“There’s a chip inside,” Elijah explained, pointing to the red bracelets every customer was wearing. “You buy the wristband, open a tab, and pay by the pour.”
“Nice gimmick—and even nicer neighborhood,” Zig pointed out.
“Credit to my ex-brother-in-law,” Elijah explained, grabbing a metal mixing bowl from behind the bar and heading for a quiet table in the corner. “Three years ago, he started working in the city commissioner’s office. He’s the one who gave me the heads-up that the town was putting up a minor league baseball stadium a few blocks down. That’s what built this place. They tore down the old neighborhood and redid it all. I was first on the block. Took every last dollar I had. But on Saturdays now, people pour outta the stadium and walk right to me. We need extra wristbands those days,” he said, straightening out a nearby chair before taking a seat, though he never took his eyes off Roddy. “Now tell me about Nola. How’s she doing?”
“Fine.” “Hanging in,” Zig and Roddy said simultaneously, arriving at the table.
Elijah shot them a look. “You have no idea where she is, do you?”
“We do,” Zig insisted, taking a seat.
Elijah nodded, tapping his thumbs on the metal bowl, which was filled to the top with loose Starburst candies. That was the sweet-and-sour smell Zig couldn’t place. Elijah used them on trivia nights. “Processed sugar?” he asked, offering Zig some candy. Elijah was trying to play nice, but he wasn’t a moron—and he certainly wasn’t buying their story.
“I realize honesty is more valuable than free Starbursts,” Elijah began, “but are either of you even assigned to this case, or you just personally invested since Nola is his sister?”
“Elijah, I know you don’t know us,” Zig said, trying to keep his voice down, “but I swear, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think Nola’s life was in danger. Yours, too.”
“You already said that. But y’know what I know first and foremost about Nola? She doesn’t need saving. And y’know what else I know? She only talks to the people she trusts—so if she’s not talking to you—”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m not a fool. And neither is she. If she wanted your help, she’d reach out. But that’s not the case, is it? You haven’t seen her, heard from her, haven’t even spoken—”
“I have,” Zig blurted.
Roddy turned, nearly spilling his beer.
“Back up. You lost me,” Elijah said.
“Nola. She— I saw her, spoke to her— At the funeral home—”
“You what?” Roddy asked, leaning toward Zig, who was still locked on Elijah.
“You saw her, too,” Zig insisted.
“She ran away from me! You never said— You spoke to her?”
“I didn’t know she’d be there,” Zig insisted. “She surprised me . . . in the shower . . . told me not to say anything.”
“When?” Elijah asked.
“Hours ago. She’s been tracking the Reds—”
“Who the hell are the Reds?” Elijah asked.
“My sister. You spoke to my sister?” Roddy asked with a strong tap to Zig’s shoulder, trying to get his attention.
“Roddy, not now,” Zig said, trying to wave him off. “Elijah, you know she—”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Roddy roared, grabbing Zig’s shoulder.
“Get off!” Zig said, trying to pull free. Roddy tightened his grip. Annoyed, Zig gripped Roddy’s hand, tearing it away.