Drayco traced a line around the rim of his glass, watching the beads of condensation drip down the sides. Drip, drip, drip, turning his paper napkin coaster into a transparent, pulpy mess. Fitting, that. He’d made it to his hearing in time, but almost wished he hadn’t. Three hours of grilling made him realize what a barbecued steak feels like.
He motioned for the bartender to fill up the glass, as a voice boomed over his shoulder, “That your second or third?”
Drayco glanced up at Sarg, “You stalking me?”
“Didn’t have to. How many batshit cases did we wrap up and ‘celebrate’ in pseudo-seedy dives like this one? I lost count. Figured this is the place you’d come after that board hearing farce today.”
Drayco raised his now-full glass in Sarg’s direction. “Thanks for speaking on my behalf. You and Gonzo made me sound like I deserve a halo. Spread it on a bit thick, didn’t you?”
“Both Detective Gonzalez and I know better than to crown you with a halo, junior. All of us burned our Boy Scout badges years ago. This kind of job’ll do that to a guy.”
Sarg had the bartender bring him a soda, and Drayco pointed to it. “No beer?”
“You took a taxi, I gather, or otherwise you wouldn’t be drinking. I didn’t.”
“Elaine’s not going to like you coming home this late. It’s what, ten?”
“Ten-thirty, but who’s counting. Had some work downtown after the hearing, anyway. I can go into the Bureau late tomorrow.”
Sarg raised his voice to be heard over both the growing bar crowd and the music as it cranked up a notch. “I think those two board members, Peggs and Scarpato, won over Saul Bobeck. Despite his shady ties to Mayor Kozell. Got a good feeling they’ll rule in your favor.”
Drayco shrugged and looked around at the sea of bar patrons, not uncommon in this part of Adams Morgan along 18th Street. Some of the bars were more frou-frou, not like the Black Heaven’s brick-and-steel decor and its fried fare in finger form. But rivers of alcohol plus uncaged cubicle tigers mingling with the hip-hop crowd made for an electric atmosphere and frequent brawls.
Sarg swirled the soda around in his glass. “Used to wonder why you liked this place. You called it one of your ‘people watching’ spots. And something about the negatively charged energy attracting you.”
Drayco studied Sarg’s paper coaster. Still nice and dry. “Didn’t feel like going home, that’s all. Too quiet.”
“You’d usually pound the piano after something like that hearing mess.”
“Didn’t feel like that, either. Haven’t been near my piano in two days.”
Sarg squinted up at one of the nuclear-bright red lights behind the bar that was aimed right at his face. He looked like a zombie escapee from a horror film, and Drayco almost laughed.
As if reading Drayco’s mind, Sarg got up to move his bar stool. “Two days away from the piano. A lifetime for you. You usually take something like this sham hearing in stride.”
“Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
Sarg nodded and guzzled some soda. “More nightmares?”
“Some.”
“You ever see a doc about that?”
Drayco shook his head.
A group of young men at the back of the bar erupted into loud cheers as a couple of young women got up on the tables and started dancing. Sarg raised his voice again. “You didn’t tell me much about your second meeting with your mother. Still not talking?”
“Said she’d trusted few people in her life. She trusted Jerold, then he double-crossed her with a new partner. She doesn’t know who.”
“That’s more than she’s said before. So, that’s why she set up the meeting with him the night he was murdered?”
“Allegedly. But being dead meant he’d robbed her of her chance to ‘get back’ at him.”
“And she stabs the corpse instead. Oh, brother. You believe any of that?”
“I don’t know.”
Sarg tugged on his ear. “Would help to know where she’s been all this time. Any luck tracking her?”
“Not much, but I have a friend in Scotland working on that end.” Drayco peered at Sarg over his glass. “Have you?”
His former partner smiled. “You knew I couldn’t not try, didn’t you?”
“Would have been surprised if you hadn’t.”
“Too bad I’ve been every bit as productive as you. Bupkis. She doesn’t exist as far as the databases go. Pretty rare these days. Especially with zero social media presence. And Brisbane is so clean, he probably doesn’t have fingerprints.”
Sarg took a swig from his soda. “Maura mentioned a new partner, eh? Maybe Gogo’s hatred of Jerold was all an act. Maybe Gogo was Jerold’s new wheeler-dealer.”
The cheers at the rear of the bar grew louder as more patrons poured through the door, and the room began to resemble a newly opened can of sardines that smelled as bad. Drayco uttered a laugh that sounded to his ears like it had come from someone else. “She said she didn’t want me to know what kind of person she was.”
