Sigma Curse - 04 (8 page)

The bar was crowded, but not so jam-packed that Venn had any difficulty spotting Craddock and Austin seated at the counter along one side of its horseshoe shape. Most of the patrons looked like long-haul truck drivers or military types. A few were kids, but the majority were around thirty or older. The men outnumbered the women three to one, Venn estimated. It didn’t look like a pick-up joint – more like a fairly quiet pit-stop, a place to have a drink or two after work. Soft rock played from the speakers.

Venn made his way to the counter along from the two corporals, several other patrons separating him from them. The lone bartender was moving about swiftly, and he nodded to Venn. Venn held up a casual hand in a
no rush
gesture.

He ordered a Budweiser in a long-necked bottle, tipped it to his lips but didn’t swallow. There were no mirrors across the bar, so he couldn’t watch Craddock and Austin that way. But he was aware of their presence down the bar, aware of the way they sat with their heads down, nursing their drinks, deep in quiet conversation.

Venn knew they’d see him, sooner or later. If you wanted people to notice you, eventually they always did.

The couple of drinkers between Venn and the two soldiers moved away. A few moments later, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Austin had turned to stare at him.

Venn glanced down the bar.

He said, “Hey, fellas. Fancy meeting you here.”

Without being asked, he scooted down the counter and sat on the stool beside Austin. The two men had almost-empty whiskey glasses in front of them. From the smell on Austin’s breath, it wasn’t their first round. Or even their second.

Neither of them spoke. Venn said, “Remember me? Joe Venn. NYPD. We talked earlier today.”

“How can we help you, Lieutenant?” Austin muttered. His speech wasn’t quite slurred. Past him, Craddock glowered.

Venn knew alcohol did one of three things to a guy, even in small quantities. In each case, it brought out something essential about his temperament. Sometimes – usually – it made him affable. Sometimes it made him pathetic and maudlin.

Other times, it made him mean.

Venn saw that now in Craddock’s face. The meanness, like a tightly coiled spring which has suddenly been allowed a little leeway. Austin, on the other hand, just looked wary.

Instead of answering Austin’s question, Venn looked over his shoulder.

“Not a lot of women here, are there?”

Both men frowned, as if some crazy drunk had just accosted them.

“Sir?” said Austin.

“Mostly guys at this establishment.”

“It’s a soldier’s bar,” Craddock muttered. “Soldiers and truckers.”

“Ah. I get it.” Venn took another hit off his beer bottle without actually drinking any. “For a moment there I thought this was some other kind of place.”

He saw Craddock stiffen, his face darken. Austin glanced incredulously at his friend, then back at Venn.

Craddock knocked back the last of his whiskey in one shot. He put the glass down harder than necessary.

“What are you trying to say,
sir
?”

Venn raised his eyebrows in mock bewilderment. “What? Nothing. Nothing at all.” He paused. “Just thought
Arturo’s
might be a gay bar, is all.”

The glass in Craddock’s fist creaked an instant before it splintered. Craddock snarled:
“Mother-”

Venn glanced down the bar. The bartender was at the far end, tending to a customer, and hadn’t noticed.

He looked back at Craddock. The man had his hand raised, a trickle of blood running down the palm and dripping on to the counter.

Venn said, “You might want a napkin for that.” He grabbed a handful out of a container on the counter and shoved them Craddock’s way.

As the soldier wadded them in his fist, Venn said: “What’s the problem, Corporal Craddock? You got something against gay people?”

Beside him, Austin said, his voice low and hoarse: “Listen, pal.” There was no sir this time. “I don’t know what you’re playing at. But this is police harassment All we need to do is pick up the phone and call -”

“You threatening me, soldier?” said Venn, his voice even quieter. He gazed mildly into Austin’s face.

When the other man didn’t drop his eyes, Venn said: “Here’s the thing. I’ve got this theory. A theory which says you guys took Dale Fincher along with you as some kind of court jester. Somebody you could amuse yourselves with, while you pretended to be his friend. Because I think Fincher was gay. Firmly in the closet, but gay nonetheless. And you knew it. All of you. You probably mugged it up behind his back, sneering at him, but never let on to him that you knew which way he swung. Why, I don’t know. Maybe it boosted your sense of your own masculinity. I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Austin was still staring at him. Craddock held the bloody wad of tissue paper in his fist, clenched his teeth, and kept his eyes shut.

