END OF CHAPTER 12

"Diamonds?" Peter paused, not wanting to sound overly interested. "What else can you tell me about tonight's call?" 

CHAPTER 13

Thirty minutes later, Costello’s car pulled into a parking space outside the Watering Hole. The driver exited the vehicle and opened the rear door. His bulging arm muscles strained against the material in his suit jacket. He wasn’t the standard chauffeur type, a cross between aristocrat and bouncer sprinkled with bits of a thug.  

The man who exited the vehicle was the total opposite. Costello’s tailored business suit announced money, power, and sophistication. He reached into his pocket, removed a white linen handkerchief, and pressed it to his nose and mouth. Garbage bags on the curb were ripped open and pilfered by either man or beast. The smell of stale booze, rotting food, and other unknown odors greeted the two men.  

“Lord have mercy.” Costello shook his head in disgust and stepped into the street. “Grab the bag, Bruiser.” The driver retrieved a small leather bag from the seat and closed the car door. He quickly joined his boss. 

“Squalor.” Peter scanned the neighborhood. “How do people live like this?”  Not expecting an answer, he stepped around a greasy smear on the broken sidewalk and headed toward the bar door. 

Bruiser opened the door, stepped in, and quickly scanned the bar before nodding to Peter. The dimly lit place was empty. The sunrise filtered through dust-laden shutters and dirty windows. Liquor boxes cluttered the bar top. Busy restocking, Sandy yelled, “Sorry, I am not open yet. I had a late night. Come back in an hour.” 

“My boss wants to talk to you — now.” Bruiser snarled. 

Not recognizing the unfriendly voice, Sandy spun around. “Come back when —” She froze, her entire body tensed, stopping her from fleeing.  

Bruiser’s immense figure caught her off guard, but she’d met his kind before, so she struggled to regain her composure. So he stepped to the side, revealing his boss and icy fingers strummed her spine.  

Peter remained where he was standing, offering a charming smile. “I’m afraid it won’t be convenient for me to come back, so I hope you can spare a moment or two.” 

Sandy wiped her hands on a bar cloth. With more conviction than she felt, she asked, “I — I doubt I have a choice. What’s this about?” 

“Sandy — it is Sandy, right?” He’d done his homework before they arrived in Shanty Town. Peter moved forward, offering Sandy his hand. “I’m Peter —” 

“Costello. I’m aware of who you are.” Sandy’s knees were trembling, but she refused to let it show. “As I said, the bar isn’t open yet.” 

The driver claimed a stool near the door, opened the bag, setting a stack of wrapped bills on the bar.  

“Sandy, I want to have a little conversation between friends.” 

“Friends? We’ve never met, Mr. Costello.” She felt the quiver in her voice, but she refused to look away. 

Without looking in Bruiser’s direction, Peter snapped his fingers, and the stack of wrapped bills slid their way. Bruiser reached into the bag, replacing the stack with a matching bundle. 

“I want us to be friends. So, won’t you make an exception, Sandy?” 

“You trying to bribe me? For what?” Sandy stared at the money. “I’m just a bartender in Shanty Town.” 

“Ouch! A little edgy this morning, are we?” Peter looked around the bar before continuing in a softer tone, “It’s not a bribe. I just want to be friends. Consider the money payment for a glass of bourbon.” 

“Kind of early for bourbon, isn’t it?” Sandy’s hands were beginning to sweat. She didn’t know what he wanted, but it couldn’t be good, regardless of his attempt at charming her. 

The aroma of fresh coffee brewing had teased Peter’s nostrils when they’d entered. “You are right about the bourbon. How about sharing a cup of coffee? I promise to be the perfect gentleman, and it won’t take long.” 

She knew he wouldn’t leave unless he wanted to go. “One cup of coffee, and that’s all.” Sandy forced her eyes to look at him, but her lips were tightly pressed together. 

He smiled. “Now, that’s better.”  Peter approached the bar and chose a stool.  

