Part 4 (1/2)
11.
As Karyn hit the pavement the large crowd of protestors out front of Police Headquarters was now being roughly marshaled, by a squad of uniform cops in riot gear. Slipping into the broiling crowd unnoticed, Karyn headed down the block, with a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. The Verner kid had to be a kook of some kind, it stood to reason. Enviro-weenie protestors, all they ever did was cry about how the world was going to come to an end. It didn't matter if it was global warming, or the nuclear energy that supplied power to millions of homes, you name it environmentalists had a gripe about it. It was almost as though anytime someone tried to make the world a warmer more comfortable place to live, nutso nature huggers like Brad Verner popped up their little gopher heads, squealing that technological progress might kill the planet or something.
With dusk falling fast in a kaleidoscope of colors, Karyn walked down the block until a rea.s.suring neon throb rose up out of the coming darkness, Club Carmady, Irish Bar, read the sign. She quickened her step. This was the kind of place she liked, hard liquor and soft lighting. She had spent her formative years in many bars just like this, blue-collar dockside bars, filled with sailors and working men, kicking back in the only way they knew how, an ice-cold beer, chased down with a generous side order of raucous company. As she headed inside, through the broken fly screen door, Karyn thought of the Admiral, working to Eastern- time. Pops would be three drinks ahead of her at least by now, the old reprobate. Her father was a man of tradition, whose iron clad will, would not be diverted from life's meager pleasures, no matter how stormy the going might be. As headman at the US Navy's station in Norfolk Virginia, the storm tide ran pretty high most days. But the Admiral was a hard man, like Dwight D. Eisenhower, born of parents with a robust work ethic and hard knuckled religious conviction. Nothing would divert The Admiral from his evening snifter-be it a hurricane force naval crisis, or an icy Was.h.i.+ngtonian wind, blowing in from the Chesapeake Bay.
Walking up to the bar, Karyn peripheralized the room. The place was narrow, but it ran deep, with red leather banquette booths filling one side and high-sitting metal bar tables grouped tightly in the middle of the spit and sawdust floor. The place was half empty, only a few members of the early- evening office crowd settling in for beer with friends. Karyn headed for the bar and caught herself a stool, up front of the action.
The barman, a big Samoan in a white A- s.h.i.+rt, with tattoos running down to his elbows looked her way and flashed the briefest of smiles. He finished topping out a jug full of suds for a cute little waitress with an ill-advised poodle-cut hairstyle, and headed over.
Karyn nodded to the barman, ”Tequila Blanco Anejos.”
”I mix an awesome margarita,” said the barman wiping off his hands with a grimy looking towel.
”Do I look like a margarita kind of gal to
you?”
The barman paused a beat, laughed and said, ”I guess not. You want ice and a hit of lime with that?”
”Now you are cooking cupcake,” said Karyn. The barman grinned. ”I got all the top shelf s.h.i.+t, but I am guessing you are in a Don Julio kind of mood, it is Monday after all.”
”You got it Kane, the most gruesome part of the working week.” Karyn slid a c-note across the bar. ”I'm feeling thirsty tonight, so stay sharp.” ”As always lady,” laughed the barman, moving away now, to tend to the next customer. Karyn sipped her drink, felt the cool power of the desert Agave pounding through her. Man that tasted good. The kind of good you wanted to keep on coming. As she placed the gla.s.s back on the bar and admired its sparkle there came a sudden distraction, a dark figure sidling alongside her, pulling her back from the cold, high plateau to which she had so briefly ascended.
”Er-I hope you don't mind,” mumbled the figure hesitantly.
Karyn half turned, ”Oh it's you. Are you following me, or something, Verner? Because if you are, I might have to hose you down with pepper
spray.”
”I wasn't following you per se,” stuttered Verner. ”At least not in that way.”
”I got to tell you buddy, you are only making things worse for yourself, so unless you got some fast breaking news, you better slink out of my personal s.p.a.ce, or I am liable to get all cranky-and trust me, that is not a position you want to find yourself in.”
Brad Verner leaned in against the bar and looked at her now, his face hard and angular in the barroom twilight. ”I didn't tell you everything,” he hissed in a confidential tone.” I meant to, but I didn't,” he paused, as though this statement in itself would be enough to engender understanding.
”Just cut the bulls.h.i.+t Verner and get to the point, because I got myself a very busy evening ahead of me, with only limited time for R&R. And I have got to tell you, your creepy little stalking routine is already cutting into that time in a way I don't much appreciate-you understand?”
”But I didn't tell you what I do...”
”You are some kind of blow it out your a.s.s environmental researcher. Big deal. Who gives a s.h.i.+t?”
”I am a geostatistical engineer,” announced Brad Verner his voice wavering with the drama of the revelation.
”No kidding.”
”You know what that means right?”
”It means you are getting the drinks in. I will have a large one.”
”Are you getting loaded?” asked Brad Verner, the disapproval in his voice tinged with the slightest hint of concern.
Karyn narrowed her eyes. ”So tell me Verner, what in the h.e.l.l does a geostatistical engineer get up to on his nights off?”
”Not much really, but that is not what I wanted to talk about.”
Karyn took a hit of tequila, ”You got four minutes thirty seconds and counting to spill your story, because after I swallow down this drink I am breezing out of here solo-you understand?”
Brad Verner swallowed, gave her an awkward look. ”I work with statistics, geophysical statistics. I study spatiotemporal data sets and predict probability distributions for mining operations.”
Karyn nodded, ”I was messing with you Verner, I know exactly what you do. You are a G.o.dd.a.m.n rock doctor. Question is why do the rocks around here need doctoring and who the h.e.l.l are you working for?”
Brad Verner's mouth drooped open, as words formulated on his tongue.
Karyn held up her hand. ”Stop. Don't answer that question. I already know the answer.”
”You do? How could you?”
”A taxi driver told me on the way over from the airport.”
”But I don't know any taxi drivers. I drive a Toyota Prius.”
”A Prius huh? Figures.”
”Listen, I am sorry to inconvenience you miss, but if you could perhaps just give me Chief Mlama's number then I could give him a call...”
”My name is Kane, Karyn Kane.”
”I am sorry, I didn't know.”
”You didn't ask.”
”You are right...I didn't, I am sorry...I...”
”You think the chief is going to swallow down your wild story any better than that detective you were talking to in the squad room?”