The Bar Watcher Read Free Page A

having ordered, Jimmy brought a drink and set it in front of him with a wink. Apparently he knew quite a bit about Jared Martinson.
    “So, how long have you been driving delivery trucks?” I asked after we’d done a silent glass-click toast.
    Jared took a slow drink before answering.
    “Since I got into town, about six months ago,” he said. “I like it. Gives me plenty of time to think, and helps keep the muscles in shape.”
    “So I noticed. You always been in this line of work?”
    He smiled and shook his head.
    “No. I taught for a while.”
    “Really? What level? What subject?”
    “College,” he said casually. “Russian literature.”
    “You’re shitting me.”
    He shook his head and smiled again.
    “Nope. I’ve got a Masters in it. Working on my Ph.D. now.”
    “Why did you quit teaching?” I asked, really curious.
    “Because I wasn’t much older than my students, and some of them were just too damned tempting. So, I set it aside for a while to work on my Ph.D. By the time I finish, I’ll be ready to go back. And I really like what I’m doing now. No pressure.”
    I was really impressed, and it probably showed.
    “How about you?” he asked. “What do you do for a living?”
    “Nothing quite so exotic as teaching Russian literature, I’m afraid. I’m a private investigator.”
    “No shit?” He grinned. “Working on anything interesting?”
    “Not at the moment. I might have one coming up, but I’m not sure yet.”
    We each took a sip of our drinks, and I said: “You ever go to Rage?” Hey, that was subtle.
    Jared smiled. “Not anymore. I sort of lost my membership.”
    “How’d that happen?”
    “A long story—I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
    I was curious, but let it drop for now.
    “You know the owner?” I asked, trying another tack.
    Jared nodded. “Oh, yeah. A lot more than I want to, I’m sorry to say. He’s an arrogant asshole who thinks the word ‘no’ doesn’t apply to him. He rubbed me the wrong way from the night I joined.”
    “How so?”
    He turned toward me, his knee bumping against my thigh. I instinctively moved my leg out of the way, but he reached down and pulled it back against his knee.
    “It wasn’t too long after I moved here…maybe four or five months ago,” he said, giving me a smile and continuing to move his knee slowly back and forth against my thigh, subtly but definitely. “I’d just filled out this membership card they give you, paid my membership fee, and was waiting for my official entry card when these two guys came in. One was a real humper; his friend was average looking but kind of overweight, looked like a nice guy.
    “They went up to the window and said they wanted to join. The clerk looked really confused and stammered something I couldn’t hear. Then he picked up a phone, and a minute later, this Comstock guy comes into the room behind the glass—I recognized him from some old porn movies I have.
    “Anyway, I tried to pretend I wasn’t paying attention, but I heard Comstock say to the good-looking guy that he was welcome to join, but his friend couldn’t. The friend didn’t say a word, but the good-looking one wanted to know why. ‘We have strict standards,’ this Comstock bastard says.
    “Jesus, you should have seen the look on that poor kid. It was like someone had spit in his face! I think if Comstock had been in the lobby rather than behind the glass, the good-looking one would have decked him. Hell, I would have decked him!
    “But instead, the humper just turned around, grabbed his friend by the arm, and they left. If I hadn’t already paid my money, I’d have walked out, too. And this Comstock bastard just walks away, unconcerned as all shit. What a fucking asshole!”
    We’d about finished our drinks by then, and Jimmy came by to see if we wanted a refill. We shook our heads in unison, and looked at each other.
    “You ready for a little action?” Jared asked.
    Oh, yeah! We paid our tab and