| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted November 20, 2024 | Chapters: |
...14 15 -16- 
|
Another twist as the story grows
A chapter in the book Miracles
Miracles - Chap 16
by Begin Again
"Poppa, I can't believe you managed to uncover so much on this Johnny guy in such a short time," Tango said, shaking his head with a hint of admiration. "You've been busy."
Poppa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that hard when the guy doesn't have much to hide. He was just an ordinary Joe, trying to keep his head above water. His only real downfall? Thinking he could be a pool hustler."
"You think that's what went down with him and Donatelli? We all know our friend loves cracking the balls."
"I can picture him shooting the table, sure, but it doesn't explain how this guy ends up dead in Donatelli's car at the bottom of the lake. And as for Donatelli himself — where the hell is he?"
"Not a clue," Tango replied, his tone darkening. "No one on the team's been able to track his whereabouts. The boss is convinced Doyle's behind this."
"Doyle?" Poppa raised an eyebrow. "I know that slimeball threatened everyone, but I don't see the connection between him, Donatelli, and our dead guy."
"With us getting booted off the case and Vince Rossi showing up with Maxwell, Garth thinks it's a frame job."
"A pretty damn good one if it is," Poppa muttered. "Finding a dead man in your car, then vanishing? It's like a neon sign pointing to him."
"Yeah, but we both know Donatelli isn't a murderer," Tango said firmly. "Something else is going on here, and we've got to figure out what it is."
Poppa nodded grimly. "If Rossi's involved, we better work fast. Otherwise, we might end up fishing Donatelli's body out of the lake next."
"Did you get anything on where this Johnny guy liked to hang out?"
"Yeah, I started checking bars near where we found the car," Poppa replied, flipping through his notes. "Turns out there's a biker bar not far from there. A place called the Hideaway. Real upstanding establishment, by the sound of it."
Tango chuckled. "Perfect. Should we flip for who gets to visit the fine establishment and who plays lookout?"
Poppa grinned. "As much as I know you'd love to mingle with the locals, I think this one's all mine. Your face was all over the crime scene earlier. Just in case someone's been paying attention."
"Walked right into that one, didn't I? Guess you win."
"Why, Tango, that's so thoughtful of you." Poppa's grin widened. "Don't worry, I'll tip an extra cold one back for you while I'm at it."
"You're all heart," Tango shot back, laughing. "And while one of those bikers decides he doesn't like your face and plants his fist in it, I'll be enjoying the show from outside."
"Like hell, you will!" Poppa said, shooting him a mock glare. "If things go south, you'd better haul ass into that bar and start busting heads."
"You know I've got your back," Tango grinned. "Now let's go see if our detective had a fondness for the Hideaway."
*****
Poppa walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Neon signs buzzed on the walls, casting jagged reflections on the scratched-up tables and sticky floors. The Hideaway was precisely what he expected — a haven for the rough and restless.
Sliding onto a barstool, he scanned the room. A group of bikers crowded a corner table, a couple shot pool in the back, and a jukebox warbled a tinny country tune. Behind the bar, a young woman with bleach-blonde hair and a tight tank top eyed him curiously as she poured a drink.
"What's your poison, stranger?" she asked, leaning in just enough to catch his attention.
"A cold one," Poppa replied with a polite nod.
Her crimson lips formed a beautiful smile. "Coming right up." She turned away to grab a cold bottle of beer.
Meanwhile, Tango parked his car in the shadows outside, tilting his seat back and angling his head to listen. The bar's muffled noises and Poppa's conversations were loud and clear in the stillness.
The blonde returned with his beer, setting it down with a teasing grin. "You new around here?"
Poppa shrugged, taking a sip. "Just passing through. Heard this was the place to find someone who plays a mean game of pool."
Her smile faltered, and her eyes darted toward a hulking man in a leather vest at the corner of the room. His shaved head gleamed under the dim light, and his thick arms rested possessively on the table's edge.
"Now and then," she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible.
"Anyone here tonight worth challenging?" Poppa asked casually.
Her nervous glance returned to the hulking figure. "No. Johnny was our best —"
Before she could finish, the man — the bouncer, Poppa assumed — was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm too tight to be friendly.