Venn continued: “When Fincher was approached by this hot woman in the bar, you thought it was hilarious, didn’t you? You egged him on. Wanted him to be made a fool of, because he was forced to keep up this pretense that he was straight. You laughed when she led him away. You thought he’d come crying back to you. But he didn’t. Then, next day, when you learned he’d been murdered, you felt guilty as all hell. Because you could have stopped him from going with her, and you didn’t. So now you’ve got this massive weight of shame and guilt pressing down on you. And that’s why you’re here, on a work night, getting a load on in some tacky bar. You’re trying to blot out the knowledge of who you really are.”

He paused, raised his eyebrows once more.

“Pretty crazy theory, huh? What do you guys think?”

Austin broke eye contact finally. His head sagged onto his palm.

“Jesus, man,” he said.

Craddock muttered, his teeth still clenched: “You’re wrong. I don’t feel guilty at all.”

“Why’s that?” said Venn.

Craddock looked at him, hard. Enunciating each word carefully, he said: “That god damn fag deserved everything he got.”

Austin whipped his head round sharply. “Ryan. Shut up -”

“No, no,” Venn said. “I’m interested. Carry on.”

Craddock turned on his stool so that he was facing Venn down the counter. “Yeah. You heard me. The guy was too much of a pussy to admit what he was. Yet still, he dared to live and work among us. Among men. Pretending he was a soldier, a tough guy. Did we laugh at him? We did, yeah. So what? You can’t take knocks like that, you don’t belong in the US Army. You’re such a weakling a few jibes and taunts get under your skin? What the hell are you going to do when you’re under enemy fire? Piss your pants?”

Venn eyed him for a few long seconds. He was aware of the bartender sidling down the counter. The guy looked at the cracked whiskey glass, the blood stains on the counter top.

“Hey. You all right?” He peered at the red ball of tissue paper in Craddock’s bunched fist.

“He’s fine,” said Venn. “At least, his hand is.”

The bartender looked from Venn to Craddock and back. “Everything okay here, guys?”

“Yep.” Venn slid off the stool. “I was just leaving. I got what I came here for.”

––––––––

T
he cold was bracing as he stepped out of the smokey light and warmth of the bar. His Jeep was on the far side of the parking lot, down a slight slope. He walked toward it at an unhurried pace, counting slowly.

One thousand and one. One thousand and two.

Behind him he heard a flare of music and conversation as the doors opened and then swung shut again.

Casually, without breaking his stride, Venn turned.

Craddock and Austin were heading toward him. There was nobody else in the parking lot.

Venn stopped. His spread his arms wide.

“Help you gentlemen?”

They continued advancing. Venn felt the weight of his Beretta inside his jacket.

There was no way he was going to use it, or even draw it.

“Calling me a fag,” Craddock muttered.

Beside him, Austin looked less sure of himself, but he had the springy lope, the slightly hunched posture, of a man ready for combat.

Venn kept his arms splayed, his torso fully exposed.

“You sure you want to do this?” he said.

The two men separated as they drew near, so that by the time they drew level with Venn they were ten feet apart. It was a classic two-on-one strategy, forcing their opponent to cover two sides at once, something that was almost impossible to do.

Venn could have moved in first, taking down Craddock forcibly enough that it might give Austin serious pause. In most circumstances he would have done exactly that. But right now, he needed one of them to land the first blow. Needed whatever he did to be in legitimate self-defense, with no room for misinterpretation.

Austin, to Venn’s left, moved first, something that vaguely surprised Venn. The smaller man charged in at a stoop, lashing his booted foot out at venn’s knee. Venn stepped aside, feeling the toe-tip brush the material of his trousers, and continued the movement so that its momentum helped swing his right fist toward Austin’s face. The other man was fast, and jerked his head aside.

At the same time Craddock, heavier and slower, lunged at Venn, cannoning into his torso like a quarterback tackling high. Although he’d tensed his muscles in anticipation, Venn felt the breath knocked out of him as the younger man’s bulk slammed against him. He stumbled back a couple of steps until he was brought up hard against the side of a pickup truck.

