Page 37 of Red Snow
“I’M SURE THISwill be interesting,” Marcus says as we walk through the doors of Chilkoot Charlie’s for what feels like the billionth time. We do a quick look around, but there’s no sign of Jim Caine, my newest arch enemy.
We walk through the dance area and to the bar where the bartender from the video is wiping it down. He looks up and sees us eyeing at him as we approach, and I can see the apprehension on his face.
Just the like the video showed, he’s tall, white, and slender. He kind of has that skinhead look going, which is strange for a guy in Alaska, because the weather tends to make you wish you had a full head of hair. When we get close, I can see our bartender has blue eyes and a strong jaw with that Jay Leno shape to it, and the glare in those baby blues tells me he has no desire to talk to us. Yippee! This will be fun, I’m sure.
“Can I get you something?” the bartender asks with a frown that says he doesn’t want to get us anything.
“Absolutely,” I exclaim to Marcus’s chagrin. “I’ll take a full glass of information about you and some of the people who frequent this establishment.”
Marcus sits down on the barstool—the same one Brenda Cox sat on when she hit on our first suspect from Koot’s—and puts his hand up, telling the bartender not to get upset. I smile at the guy as I sit down next to my partner and lean in, listening to what Marcus has to say.
“Let’s not start off that way,” Marcus begins. “My name is Detective Phillips, this is Detective Granger, and we’re just looking for some information from you, that’s all.”
“Information? That seems like the kind of thing you should be talking to Jim about,” the bartender says, glaring at me. He’s brave for a skinny guy.
“Yeah, well this is the kind of information that only you can provide,” Marcus tells him, always patient. “Plus, Jim isn’t here, so that leaves us with you, and I’d like to not have to come back and deal with him, so the quicker you hook us up, the quicker we can get out of here and never come back. How’s that sound?”
The bartender looks back and forth between the two of us before letting out an annoyed exhale.
“Alright. What kind of information are you looking for?” he says, leaning on the bar.
“Great.” Marcus takes out the printout copies of the guys Brenda Cox spoke to the night she was murdered and places them in front of the bartender, who looks down at the one on top without picking it up.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“I need some information about these three people,” Marcus explains. “Starting with this one on the top, have you ever seen this person before?”
The bartender looks at the picture for a second, then he shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t recognize him.”
Marcus doesn’t look amused, which is my cue.
“What’s your name?” I ask. The bartender looks at me with eyes that are much meaner than the ones he gaped at Marcus with.
“Gabriel,” he says with the most emotionless face I may have ever seen. If he showed any less life in those eyes, he’d fall over dead.
“Alright, Gabriel,” I speak up. “Here’s the deal, of the two of us sitting here on this side of the bar, I’m the one you don’t want to annoy. My partner has patience I can only dream of, so when you lie to us like you just did, I go from happy to seething in about zero seconds flat. So, please answer better. That means tell the fucking truth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen that guy before, at least not that I can remember.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay Gabriel, I’m gonna try to be more like my partner on this one. Woo-sah! Alright, Gabriel we already know that you know this guy, because the last time we were here, we confiscated a video of the night our victim was killed, and in that video, we see you talking to and shaking hands with this guy. You two obviously know each other, even if it’s only through communication here at Koot’s, but nonetheless, youdorecognize him, and you know it. So, to save myself the time of getting upset, I’ll just tell you this. If you fucking lie again, I’m gonna haul your skinny, emo ass to jail for obstruction of justice. Then I’ll be really pissed because I’ll have to do all kinds of paperwork, and when I get really pissed, shit tends to get broken, like legs, arms, and fingers.Yours, Gabriel. So please don’t say you don’t know him again. Pretty please.”
Gabriel looks at Marcus, who just raises his eyebrows as if to saydon’t look at me, there’s nothing I can do for you.
“His name’s Richard,” Gabriel finally says after a loud, nervous swallow. “We call him Dick, and he’s here pretty often. We’re not friends or anything, but he comes in almost every weekend.”
“See, and you didn’t even have to have any bones broken,” I say with a smile.
“What’s his last name?” Marcus asks now that Gabriel is feeling like talking.
“Perry.”
“Dick Perry,” Marcus repeats, looking at me. I know what the look means.
I pull out my phone and text our clerk, Tom Wallaby. I send him the name and description of Richard Perry and wait for him to get back with me.
“What do you know about Dick Perry?” I hear Marcus asking behind me.
“Not much besides the drink he likes. I’m not sure how that’s relevant,” Gabriel replies.