"You're paid to work, not stand around flapping your gums," he growled, his voice a low rumble.
Poppa's eyes narrowed. "Ease up, buddy. She was just making conversation."
Bruiser turned his glare on Poppa, his lips curling into a sneer. "Yeah, well, she tends to offer more than just conversation when the occasion comes along. I don't take kindly to strangers cozying up to my woman."
Poppa held up a hand, his expression calm but sharp. "Hey, man, I'm just looking for a pool game and a cold one. No harm, no foul."
Crystal wrenched free of Bruiser's grip and hurried to the other end of the bar, her hands shaking as she picked up a tray. Bruiser shot one last glare at Poppa before stomping off after her.
Poppa returned to his beer, but the quiet moment didn't last. The door swung open, and in walked Vince Rossi, flanked by two thugs who looked like they'd stepped off the set of a mobster flick.
Rossi didn't even glance at the bar. He strode purposefully toward a door in the back, the thugs trailing behind him.
Poppa's jaw tightened, and he slid his cap down low over his eyes. He took one last sip of his beer before slipping off the stool and heading for the exit.
Outside, Tango sat up as Poppa emerged, his silhouette tense against the glow of the bar's neon lights.
"Well?" Tango asked as Poppa climbed into the car.
Poppa adjusted his cap and buckled his seatbelt. "Rossi's here. Whatever game they're playing, it's bigger than just some missing detective and a dead guy."
Tango's lips thinned. "Think they spotted you?"
"No, but we're on borrowed time. Let's get out of here before someone changes that."
With a growl of the engine, Tango drove out of the shadows and across the parking lot, headed for the exit.
Poppa replayed the scene with Bruiser and Crystal in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right, and Rossi's presence only deepened the mystery.
Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, lurching Poppa forward.
"What the heck, Tango? Are you trying to snap my neck off?" Poppa barked, grabbing the dashboard for support.
Tango threw the car into reverse, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Shut up a second. Look!"
Poppa turned, craning his neck to see a man walking toward the bar's entrance. The man was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and his collar was turned up to shield his face from the chilly night air.
Tango's voice was tinged with excitement. "You remember that guy who slipped through our fingers at the airport? The one the German Embassy helped sneak out before we could nab him?"
Poppa's brow furrowed as the memory surfaced. "Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The boss had us scrambling onto the jet before it even finished fueling — chasing a ghost. And every damn lead we had went cold after that."
"Well," Tango said, pointing toward the bar, "I swear that's him. That's the guy. He just walked into that dive."
Poppa stared hard at the man as he disappeared into the bar. His pulse quickened. "What are the chances? A guy who vanishes into thin air shows up in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere?"
Tango's hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car back into drive. "We can't just sit here. If that's him, we've got to do something."
Poppa grabbed Tango's arm. "Hold on. We can't just barge in there — guns blazing. If Rossi's still inside, he'll recognize us in a heartbeat. And if this guy's working with him, we'll blow our cover."
Tango frowned, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, what do we do? Let him slip away again?"
"No," Poppa said, a sharp edge in his voice. "We tail him. He's got to come out eventually, and when he does, we'll find out where he's headed."
Tango hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm going in if he doesn't come out soon."
Poppa leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes trained on the bar's entrance. "Patience, Tango. We've waited this long. What's a little more time?"
"Forget it. I can't sit here and do nothing. I'm going in."
Tango adjusted his cap and stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he approached the bar's entrance. He didn't intend to draw any attention, just close enough to see what was happening.
Poppa lowered his window, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're not going in there without backup. At least call Garth. He needs to know if this guy is the same one who slipped us before."
Tango hesitated, glancing back. "If I call Garth now and we're wrong, we blow our cover for nothing. Let me see what I can hear first."
Poppa shook his head, pulling out his phone. "You play reconnaissance. I'll keep the boss in the loop. We're not taking chances with this one."
Tango gave a slight nod, then continued toward the bar, keeping a low profile. As Poppa scrolled through his contacts, he muttered, "Better not get yourself in trouble, Tango. Garth's already pissed enough about this mess."
Once inside the bar, Tango kept his distance, lingering by a side table in a dark corner. While balancing a tray of drinks, Crystal darted over to the stock room door as Bruiser emerged, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Bruiser," she whispered, her tone anxious, "while you were in there, some German-looking guy brought in a painting. Went straight into Tony's office."