“Meaning?”
“I mentioned the phrase ‘con woman’ once, and she didn’t correct me. My Scottish ex-Interpol connection told me the Brisbane clan are part of a group known as Scottish lowland gypsy Travellers. And that the Brisbanes have a history of minor run-ins with the law.”
“We should find out where Alistair Brisbane lives. March right up the front door. Bring him some cupcakes or something.”
“I already know.”
Sarg frowned. “Yeah, when did you find that out?”
“Last night. Just in case I lost Brisbane’s limo after his meeting near the Capitol, I made another call to a well-placed connection—don’t ask me who, he’s allergic to law enforcement types—and dug up the address. It was bought under an LLC based in New Mexico that isn’t tied to Brisbane publicly.”
“You check out the address in person?”
“I’d need to hire a helicopter or boat.”
“He lives on an island?”
“Private. Sixteen acres with a beach, Federal-style main home, guest house, office, and a boat dock and helipad. Only twenty minutes from there to Potomac Airfield via a chopper. The previous homeowner was a Rockefeller.”
“Why didn’t Maura live there? That’s one way to keep her out of trouble.”
“Guess she didn’t want to. Maybe even Brisbane isn’t so controlling he’d be willing to keep his sister a virtual prisoner.”
Someone bumped into Drayco, but that wasn’t what made him turn around. The fevered pitch from the rowdy group had taken on a different tone, a sound creating bubbling brown blobs of tar to his ears. That sound usually meant one thing—the aural equivalent to him of a dog growling with a mix of anger and fear. Sure enough, the cheers morphed into screams, and fists started flying.
Drayco slammed his glass down, stood up, and headed for the group. But a bear lock around his chest that rivaled Iago’s held him back, and he felt himself being hauled toward the door and outside into the cold air. Sarg only let go of him to half-push him down the street and into a quieter bar where he deposited Drayco into a chair at a table.
Drayco rubbed his arm. “What was that all about?” Sarg still had a few impressive moves left over from his ex-Ranger days. Almost put Iago to shame.
“I saw that look in your eye. You weren’t headed for that crowd to stop the fight. You were going to join in, weren’t you?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Negatively charged energy. You know you’re not an ion, right?”
Drayco managed a slight smile. “Anion.”
“What?”
“If an atom gains electrons and has a net negative charge, it’s called an anion.”
“Whatever. You’ve got bunches of particles in you, yay for you. But that brain of yours is supposed to have evolved beyond that whole limbic animal stuff. Getting rounded up by cops isn’t going to help your board case or your mother.”
Sarg signaled for the waitress and ordered a couple of black coffees and some water. “I saw it a lot in the Rangers. Hours, days, weeks of staying focused. Being expected to keep it together despite the world going to hell around you. That pent-up human magma has to blow some time.”
“I’m fine.”
“Like hell you’re fine.”
Drayco stared at the table. “Maybe Richard Feynman was right.”
“Who’s he?”
“Famous physicist who said, ‘The first principle is you must not fool yourself, but you are the easiest person to fool.’”
The waitress returned with their cups, prompting Sarg to pull a bottle out of his pocket and hand it over.
Drayco picked it up. “Aspirin?”
“That beer you were on was at least your third, maybe fourth or fifth. Take the aspirin, drink the coffee.”
“You don’t usually carry aspirin with you.”
“I came prepared.”
That prompted a small smile from Drayco. “You know this bromance thing could never last.”
Sarg grinned. “Just take the damned aspirin, would you?”
Drayco did and then grabbed his coffee to pour some salt into it. He stirred it in and took a sip. Just right. When he reached for the aspirin bottle again, Sarg said, “Two’s enough.”
“I know. This made me think of something the veterinarian said.”
“That Dr. White guy you almost missed your hearing for?”
“He said he wondered how you knew what you’re really getting, thanks to Chinese fakes. And that he almost accidentally mixed up some meds once.”
“Not following. Drink more coffee.”
“I’m not drunk. It’s something Jerold Zamorra’s elderly neighbor said. And putting two and two together, I’m getting five.”
“Drink. Now. You’ll feel better and think better in the morning. And try some of that melatonin when you get home. You need your sleep. Maybe we’ll stop by the grocery on the way to your place. Elaine swears by tart cherry juice. Even better than melatonin.”
Drayco relaxed and felt the negative energy draining away. Sleep sounded pretty good. And while five might sound like the wrong number, he had a sinking feeling it would turn out to be the right answer in the end. He took another sip of the coffee and plotted a con artist scheme of his own.