Venn whipped one arm down around Craddock’s neck and gripped his wrist in his other hand, getting the other man in a headlock. Craddock tried twisting his head free but Venn hung on, squeezing tighter, even as Craddock’s weight bore down on him, pinning him against the truck.

Austin jabbed a knuckly half-fist toward Venn’s throat. Venn dodged, but not fast enough to avoid the blow completely, and he felt stars explode before his eyes and a sheaf of pain blast through his head. He let go his own wrist and used his free hand to hammer against Craddock’s ear. The man howled and brought a hand up to his ear, but Venn was waiting for that and grabbed the hand and bent the little finger back, not stopping when he felt resistance but continuing until an audible snap cut the air like a trodden-on twig.

Craddock’s weight lifted slightly from Venn and he brought a knee up, hard, connecting with the man’s belly just underneath his breastbone. Craddock staggered backward and Venn followed up with a second kick, right in the middle of the soldier’s belly. Craddock doubled over, an
ooof
escaping his lips. As he went down, Venn booted him in the face, pulling the kick at the last moment so as not to cause severe damage. He felt the man’s nose break and spread.

Austin was on him already, his blows swift and varied and professional, and Venn parried and dodged and rocked at the crashes of agony where the fists caught his face and chest. He staggered back against the truck, exaggerating the movement, but Austin was too skilled a fighter to be fooled and he pressed home his advantage, lashing out once more with his boot and this time almost, almost, connecting with Venn’s knee, a crippling blow if it had landed.

Venn darted aside, putting a few feet between him and Austin, and held up his hands.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait.”

He dropped his hands, poked Craddock with the tip of his boot.

“He’s down,” he said. “I’ve got no beef with you.”

For an instant, Austin looked down at his fallen comrade.

It was a mistake.

Venn wasn’t as fast as Austin. But he was taller, and his reach was longer. He used this to its full effect, leaping forward on his long legs and punching with his long arm, covering the distance between them before Austin had a chance to step aside and bring his own arms up.

Venn’s fist caught Austin square in the mouth, flattening his lips against his teeth and rocking his head backward like a puppet’s. He was lifted off his feet, to land heavily on the asphalt on his ass. Somehow, he managed to keep his head up so that it didn’t bang on the hard surface, but from the groggy way his eyes fluttered, Venn knew he was staying down.

Venn took a couple of seconds to catch his breath. He did a quick mental inventory, the way he’d been trained over many years in the Marines and on the force. All his limbs were moving. His vision was clear. There were little firecrackers of pain going off all over his body, and he’d be sore as hell over the next few days. But he was intact.

He glanced around the parking lot. One man had emerged from the bar and was making his way over to his car in the distance, but he was either too preoccupied or too drunk to glance over in Venn’s direction.

Venn picked his way between the two men, one prone, one supine, and gazed down at them in turn. Both of them were conscious, Austin less so than Craddock. Venn stooped and grabbed Craddock by the collar of his jacket and hauled him over, dumping him on his back. Craddock made a half-assed attempt to scramble away on his elbows, but he slumped, defeated, almost immediately.

Venn said, loud enough for both of them to hear: “Assaulting a police officer. That means jail time. And your careers in the Army are over, for sure.”

Neither man reacted, apart from a groan of pain from Austin, who was trying to sit up but seemed to have forgotten how.

“The thing is, though, there are mitigating circumstances,” Venn continued. “I provoked you. It’s your word against mine, of course, and I don’t think most juries would lose much sleep trying to decide whether to believe a couple of drunk Army grunts or a serving NYPD officer. Especially one who’s just kicked both of your asses.”

Craddock’s eyes blazed with hate.

Venn said, “So I’m not worried about any repercussions. But to be honest, I’d feel bad, knowing you were getting busted when I’d riled you in the first place. Which means, gentlemen, that I’m going to let this assault, this felony, slide just this once. Besides, you’ve been helpful. You’ve confirmed something about Dale Fincher that’s very useful for me to know.”

Venn knelt beside Craddock, grabbed him by the shirt collar just under his throat.