"A painting?" Bruiser growled, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah. I overheard one of the guys saying it's worth close to a million because the artist is dead."
Bruiser straightened, his expression hardening. "Where's it now?"
"In Tony's office. They didn't even bring it out front."
Bruiser snorted, glancing around the bar. "Is Tony back there?"
"Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago through the back entrance. Didn't even say a thing, just went straight into his office."
"Just keep your mouth shut and do your job. I'll check this out."
Crystal gave a quick nod and hurried off, disappearing behind the bar.
Tango's breath caught as the pieces fell into place. A dead artist. A painting worth a fortune. There was no doubt in his mind now — this wasn't just a coincidence. This had Doyle's fingerprints all over it.
He left the bar and headed to the car without ordering a drink.
Poppa was leaning against the steering wheel, phone to his ear, when Tango slid into the passenger seat. "Garth, I'm telling you, Tango's got a lead. We might have a shot at tracking this guy —"
"I don't have a lead," Tango interrupted, breathless. "I have confirmation."
Poppa's eyebrows shot up as he put the phone on speaker. "You sure?"
Tango nodded. "Crystal — one of the bartenders — was talking to that bouncer guy. Said some German dude brought in a painting worth a million bucks because the artist is dead."
There was a long pause before Garth's voice came over the speaker, low and sharp. "A painting? Dead artist? You're saying Doyle's running his counterfeit scam again?"
"I'm saying it's William," Tango replied, his tone grim. "And if Doyle's dealing, he's funding something big."
Garth cursed under his breath. "Stay on him, but don't make a move. I'll get to you. Doyle's got eyes everywhere."
"Boss, you don't have a car, remember?"
"I'll get Danni to loan me her car." He ended the call and turned in search of Danni.
At that moment, Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Garth, I need to talk to you."
"Not now, Eleanor." He hurried across the room to Danni. "I need your car. The boys have a lead."
"Then I am coming too."
"You should stay here with the others."
"Garth, it's my car, and I'm going."
Not wanting to waste time, he nodded, "Okay, but you stay put if I say so, okay?"
"Sure, sure." Danni agreed, but knowing when and if things went down, she'd be in the midst of it.
As they raced toward the front door, Eleanor tried to stop Garth again. "Garth, this is important. I've found —" Before she could finish her sentence, Garth and Danni were racing toward her car.
*****
Tango leaned back in the seat, his jaw tight. "If William's here, he's not just passing through. We've got to figure out what Doyle's endgame is and fast."
Poppa started the engine, pulling the car deeper into the shadows. "Then we wait and see who walks out of that bar. And if Doyle's pulling the strings, it won't be long before we find out what he's up to."
"Do you think this mess with Donatelli is connected somehow?"
"Too much of a coincidence — same bar, same sleazy people. Yeah, there's a connection somehow."
"But I don't think we are any closer to Donatelli." Tango sighed. "I hate waiting!"
"Poppa, I can't believe you managed to uncover so much on this Johnny guy in such a short time," Tango said, shaking his head with a hint of admiration. "You've been busy."
Poppa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that hard when the guy doesn't have much to hide. He was just an ordinary Joe, trying to keep his head above water. His only real downfall? Thinking he could be a pool hustler."
"You think that's what went down with him and Donatelli? We all know our friend loves cracking the balls."
"I can picture him shooting the table, sure, but it doesn't explain how this guy ends up dead in Donatelli's car at the bottom of the lake. And as for Donatelli himself — where the hell is he?"
"Not a clue," Tango replied, his tone darkening. "No one on the team's been able to track his whereabouts. The boss is convinced Doyle's behind this."
"Doyle?" Poppa raised an eyebrow. "I know that slimeball threatened everyone, but I don't see the connection between him, Donatelli, and our dead guy."
"With us getting booted off the case and Vince Rossi showing up with Maxwell, Garth thinks it's a frame job."
"A pretty damn good one if it is," Poppa muttered. "Finding a dead man in your car, then vanishing? It's like a neon sign pointing to him."
"Yeah, but we both know Donatelli isn't a murderer," Tango said firmly. "Something else is going on here, and we've got to figure out what it is."