“Coffee is in the kitchen.” Sandy turned and hurried to the other end of the bar and disappeared. She exhaled and leaned against the kitchen wall, breathing heavily, trying to gain control of her nerves. She couldn’t imagine what Costello wanted from her, but with the cash he was flashing, it couldn’t be good. She imagined the stack of bills was more significant than a month’s worth of receipts. 

She stared at the back door, wondering if she should run, but the thought of the stack of money sitting on the bar trumped her fear. She muttered unconvincingly to herself, “It’s only coffee.”  

She grabbed three mugs from the hooks and the coffee pot, took a deep breath, and returned to her unwelcome guests.   

She gave Bruiser the steaming brew and then walked toward Peter. She filled their two mugs and set the pot behind her on the sink. Neither of them spoke. 

Finally, Sandy broke the silence. “So, Mr. Costello —” 

“Call me Peter. We’re friends, remember.” 

Sandy swallowed her coffee, hoping the caffeine would bolster her confidence. “Okay, Peter, what do you think I can do for you?” 

Costello looked around the bar. “A nice place you got here. It needs a little sprucing up, but it’s clean.” 

“It belonged to my dad. It was his piece of America after coming from his homeland. After he passed, I tried to keep his dream alive. The people around here don’t have much, so I try to keep it a safe, happy place.” 

“Guess things got out of hand last night, huh?” Peter stared at Sandy, watching her reaction. 

Sandy set her cup on the table. “Last night?” A shiver ran down her spine as she wondered how he knew about the thugs and Rudy. “What do you mean?” 

“The beating in the alley. You were there, right?”  Peter’s eyes didn’t stray from her face. 

“How do you —” Sandy swallowed hard and raised her cup to her lips. Unable to drink, she returned the cup to the table. “It was only hours ago.” 

Peter chuckled. “I make it my job to know things, including what happens in Shanty Town.” 

“Those thugs weren’t locals. Poor Rudy would have given them the shirt off his back. They didn’t need to beat him.” 

“What do you think they wanted?” Peter watched her. “Did Rudy have something worthwhile?” 

“Rudy was — is a harmless old man. Him and his son come in every night to drown their sorrows, and then they go home to a little shack in need of a lot of repairs. No one would have killed a man for a few coins.” 

“So why do you think they did it?” Peter studied her face and her body reactions. He sensed the change from nervousness to survival mode. 

“I already told the police I don’t know anything. It’s better that way.” 

Peter nodded, and suddenly, another stack of bills slid down the bar toward them. “I admire your loyalty to your neighbors. But I need to know a few things. So, Sandy, why don’t you tell me exactly what went down last night?” He paused. “Especially the part about the diamonds.” 

Sandy tried to lift the coffee cup off the table, but her hands shook uncontrollably. She left the cup on the table. Fear coursed through her veins. “Di — diamonds?” 

Peter reached across to her, taking her hands in his own. “You don’t have to be afraid. I told you we’re friends.” He rubbed the back of her hand and smiled. “Friends share things. You’ve had a rough night, and I’m trying to console you. Just share what’s bothering you, and everything will be okay. I promise.” 

Sandy closed her eyes. She’d never been so terrified in her life. She knew his father killed people and suspected this man could do the same. She whispered, “I don’t — I don’t know.” 

A stool scraped across the bar floor. Bruiser stood, staring at his boss and Sandy, but returned to his stool when Peter raised his hand. 
 

Peter’s voice was smooth and calming, “Sure you do. I’m holding your hand, and it’s all going to be okay. Just tell me what happened, okay?” Sandy’s eyes shifted to the end of the bar. “Don’t worry about him. He was stretching his legs, that’s all. He’s not going to hurt you.” He squeezed her hand. “Bruiser, tell our friend Sandy that you won’t hurt her.” 

Bruiser smiled at Sandy. He looked like the Cheshire Cat. “I’m a pussy cat, sweetheart. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

Sandy didn’t believe one word.