and scanned the joint. I could feel my jaguar helping me as I looked, enhancing every detail, no matter how small, searching for clues.

“Oh, by the way, what’s your name, buddy?” I asked, leaning into the bar, putting on my friendliest pretense.

“Terrence, sir. Terrence Torsten.”

“Well, Terrence Torsten”—I chugged from the beer again—“I appreciate the free drink. And I think we’ve obviously been misinformed about the vermin, some kids playing a prank or something, so we’ll leave you in peace.”

The vamp’s shoulders eased, and he spoke with a slightly trembling grin. “No problem at all. You’re always welcome to drop in for a drink, detectives.”

“Thanks, we’ll bear that in mind. But, uh, I don’t know, Jackie. Maybe we should take a quick look round, just for a few minutes?” I smiled at the bartender reassuringly. “Just procedure. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it. Our lieutenant’s a real ball breaker for going by the book, if you catch my drift.”

Terrence hesitated, polishing the champagne flute in his grasp a little too vigorously as he cranked out a forced smile. “Of course, of course. Feel free. You’ll be wasting your time in here though.”

I splayed my palms toward the chic surroundings. “Better wasting it in here than out in that cold wind.”

Teddy Bear and I lazily strolled between the booths and tables of the expansive bar. Cracking jokes and keeping it casual.

Searching for signs of vermin.

Latona’s had plenty to scrutinize too. It was fucking huge. It had a large dance floor, a stage with a grand piano, seating for a few hundred, easy. Over in the far corner was a glass door, beyond which I could see circles of ruby-red armchairs and glass-protected shelves filled with leatherbound books. “Hey, Terrence, what’s that part over there?”

“That’s the cigar lounge, Detective. Any vermin in there would have run away from the smell long ago, I can assure you.” His smile had a tight edge. “Can’t stand the things myself. You two fine officers are welcome to a quality Cuban on the house though, if that’s your thing?”

Cuban cigars were illegal in the United States and therefore, New Nebraska too. Someone higher up the food chain was giving Latona’s a pass. I let the small potatoes slide so the big ones could tumble. “Nah, we’re good. You mind if we pop our heads in, take a quick look?”

Clinking bottles of pre-mixed vamp cocktails onto the shelves, he said, “Uh, sure. I’ll warn you though, it’s musty in there. Can’t get rid of the smell no matter what cleaning stuff I use.”

“Thanks for the heads up. We’ll—”

“Can I, uh, just ask one favor if you look around in there, please, detectives?” he asked, the words booming across the bar’s broad expanse, as Teddy Bear clasped the glass door’s steel-pole handle.

“What is it?”