Poppa nodded grimly. "If Rossi's involved, we better work fast. Otherwise, we might end up fishing Donatelli's body out of the lake next."
"Did you get anything on where this Johnny guy liked to hang out?"
"Yeah, I started checking bars near where we found the car," Poppa replied, flipping through his notes. "Turns out there's a biker bar not far from there. A place called the Hideaway. Real upstanding establishment, by the sound of it."
Tango chuckled. "Perfect. Should we flip for who gets to visit the fine establishment and who plays lookout?"
Poppa grinned. "As much as I know you'd love to mingle with the locals, I think this one's all mine. Your face was all over the crime scene earlier. Just in case someone's been paying attention."
"Walked right into that one, didn't I? Guess you win."
"Why, Tango, that's so thoughtful of you." Poppa's grin widened. "Don't worry, I'll tip an extra cold one back for you while I'm at it."
"You're all heart," Tango shot back, laughing. "And while one of those bikers decides he doesn't like your face and plants his fist in it, I'll be enjoying the show from outside."
"Like hell, you will!" Poppa said, shooting him a mock glare. "If things go south, you'd better haul ass into that bar and start busting heads."
"You know I've got your back," Tango grinned. "Now let's go see if our detective had a fondness for the Hideaway."
*****
Poppa walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Neon signs buzzed on the walls, casting jagged reflections on the scratched-up tables and sticky floors. The Hideaway was precisely what he expected — a haven for the rough and restless.
Sliding onto a barstool, he scanned the room. A group of bikers crowded a corner table, a couple shot pool in the back, and a jukebox warbled a tinny country tune. Behind the bar, a young woman with bleach-blonde hair and a tight tank top eyed him curiously as she poured a drink.
"What's your poison, stranger?" she asked, leaning in just enough to catch his attention.
"A cold one," Poppa replied with a polite nod.
Her crimson lips formed a beautiful smile. "Coming right up." She turned away to grab a cold bottle of beer.
Meanwhile, Tango parked his car in the shadows outside, tilting his seat back and angling his head to listen. The bar's muffled noises and Poppa's conversations were loud and clear in the stillness.
The blonde returned with his beer, setting it down with a teasing grin. "You new around here?"
Poppa shrugged, taking a sip. "Just passing through. Heard this was the place to find someone who plays a mean game of pool."
Her smile faltered, and her eyes darted toward a hulking man in a leather vest at the corner of the room. His shaved head gleamed under the dim light, and his thick arms rested possessively on the table's edge.
"Now and then," she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible.
"Anyone here tonight worth challenging?" Poppa asked casually.
Her nervous glance returned to the hulking figure. "No. Johnny was our best —"
Before she could finish, the man — the bouncer, Poppa assumed — was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm too tight to be friendly.
"You're paid to work, not stand around flapping your gums," he growled, his voice a low rumble.
Poppa's eyes narrowed. "Ease up, buddy. She was just making conversation."
Bruiser turned his glare on Poppa, his lips curling into a sneer. "Yeah, well, she tends to offer more than just conversation when the occasion comes along. I don't take kindly to strangers cozying up to my woman."
Poppa held up a hand, his expression calm but sharp. "Hey, man, I'm just looking for a pool game and a cold one. No harm, no foul."
Crystal wrenched free of Bruiser's grip and hurried to the other end of the bar, her hands shaking as she picked up a tray. Bruiser shot one last glare at Poppa before stomping off after her.
Poppa returned to his beer, but the quiet moment didn't last. The door swung open, and in walked Vince Rossi, flanked by two thugs who looked like they'd stepped off the set of a mobster flick.
Rossi didn't even glance at the bar. He strode purposefully toward a door in the back, the thugs trailing behind him.
Poppa's jaw tightened, and he slid his cap down low over his eyes. He took one last sip of his beer before slipping off the stool and heading for the exit.
Outside, Tango sat up as Poppa emerged, his silhouette tense against the glow of the bar's neon lights.
"Well?" Tango asked as Poppa climbed into the car.
Poppa adjusted his cap and buckled his seatbelt. "Rossi's here. Whatever game they're playing, it's bigger than just some missing detective and a dead guy."
Tango's lips thinned. "Think they spotted you?"
