Page 85 of Knot Playing Fair 2

If the long, twitching nose and receding chin hadn’t given him away as someone fitting the nickname ofMouse, the bartender’s subtle jerk of his head would have. I set my untouched drink aside and closed on him.

“Hello,” I said, taking in the man’s instinctive flinch as he clocked my approach. “I’m a friend of Byron Harper’s. His grandmother Bea told me I should speak to you.”

Mouse had backed up against the pool table as though I’d come at him with a meat cleaver instead of a friendly greeting.

“Byron?” he said, in a tone of deep mistrust. “You mean Blondie?”

“Well,” I replied. “Heisblond. Though I’m pretty sure it comes out of a bottle.”

At that, Mouse let out a bark of cackling laughter and relaxed a bit. “Yeah, he was always a vain little fucker. What’s Bea doin’, sending you here to me?”

I took a deep breath. “She thought you might have heard something. Byron and two of his friends disappeared last night from behind a restaurant in Soulard—the Elderflower Inn. There’s reason to think SSG might be involved.”

Mouse blanched. “Goldie was at that Elderflower place last night? What the hell for?”

My heartrate sped up. “We know the owners. You’ve heard something about the restaurant?”

Mouse’s thin face closed off. “What if I have?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, freshly stuffed with hundred-dollar bills after a stop by an ATM.

“Two hundred dollars to tell me what you know,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “Four hundred.”

“Three hundred,” I countered, pulling out the crisp bills and holding them up temptingly.

Mouse licked his lips, his muddy hazel eyes flicking back and forth between my face and the money.

“Head of SSG was planning to try and strong-arm the owner of the place into selling it,” he said, and reached for the bills.

I jerked them back. “SSG’s boss? That’s Blake Berlusconi, right? They call him Blaze?”

Mouse’s gaze darted around the place nervously. “You don’t wanna be throwin’ his name around, son.”

“He made his move last night?” I pressed. “Kidnapped the owner, and maybe whoever else was with him?”

“Dunno nothin’ about that,” Mouse said, eyeing the money I was holding just out of reach.

“But you could find out,” I told him. “And maybe find out where they’re being held, too. If you did, there’d be a cool thousand dollars waiting for you. Along with a one-way ticket to someplace sunny with a beach, if you wanted it.”

Mouse wavered visibly. I passed over the three hundred bucks, which disappeared inside his worn suit jacket in a flash.

“Guess I could ask around,” he muttered, not making eye contact.

“You do that,” I said, trying not to let hope creep in. “Meet me here tonight, an hour before close?”

“Yeah,” Mouse replied. “Sure.”

---