Hunting a Killer

Chapter 1 Mika rolled the beer bottle between his hands, his thoughts on what he’d found when he walked into the house less than a week ago—the bodies of his mother and brother slaughtered in what the police were calling a home invasion gone wrong. “Maybe they’re right,” he said under his breath. He didn’t believe it. He hadn’t when they’d first suggested it, or at his mother’s funeral when the pastor tried to comfort him by telling him the police would find whoever was responsible. “Ready for another one?” the bartender asked. “Does it look like I am?” Mika replied bitingly, holding up the bottle which was almost full. “You’ve been nursing that for the last half hour. If you’re not going to drink it, I suggest you find somewhere else to kill time. There’s people waiting for seats.” Mika wanted to tell him to f**k off but didn’t. With the mood he was in, he might be tempted to take it farther than that. Ending up in jail on a drunk-and-disorderly charge wasn’t something he wanted to happen, especially since he was sober. Carefully setting the bottle down, he got up and wended his way through the crowd toward the bar’s front door. The bouncer’s hand on his shoulder before he got there stopped him, as did the man saying, “You might want to pay for your drink.” “Or not,” Mika muttered, but he walked back and slapped down the price of the beer on the bar. The bouncer had followed him, probably to make certain he did pay, Mika figured. Now he said with a trace of amusement, “No tip?” “For what?” Mika replied angrily, his hands fisting. “Being hassled because I didn’t order a second, and a third?” “Kick it down a notch,” the bouncer said. “Whatever your problem is, don’t take it out on me or him.” He gestured toward the bartender. “Yeah. Sorry.” He wasn’t, but he didn’t want any trouble, either. Digging out a dollar, he put it on top of the rest of the cash. “Happy?” The bouncer smiled. “Ecstatic.” Mika rolled his eyes at what he figured was the bouncer’s idea of a joke, and then headed to the front entrance again. The man was right behind him until they got there. Then, with a mocking bow, he opened the door for Mika, saying, “Have a good evening.” As Mika moved past him, the bouncer added, “Name’s Buck, by the way. If you want to talk about whatever’s got your tail in a twist, I’ll listen, between checking IDs.” “Wouldn’t do any good,” Mika replied. “Talking won’t change anything.” He was surprised Buck had offered. Bored and wanting something to do? Probably. “True, but it might help you see things differently.” “A psychiatrist bouncer?” Buck shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been working in bars long enough to know that most of the time all drinking does is bury the problem, rather than solving it.” “Since I wasn’t drinking…” “I saw. If I had to guess, I’d say you were hiding. Probably not from someone, but from something, and it’s pretty bad from the expressions I saw on your face a couple of times.” “You were watching me?” Mika didn’t like that idea in the least. “Why?” Buck shrugged. “I’m a people person…” He paused to ask a couple who looked barely out of their teens for their ID. Apparently they passed, because he let them in. “As I was saying, I’m interested in people and what makes them tick.” He chuckled. “Usually, I don’t find out, so I let my imagination take over. It kills the time.” “So in my case you decided to find out?” Buck lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, sometimes talking helps.” “Sometimes it brings back things you wish you could forget,” Mika retorted. “Look, thanks for offering to listen but…” He shook his head, stepped outside, and walked away. * * * * Buck was tempted to go after him, and might have if he wasn’t working. He did take a moment, when he had the chance, to ask the bartender if the guy—I didn’t get his name and should have—had been in before tonight. He thought he’d have recognized him if he had, but he wanted to be certain one way or the other. “The man who was taking up space?” the bartender asked dryly. “Nope. Never saw him before. Why?” “Just wondered. Did he say anything other than ordering a drink?” “Nope. Thanks for getting him back here to pay.” Buck smiled. “It’s part of the job, if I do catch someone trying not to. In his case, I don’t think it was intentional, but still.” “Yeah, well either way, thanks.” Buck went back to the door, keeping one eye on the people coming in—and another on the men and women already inside—looking for potential problems. He wondered if the guy would be back sometime and figured probably not. Whatever his problem is, he’s not about to talk about it to a stranger. Or a friend, I suspect, or he wouldn’t have been here thinking about drowning his sorrows. Wonder why he changed his mind? Not that I’ll ever find out.