"No, but we're on borrowed time. Let's get out of here before someone changes that."
With a growl of the engine, Tango drove out of the shadows and across the parking lot, headed for the exit.
Poppa replayed the scene with Bruiser and Crystal in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right, and Rossi's presence only deepened the mystery.
Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, lurching Poppa forward.
"What the heck, Tango? Are you trying to snap my neck off?" Poppa barked, grabbing the dashboard for support.
Tango threw the car into reverse, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Shut up a second. Look!"
Poppa turned, craning his neck to see a man walking toward the bar's entrance. The man was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and his collar was turned up to shield his face from the chilly night air.
Tango's voice was tinged with excitement. "You remember that guy who slipped through our fingers at the airport? The one the German Embassy helped sneak out before we could nab him?"
Poppa's brow furrowed as the memory surfaced. "Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The boss had us scrambling onto the jet before it even finished fueling — chasing a ghost. And every damn lead we had went cold after that."
"Well," Tango said, pointing toward the bar, "I swear that's him. That's the guy. He just walked into that dive."
Poppa stared hard at the man as he disappeared into the bar. His pulse quickened. "What are the chances? A guy who vanishes into thin air shows up in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere?"
Tango's hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car back into drive. "We can't just sit here. If that's him, we've got to do something."
Poppa grabbed Tango's arm. "Hold on. We can't just barge in there — guns blazing. If Rossi's still inside, he'll recognize us in a heartbeat. And if this guy's working with him, we'll blow our cover."
Tango frowned, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, what do we do? Let him slip away again?"
"No," Poppa said, a sharp edge in his voice. "We tail him. He's got to come out eventually, and when he does, we'll find out where he's headed."
Tango hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm going in if he doesn't come out soon."
Poppa leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes trained on the bar's entrance. "Patience, Tango. We've waited this long. What's a little more time?"
"Forget it. I can't sit here and do nothing. I'm going in."
Tango adjusted his cap and stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he approached the bar's entrance. He didn't intend to draw any attention, just close enough to see what was happening.
Poppa lowered his window, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're not going in there without backup. At least call Garth. He needs to know if this guy is the same one who slipped us before."
Tango hesitated, glancing back. "If I call Garth now and we're wrong, we blow our cover for nothing. Let me see what I can hear first."
Poppa shook his head, pulling out his phone. "You play reconnaissance. I'll keep the boss in the loop. We're not taking chances with this one."
Tango gave a slight nod, then continued toward the bar, keeping a low profile. As Poppa scrolled through his contacts, he muttered, "Better not get yourself in trouble, Tango. Garth's already pissed enough about this mess."
Once inside the bar, Tango kept his distance, lingering by a side table in a dark corner. While balancing a tray of drinks, Crystal darted over to the stock room door as Bruiser emerged, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Bruiser," she whispered, her tone anxious, "while you were in there, some German-looking guy brought in a painting. Went straight into Tony's office."
"A painting?" Bruiser growled, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah. I overheard one of the guys saying it's worth close to a million because the artist is dead."
Bruiser straightened, his expression hardening. "Where's it now?"
"In Tony's office. They didn't even bring it out front."
Bruiser snorted, glancing around the bar. "Is Tony back there?"
"Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago through the back entrance. Didn't even say a thing, just went straight into his office."
"Just keep your mouth shut and do your job. I'll check this out."
Crystal gave a quick nod and hurried off, disappearing behind the bar.
Tango's breath caught as the pieces fell into place. A dead artist. A painting worth a fortune. There was no doubt in his mind now — this wasn't just a coincidence. This had Doyle's fingerprints all over it.
He left the bar and headed to the car without ordering a drink.
Poppa was leaning against the steering wheel, phone to his ear, when Tango slid into the passenger seat. "Garth, I'm telling you, Tango's got a lead. We might have a shot at tracking this guy —"
"I don't have a lead," Tango interrupted, breathless. "I have confirmation."
Poppa's eyebrows shot up as he put the phone on speaker. "You sure?"
Tango nodded. "Crystal — one of the bartenders — was talking to that bouncer guy. Said some German dude brought in a painting worth a million bucks because the artist is dead."
