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long and shiny.
    They ate silently, talking just occasionally.
    What struck him so hard was that you would never know.
    They looked just like everybody else in there. Ordinary people. Better looking maybe than most couples but other than that…
    He could barely keep his mind on Ensminger and Thompson drinking drafts in front of him enough to keep their glasses filled. They were talking about fifties music or some damn thing and tried to involve him now and then but what did he know about fifties music, and what did he care? He much preferred the trio of housewives down at the end of the bar who were nursing their drinks and bitching about their families. They’d leave him a lousy tip. But at least they were leaving him alone.
    He took to polishing glasses, mindless activity, so he could watch them.
    He saw nothing that would call the slightest attention to them. They were invisible.
    He made himself an iced tea with lemon and sipped it through a straw.
    By about twenty after ten, they finished eating and were working on their coffee—and Wayne was starting to get nervous.
    Dammit!
    If there were only some way to get out from behind this bar, then maybe he could follow them. Find out who they were and where they lived.
    He had to stop himself from snapping at Ensminger when he ordered another beer. Not that the fucking idiot would notice, anyway. He was already more than halfway in the bag. He hoped he wrapped his fucking Honda Civic around a goddamn tree.
    He was a slave to this place!
    None of the waitresses could cover for him. And none of the other bartenders were on tonight.
    He was on his own.
    It wasn’t fair. To be this close. To the mystery. To knowing them.
    To finding out what it felt like.
    He knew by now that eventually he had to talk to them. His life, his happiness and sanity, depended upon it.
    He’d thought of literally nothing else for two nights running. There was something he needed from them. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something. Poking and prodding its way into his sleep, into his daydreams. He met the feeling coming and going. It was everywhere.
    Sure, probably there’d be other times. Other chances. They’d come in again or at least the man would, he had in the past and there was every reason to figure he would again. It could be weeks, though. Months!
    He felt a tightness in his throat.
    Something wanted saying.
    Something wanted doing.
    He shoved Ensminger’s beer in front of him, took a five out of the man’s change and went to the register, scooped a dollar and a half out of the cash drawer and slapped it down on the bar.
    And then looked back to their table.
    And smiled.
    Because Lacy was standing in front of them. Polite and smiling, accepting the man’s credit card. His Visa or his MasterCard.
    Which meant he didn’t have to follow them.
    Because the card would have a name. And the card would come to him. To the register.
    The name that was on the card would be in the telephone book.
    It had to be.
    “Buy you one?” he said to Ensminger and Thompson.
    They looked at him. Wayne was buying?
    He knew that look. They were going into the book for that.
    RETAL.
    It didn’t matter. He still felt expansive.
    He considered that it wasn’t going to hurt his tip any either.
    He poured the beers even though Ensminger was only half-finished with the one he’d just served him and grinning, who the hell cared how he looked to them? waited for Lacy.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Lieutenant Joseph Rule brushed some imaginary lint off his slacks and regarded his therapist from across the room. Marty as usual was getting right to the point.
    Some days, he thought, I could deck you. You strike like a goddamn snake.
    “What did she say to me?” he said.
    Marty didn’t look like a therapist. He was built like a small Black Angus bull actually and if Rule did decide to deck him he probably should get an upgrade on his medical insurance before he tried.
    “She told me to go away, basically. Not to