His Woods (MxM)

30 Tyson the Good Samaritan

After House, a name Jack came up with, threw me out, I went to the first place on my list for sleuthing: Bearbelly's, the bar where Jack and I took down the dickhead linebacker from hell.

To my benefit, the same bartender that was working the other night was on duty behind the bar.

"Howdy," he greets me. "What can I do ya?"

I move to a stool in front of the attractive, late twenties drink server. He has a long red beard, a stylish comb-over, and piercing blue eyes that cut the dim lighting of the pub. He squints an eye at me trying to figure out if he knows me or not.

"Hey there. How about a pint of your ginger lemon IPA."

"Coming right up," he responds and turns to the taps. "Were you here the other night? You helped Jack with those guys in the back, right?"

"Yup, that was me. Hi, I'm Tyson." I reach over the divide to shake his hand.

He continues to fill my glass with one hand and returns my shake with the other. He introduces himself as Blake.

"Jack isn't the classiest fellow, so I have to follow him sometimes and remind him of his manners–make sure he plays nice with others."

He places the beer in front of me with a smile.

"Well, it was pretty cool of you. Those dudes were not ones you want to mess around with. I know the big one works for Silkston, even though he denied it when the cops showed up here after your royal rumble."

I grin and thank him for not telling the cops anything about Jack or me.

"I have known Jack for some time now. He is a good guy," he responds. "I am a bartender, I know the good ones from the bad ones."

This comment makes me want to know more about this Silkston dude. Needless to say, I have no real P.I. skills, so I just get right to the point.

"Who is this mysterious Silkston?"

"You aren't from around here are you, Tyson?" Blake humorously asks, already knowing the answer.

I scrunch my face and shake my head. "Nah."

"Silkston is known for having his hand in every shady business deal, back alley drug push, and get-rich-quick scheme in this town, but the APD can't seem to nail him. He always gets someone else to take the fall for him. Whether they choose to or not."

He pauses and an even more ominous expression takes over his face.

"Jack isn't mixed up with Silkston, is he?"

I am not sure how to answer the question, but a terrible feeling starts to envelop me.

Quietly I respond, "I hope not."

"For his sake, and yours, I hope not, too."

***

Though I take Blake's warning very seriously, I now know that Silkston is my best lead. If he knows Claire or vice versa, then there may be a legitimate connection between what she was doing in the art shack and the type of business Silkston is into.

My feet are leading me back to the police station. I hadn't even turned onto Hillard from Coxe yet when I hear something. It's the sound of a gun firing. At first I flashback to the night that Jack had his run-in with Claire; how I heard a gunshot that night. It sounded pretty similar but distinctively closer.

When I whirl around, I catch the tail end of a hooded man rushing out of Blake's bar and taking off in the opposite direction. He has a backpack hanging from one shoulder.