There was a long pause before Garth's voice came over the speaker, low and sharp. "A painting? Dead artist? You're saying Doyle's running his counterfeit scam again?"
"I'm saying it's William," Tango replied, his tone grim. "And if Doyle's dealing, he's funding something big."
Garth cursed under his breath. "Stay on him, but don't make a move. I'll get to you. Doyle's got eyes everywhere."
"Boss, you don't have a car, remember?"
"I'll get Danni to loan me her car." He ended the call and turned in search of Danni.
At that moment, Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Garth, I need to talk to you."
"Not now, Eleanor." He hurried across the room to Danni. "I need your car. The boys have a lead."
"Then I am coming too."
"You should stay here with the others."
"Garth, it's my car, and I'm going."
Not wanting to waste time, he nodded, "Okay, but you stay put if I say so, okay?"
"Sure, sure." Danni agreed, but knowing when and if things went down, she'd be in the midst of it.
As they raced toward the front door, Eleanor tried to stop Garth again. "Garth, this is important. I've found —" Before she could finish her sentence, Garth and Danni were racing toward her car.
Poppa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that hard when the guy doesn't have much to hide. He was just an ordinary Joe, trying to keep his head above water. His only real downfall? Thinking he could be a pool hustler."
"You think that's what went down with him and Donatelli? We all know our friend loves cracking the balls."
"I can picture him shooting the table, sure, but it doesn't explain how this guy ends up dead in Donatelli's car at the bottom of the lake. And as for Donatelli himself — where the hell is he?"
"Not a clue," Tango replied, his tone darkening. "No one on the team's been able to track his whereabouts. The boss is convinced Doyle's behind this."
"Doyle?" Poppa raised an eyebrow. "I know that slimeball threatened everyone, but I don't see the connection between him, Donatelli, and our dead guy."
"With us getting booted off the case and Vince Rossi showing up with Maxwell, Garth thinks it's a frame job."
"A pretty damn good one if it is," Poppa muttered. "Finding a dead man in your car, then vanishing? It's like a neon sign pointing to him."
"Yeah, but we both know Donatelli isn't a murderer," Tango said firmly. "Something else is going on here, and we've got to figure out what it is."
Poppa nodded grimly. "If Rossi's involved, we better work fast. Otherwise, we might end up fishing Donatelli's body out of the lake next."
"Did you get anything on where this Johnny guy liked to hang out?"
"Yeah, I started checking bars near where we found the car," Poppa replied, flipping through his notes. "Turns out there's a biker bar not far from there. A place called the Hideaway. Real upstanding establishment, by the sound of it."
Tango chuckled. "Perfect. Should we flip for who gets to visit the fine establishment and who plays lookout?"
Poppa grinned. "As much as I know you'd love to mingle with the locals, I think this one's all mine. Your face was all over the crime scene earlier. Just in case someone's been paying attention."
"Walked right into that one, didn't I? Guess you win."
"Why, Tango, that's so thoughtful of you." Poppa's grin widened. "Don't worry, I'll tip an extra cold one back for you while I'm at it."
"You're all heart," Tango shot back, laughing. "And while one of those bikers decides he doesn't like your face and plants his fist in it, I'll be enjoying the show from outside."
"Like hell, you will!" Poppa said, shooting him a mock glare. "If things go south, you'd better haul ass into that bar and start busting heads."
"You know I've got your back," Tango grinned. "Now let's go see if our detective had a fondness for the Hideaway."
*****
Poppa walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Neon signs buzzed on the walls, casting jagged reflections on the scratched-up tables and sticky floors. The Hideaway was precisely what he expected — a haven for the rough and restless.
Sliding onto a barstool, he scanned the room. A group of bikers crowded a corner table, a couple shot pool in the back, and a jukebox warbled a tinny country tune. Behind the bar, a young woman with bleach-blonde hair and a tight tank top eyed him curiously as she poured a drink.
"What's your poison, stranger?" she asked, leaning in just enough to catch his attention.
"A cold one," Poppa replied with a polite nod.
Her crimson lips formed a beautiful smile. "Coming right up." She turned away to grab a cold bottle of beer.
Meanwhile, Tango parked his car in the shadows outside, tilting his seat back and angling his head to listen. The bar's muffled noises and Poppa's conversations were loud and clear in the stillness.
