Heart of the World by Linda Barnes

interested in our discussion. I caught the bartender's eye and nodded at the TV screen. He upped the volume on a sports news show and the customers’ eyes flickered to the screen.
    â€œOkay, Marta,” I said, “this happened months ago, right?”
    â€œRight.” Her eyes flickered, just a sideways glance at the surface of the table, just a slight aversion to meeting my eyes.
    â€œBut something happened more recently, this week, last week?”
    Silence.
    â€œMarta, don’t you want to get back to work? Bartender's doing a good job greeting people. They might realize they don’t need you.”
    She glared at me, the mascara so thick on her lashes, I wondered if she could feel the heavy goo. “It's nothing.”
    â€œMarta! Just tell me.”
    â€œOkay, okay, when the lady calls from Carlito and asks can he have her picture, I go along. What's so wrong with that?”
    â€œWhat lady? What picture?”
    â€œHey, let go, you’re hurting me.”
    I wasn’t sure when I’d caught her arm, but she was right; my fingers were fastened like tentacles to her wrist. The rage that had growled behind my eyes ever since I’d left the crummy apartment on Orchard Court Road pounded at my temples. There was movement behind me, to my right, quick footsteps from soft-soled shoes.
    â€œNo cat fights, ladies.” The bartender's hand was heavy on my shoulder; maybe he doubled as the bouncer.
    When I smiled up at him, it felt more like baring my teeth. I forcedmy hand to let go of Marta. “It's just business,” I said. “I’m working for her, looking for her daughter.”
    I waited to see whether Marta would deny it. Her lips parted, closed, then parted again, her tongue pale against her dark lipstick. “Is okay, Greg.”
    â€œGregor Maltic?”
    â€œYeah.”
    A broad gold wedding band circled the third finger of his left hand. A rich unmarried customer. Right.
    â€œYou two go out together?” I asked him.
    â€œSo?” Cool blue eyes in a broad Slavic face. Narrow shoulders and hips. He wore a thin white shirt and khaki pants, but I didn’t know whether that was a job requirement or a fashion choice.
    â€œNone of my business,” I said, “unless you happen to know where her daughter is.”
    â€œThen it's none of your business. Why don’t you get the hell out of here, stop pestering the lady?”
    I found myself contemplating assault for the second time in a single day. I could stomp his toe with a booted foot, land a hard one in his gut. Spend the night in jail. Accomplish nothing. With effort, I turned away, leveling my gaze at my little sister's mother. Gregor Maltic locked eyes with Marta, then measured eight long steps toward the bar.
    â€œOkay,” I said, “a woman phoned you. What was her name?”
    â€œShe didn’t say. She was calling for Roldan, like a secretary or something. She didn’t say much, just could I leave a photo of Paolina in the mailbox, and she’ll come by and pick it up.” Her right arm rested on the table. There were angry marks where I’d grabbed her wrist.
    â€œWhat did she look like?”
    â€œHow am I supposed to know? You think I got a phone with pictures?”
    â€œYou never saw her?”
    â€œThe photo was gone, so she came okay. I’m a busy woman. I work. I don’t stay home all the time.”
    No need to ask whether the unseen woman had paid for Paolina's photo. Three hundred-dollar bills in the sugar bowl.
    â€œAnd when Paolina disappeared, you never mentioned this?” I said flatly.
    â€œWhy would I? A woman calls for a picture, that's all. What's the harm in a woman?”
    What's the harm in a stranger demanding a photograph of a teenage girl? I opened my mouth to ask which planet she lived on; I wanted to call her a stupid bitch, smack her across her lipsticked mouth.
    â€œPaolina ran away,” she said, like it