Man of Wax by Robert Swartwood Page B

whispered.  
    “I’m not.”  
    “Sure.” The man stepped back, touched his ear—I now saw he wore a Bluetooth—and said, “Start the transmission.” He got back into the car.  
    I stood there, watching the car pull away and drive down to the next block, disappear around a corner, then turned and stared at the two cops down the street just as another police cruiser pulled up. It hadn’t been too long that the shooting occurred; they had made decent time, though it hadn’t been soon enough.  
    Don’t even think about it .  
    Right.  
    I entered the Sundown Saloon.

 
     
     
    20

    For lack of a better word, the Sundown Saloon was a dive. It was smoky and dim, people at tables and booths and the bar, talking and listening to what sounded like country music or just watching one of the half dozen TVs posted around the room.  
    I went directly toward the back where the restrooms were located. I stood at the urinal acting like I was taking a piss but was really waiting for the two guys who were already in here to finish up and leave. Once they were gone, I turned away and approached the sinks and stared at myself in the mirror.  
    Like the man in the car said, there wasn’t much bruising. Mostly just some dirt on my cheek which had been pressed down onto the sidewalk. I took off the glasses, set them aside, turned on the water and cupped some in my hand. I splashed my face twice, wiped it with paper towels, went to put the glasses back on but stopped.  
    This is for your own good .  
    That was what one of my assailants had said to me right as they tried to get me into the van. Right before the shooting started and Simon’s men came to my rescue.  
    The restroom door opened and an old biker came in coughing up a lung.  
    I slipped the glasses back on my face, left the restroom, and headed for the bar.

    •     •     •

    J UST LIKE THE man that wasn’t Simon told me to do, I ordered a Budweiser and waited at the end of the bar. I waited for nearly ten minutes, nursing the beer, before she arrived.  
    She was the type of woman that literally made heads turn. She came in through the entrance and everyone looked her way, even the women. She was tall and blond and gorgeous, wearing a tight black top with a short black skirt and black four-inch heels. She had the kind of flawless, beautiful face you’d expect to find on glossy fashion magazines at the checkout lines at the grocery store.  
    And she walked directly up to me.  
    “Romeo?” she asked.  
    For a moment my mind was a complete blank. Then I nodded.  
    She smiled and extended her petite hand. “I’m Juliet.”  
    I shook her hand but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything; this woman’s beauty literally made me speechless.  
    The smile didn’t leave her face. It was the kind of smile that knew it had power over people, especially men.  
    She asked, “Don’t you want to buy me a drink?”  
    I nodded and motioned at the bartender. He came over almost instantly, eager to take the woman’s order.  
    “A Cosmopolitan, please,” she said.  
    The bartender gave me a wicked grin before he turned away to mix the drink. Amid the country music and all the talking, I heard the faint ringing of a telephone behind the bar.  
    “So,” Juliet said, climbing up on the stool next to mine. “How long are you in town?”  
    Before I could answer (assuming I could even find my voice), the barman called out, “Are you Chase?”  
    I looked over to find him standing there with a portable phone held against his chest. I nodded and he said, “Call for you,” and handed me the phone.  
    I sat there with the phone in my hand, not sure what to do. I glanced at Juliet and she smiled back at me and said, “I think I’ll go freshen up,” leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before standing up and heading toward the restrooms. I watched her go, unable to take my eyes off her swaying ass, still smelling a waft of her perfume left