The blonde returned with his beer, setting it down with a teasing grin. "You new around here?"
Poppa shrugged, taking a sip. "Just passing through. Heard this was the place to find someone who plays a mean game of pool."
Her smile faltered, and her eyes darted toward a hulking man in a leather vest at the corner of the room. His shaved head gleamed under the dim light, and his thick arms rested possessively on the table's edge.
"Now and then," she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible.
"Anyone here tonight worth challenging?" Poppa asked casually.
Her nervous glance returned to the hulking figure. "No. Johnny was our best —"
Before she could finish, the man — the bouncer, Poppa assumed — was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm too tight to be friendly.
"You're paid to work, not stand around flapping your gums," he growled, his voice a low rumble.
Poppa's eyes narrowed. "Ease up, buddy. She was just making conversation."
Bruiser turned his glare on Poppa, his lips curling into a sneer. "Yeah, well, she tends to offer more than just conversation when the occasion comes along. I don't take kindly to strangers cozying up to my woman."
Poppa held up a hand, his expression calm but sharp. "Hey, man, I'm just looking for a pool game and a cold one. No harm, no foul."
Crystal wrenched free of Bruiser's grip and hurried to the other end of the bar, her hands shaking as she picked up a tray. Bruiser shot one last glare at Poppa before stomping off after her.
Poppa returned to his beer, but the quiet moment didn't last. The door swung open, and in walked Vince Rossi, flanked by two thugs who looked like they'd stepped off the set of a mobster flick.
Rossi didn't even glance at the bar. He strode purposefully toward a door in the back, the thugs trailing behind him.
Poppa's jaw tightened, and he slid his cap down low over his eyes. He took one last sip of his beer before slipping off the stool and heading for the exit.
Outside, Tango sat up as Poppa emerged, his silhouette tense against the glow of the bar's neon lights.
"Well?" Tango asked as Poppa climbed into the car.
Poppa adjusted his cap and buckled his seatbelt. "Rossi's here. Whatever game they're playing, it's bigger than just some missing detective and a dead guy."
Tango's lips thinned. "Think they spotted you?"
"No, but we're on borrowed time. Let's get out of here before someone changes that."
With a growl of the engine, Tango drove out of the shadows and across the parking lot, headed for the exit.
Poppa replayed the scene with Bruiser and Crystal in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right, and Rossi's presence only deepened the mystery.
Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, lurching Poppa forward.
"What the heck, Tango? Are you trying to snap my neck off?" Poppa barked, grabbing the dashboard for support.
Tango threw the car into reverse, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Shut up a second. Look!"
Poppa turned, craning his neck to see a man walking toward the bar's entrance. The man was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and his collar was turned up to shield his face from the chilly night air.
Tango's voice was tinged with excitement. "You remember that guy who slipped through our fingers at the airport? The one the German Embassy helped sneak out before we could nab him?"
Poppa's brow furrowed as the memory surfaced. "Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The boss had us scrambling onto the jet before it even finished fueling — chasing a ghost. And every damn lead we had went cold after that."
"Well," Tango said, pointing toward the bar, "I swear that's him. That's the guy. He just walked into that dive."
Poppa stared hard at the man as he disappeared into the bar. His pulse quickened. "What are the chances? A guy who vanishes into thin air shows up in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere?"
Tango's hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car back into drive. "We can't just sit here. If that's him, we've got to do something."
Poppa grabbed Tango's arm. "Hold on. We can't just barge in there — guns blazing. If Rossi's still inside, he'll recognize us in a heartbeat. And if this guy's working with him, we'll blow our cover."
Tango frowned, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, what do we do? Let him slip away again?"
"No," Poppa said, a sharp edge in his voice. "We tail him. He's got to come out eventually, and when he does, we'll find out where he's headed."
Tango hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm going in if he doesn't come out soon."
Poppa leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes trained on the bar's entrance. "Patience, Tango. We've waited this long. What's a little more time?"
"Forget it. I can't sit here and do nothing. I'm going in."
Tango adjusted his cap and stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he approached the bar's entrance. He didn't intend to draw any attention, just close enough to see what was happening.
Poppa lowered his window, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're not going in there without backup. At least call Garth. He needs to know if this guy is the same one who slipped us before."
