At the Mine Shaft Tavern in Madrid Brenda sat on a barstool in front of the forty-foot wooden bar. The place was just dark enough. Neon signs illuminated the backdrop of the bar. The place was weighted with stale cigarette smoke, western memorabilia and cowboy kitsch. A pool table sat in the center of the back room, cue sticks lined up against the wall. The bartender was a stocky hunk of a man with long brown hair grown out of control. It was Margarita hour. Brenda motioned to him, and he set a drink in front of her.
She eyed her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She had been a patron here ever since moving from Colorado. These were her type of people: rowdy, nonconformist, but all hard-drinking bar-friendly folks. She never fit into the haughty Santa Fe night scene. It was too phony for her. Everything was just fine here. She was dressed in a short skirt, a black Lycra top and leather boots, all of which accentuated her well-toned physique. There was no question that she was fit and strong. A group of regulars hunched over their drinks, cigarette ashes dropping casually to the floor as they discussed football, the economy, and women in general.
Jemimah drove into the Tavern parking lot. She was there to meet Tim McCabe. She spotted his familiar silver Hummer rumbling toward the parking lot. She placed her notes back in her briefcase and stepped out of the car. It was seven o’clock, but the sun was taking its time slipping behind the mountain. She waved at McCabe. They walked into the bar together, hoping to encounter Brenda in her element. Julie the barmaid came over to greet them and directed them to a corner table where they could observe people coming and going. Jemimah introduced herself and McCabe and they both ordered Budweiser on tap.
As the bartender poured beer into glass mugs and slid them across the bar to Julie, Brenda motioned for a refill on her rum and Coke. Julie carried the tray to McCabe and Jemimah and placed the beer on their table. She leaned over to hand them napkins.
“She’s here,” she said to Jemimah. I’ll point her out to you.
Julie worked her way across the room over to Brenda, wiping tables in her path. She motioned to Jemimah, then picked up Brenda’s empty glass, took it behind the bar and placed it in a plastic bag. Oblivious, the bartender continued to mix drinks and unpack cases of liquor. Julie handed the bagged glass with Brenda’s fingerprints to Jemimah. McCabe would deliver it to the Forensics lab.