One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 62

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The brunette woman shook her head. ‘Everyone in the office was glued to their screens, watching it. I just couldn’t. It would make me sick. I can’t believe something like this is now happening on the Internet.’

‘You watched it?’ the barman asked the redhead.

She nodded.

‘Now the big question is – did you vote?’ he asked.

She pushed her hair behind her ear and shook her head. ‘No. Never. Did you?’

The barman’s gaze flicked to the brunette and then back to the redhead. ‘Um . . . no, I didn’t. I watched it, though.’

Even from where Hunter was sitting, it was easy to pick up their tell signs. They were both lying.

His cellphone lit up and rattled against the tabletop before him. He frowned at the name displayed on the caller screen before answering it. ‘Michelle?’

‘Robert, I’m sorry to be calling you this late and out of office hours.’

Hunter checked his watch. ‘It’s not that late, and I haven’t worked office hours since . . . ever.’

Michelle started saying something else, but stopped midword. ‘Um . . . is that Black Stone Cherry playing in the background?’

Hunter paused and listened to the music for a moment. The song was called ‘Blame it on the Boom Boom’. ‘That’s correct,’ he said. ‘Do you know the band?’

Michelle almost choked on the question. ‘Do I know Black Stone Cherry? Are you kidding? I’ve seen them live five times. Where are you?’

‘At the Rainbow Bar and Grill on Sunset Strip.’

‘For real? That’s one of my favorite bars in LA.’ She hesitated for a beat. ‘I’m not that far from Sunset. Do you mind if I join you?’

Hunter looked at his almost empty glass. ‘Not at all. I’m just starting here.’

Eighty-Four

The Rainbow Bar and Grill was a famous old-school casual restaurant and dive bar located on Sunset Boulevard. The decor was simple but effective – big red-vinyl booths and dark wood. Every inch of wall space was crammed with rock star snapshots. Since the 1980s the Rainbow had been known as the hangout hot spot for rock musicians and fans alike, with one of the most laid-back atmospheres in the whole of West Hollywood. The food and their great selection of single-malt whiskies weren’t bad either.

The place had gotten relatively busier by the time Michelle got there, twenty-five minutes after she came off the phone with Hunter. She was wearing skintight, stone-washed blue jeans with a natural wear-and-tear over her right knee, black boots and an old MotOrhead vest under a thin black-leather jacket with silver details. Her hair was loose and tousled in a ‘rock chick’ style. Her smoky-eyed makeup added to the look perfectly, and as she crossed the bar floor to where Hunter was sitting it was hard not to notice a few heads turning.

Hunter stood up to greet her, and her lips cracked into something that he wasn’t sure if it was a smile or not.

‘I would’ve never guessed you drank here,’ she said, taking off her jacket. Strangely, under the dim bar lights, the bright colors of the tattoos on her arms appeared more vivid.

‘Sometimes,’ Hunter replied, indicating the seat across the small table from him. ‘I ordered you a Jack Daniel’s and Diet Coke. I hope you don’t mind.’ The drink was already on the table.

Michelle half looked, half squinted at him. ‘How did you know I drank JD and Diet Coke?’

Hunter shrugged. ‘I guessed.’

More of a squint this time as she studied his face. ‘No, you didn’t. You knew. How did you know?’

Hunter took a seat and sipped his drink.

‘How did you know I drink Jack Daniel’s and Diet Coke?’ Michelle’s voice was more demanding this time, but not aggressively so.

Hunter put his drink down. ‘Just simple observation.’

His answer didn’t suffice.

Her stare didn’t soften.

‘You have a picture frame on your desk,’ Hunter finally explained.

Michelle thought about it for a moment.

Almost hidden behind one of the computer monitors on her desk was a photograph of Michelle with the vocalist and the guitarist of an American rock band called Hinder. They were all smiling and raising their glasses toward the camera in a toasting gesture. The band members were clearly drinking whiskey shots, while Michelle’s glass was filled with what look liked Coke, though the look in her eyes betrayed a sober state. The picture frame the photograph was in was a novelty Jack Daniel’s bottle-shaped frame.

Michelle’s smile was sincere. ‘That’s not bad,’ she said. ‘But how did you know I drank Diet Coke and not regular Coke, or Pepsi, or Tab, or something similar?’

‘The wastebasket by your desk,’ Hunter replied.

A new smile. Michelle knew that at any given time there would be at least one can of Diet Coke in her wastebasket or on her desk. She much preferred it to coffee, and drank several cans of it a day. ‘That’s not bad at all.’ She reached for her drink and touched glasses with Hunter. ‘Here’s to observation and simple deduction. No wonder you’re a detective. And yes, JD and Diet Coke is my favorite drink. Thank you.’ She had a quick sip before her eyes darted over Hunter’s left shoulder, lingering there for a few seconds.

‘Everything OK?’ Hunter asked without turning around.

‘There was a guy sitting behind you at the bar, right at the very end by the entrance. He just left, but I think I know him from somewhere.’

‘Short blond hair, nose ring, a two-day-old stubble, about one hundred and forty pounds . . . Was wearing a jeans jacket over a black T-shirt and drinking beer with tequila chasers?’ Hunter asked. Still he didn’t turn around.

‘That’s him,’ Michelle replied. ‘Do you know him?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘I saw him sitting there when I came in. Looked like he’d been there for a while.’

Michelle chuckled. ‘You saw him when you came in, probably for a couple of seconds, and you remember all that about him?’

Hunter half nodded, half shrugged.

‘You do that observation thing without even knowing that you’re doing it anymore, don’t you? A good detective is never off duty, always watchful, always prepared.’

Hunter said nothing.

Her eyes circled the bar area for a quick instant before she leaned forward and placed both elbows on the table. ‘OK. Test. Group of four over your left shoulder by the bar counter, about halfway up. Hair color?’

Hunter sat back, having another sip of his Scotch, his eyes studying Michelle.

‘C’mon, humor me, Robert. Hair color?’

‘Both women are blonde,’ Hunter finally said, without looking over his shoulder. ‘Though neither of them is natural. One has shoulder-length hair; the other one’s is slightly longer, pulled back into a ponytail. One of the men has light brown curly hair; the other guy has dyed black wavy hair with pronounced sideburns.’

‘Age group?’

‘All four in their early thirties.’

‘Drinks?’

‘The women are drinking white wine, the men are both having beer – curly hair is drinking Mexican with a lemon slice down the bottle’s neck. Wavy hair is drinking Bud.’

‘Anything else you can tell me?’ Michelle asked.

‘It’s probably their first double date, because all four of them seem a little tense. Body language indicated that wavy hair and ponytail blonde will hit it on, probably tonight, but the other two, I’m not so sure. She doesn’t look very impressed. She’s probably there more to help her friend.’

Michelle looked at Hunter with a faint smile on her lips but said nothing for a moment or two, obviously weighing up something in her mind. ‘You certainly are a very interesting and intriguing man, Robert.’

Hunter wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

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