Tango hesitated, glancing back. "If I call Garth now and we're wrong, we blow our cover for nothing. Let me see what I can hear first."
Poppa shook his head, pulling out his phone. "You play reconnaissance. I'll keep the boss in the loop. We're not taking chances with this one."
Tango gave a slight nod, then continued toward the bar, keeping a low profile. As Poppa scrolled through his contacts, he muttered, "Better not get yourself in trouble, Tango. Garth's already pissed enough about this mess."
Once inside the bar, Tango kept his distance, lingering by a side table in a dark corner. While balancing a tray of drinks, Crystal darted over to the stock room door as Bruiser emerged, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Bruiser," she whispered, her tone anxious, "while you were in there, some German-looking guy brought in a painting. Went straight into Tony's office."
"A painting?" Bruiser growled, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah. I overheard one of the guys saying it's worth close to a million because the artist is dead."
Bruiser straightened, his expression hardening. "Where's it now?"
"In Tony's office. They didn't even bring it out front."
Bruiser snorted, glancing around the bar. "Is Tony back there?"
"Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago through the back entrance. Didn't even say a thing, just went straight into his office."
"Just keep your mouth shut and do your job. I'll check this out."
Crystal gave a quick nod and hurried off, disappearing behind the bar.
Tango's breath caught as the pieces fell into place. A dead artist. A painting worth a fortune. There was no doubt in his mind now — this wasn't just a coincidence. This had Doyle's fingerprints all over it.
He left the bar and headed to the car without ordering a drink.
Poppa was leaning against the steering wheel, phone to his ear, when Tango slid into the passenger seat. "Garth, I'm telling you, Tango's got a lead. We might have a shot at tracking this guy —"
"I don't have a lead," Tango interrupted, breathless. "I have confirmation."
Poppa's eyebrows shot up as he put the phone on speaker. "You sure?"
Tango nodded. "Crystal — one of the bartenders — was talking to that bouncer guy. Said some German dude brought in a painting worth a million bucks because the artist is dead."
There was a long pause before Garth's voice came over the speaker, low and sharp. "A painting? Dead artist? You're saying Doyle's running his counterfeit scam again?"
"I'm saying it's William," Tango replied, his tone grim. "And if Doyle's dealing, he's funding something big."
Garth cursed under his breath. "Stay on him, but don't make a move. I'll get to you. Doyle's got eyes everywhere."
"Boss, you don't have a car, remember?"
"I'll get Danni to loan me her car." He ended the call and turned in search of Danni.
At that moment, Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Garth, I need to talk to you."
"Not now, Eleanor." He hurried across the room to Danni. "I need your car. The boys have a lead."
"Then I am coming too."
"You should stay here with the others."
"Garth, it's my car, and I'm going."
Not wanting to waste time, he nodded, "Okay, but you stay put if I say so, okay?"
"Sure, sure." Danni agreed, but knowing when and if things went down, she'd be in the midst of it.
As they raced toward the front door, Eleanor tried to stop Garth again. "Garth, this is important. I've found —" Before she could finish her sentence, Garth and Danni were racing toward her car.
*****
Tango leaned back in the seat, his jaw tight. "If William's here, he's not just passing through. We've got to figure out what Doyle's endgame is and fast."
Poppa started the engine, pulling the car deeper into the shadows. "Then we wait and see who walks out of that bar. And if Doyle's pulling the strings, it won't be long before we find out what he's up to."
"Do you think this mess with Donatelli is connected somehow?"
"Too much of a coincidence — same bar, same sleazy people. Yeah, there's a connection somehow."
Tango leaned back in the seat, his jaw tight. "If William's here, he's not just passing through. We've got to figure out what Doyle's endgame is and fast."
Poppa started the engine, pulling the car deeper into the shadows. "Then we wait and see who walks out of that bar. And if Doyle's pulling the strings, it won't be long before we find out what he's up to."
"Do you think this mess with Donatelli is connected somehow?"
"Too much of a coincidence — same bar, same sleazy people. Yeah, there's a connection somehow."
"But I don't think we are any closer to Donatelli." Tango sighed. "I hate waiting!"
Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Pays
10 points
and 72 member cents. Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
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