The Deaths of Tao Read Free Page A

novelty here even after a year and they often took turns playing guessing games trying to figure out what crime he was hiding from. The consensus was he was running from tax fraud.
    You really should just drop it.  
    “When in Rome, Tao, when in Rome.”
    I lived in Rome for centuries. The last thing the Romans wanted was for the non-Romans to emulate them.  
    There was an old sound system playing Buck Owens on cassette. Roen knew it was Buck Owens because the bar rotated the same four tapes every night, and he was berated extensively the first time he asked about this giant of American music. He actually thought Buck sounded a little flat but that could just be the tape after a million playbacks.
    Door in the back ajar. Garbage can blocking exit. Shotgun behind the bar. Two men at the far booth. Looks like Howie and his inseparable friend again.  
    Chipmunk Voice was at the far end of the bar, where he usually sat with his eyes glued to the television, a rickety old tube set that still had dials. Roen half expected to find the television broken every time he came in, and marveled at that wonderful piece of American ingenuity. They really didn’t build them like that anymore.
    Raisin was sitting by himself at the booth closest to the door. He waved at Roen and beckoned him over. Roen averted his eyes and pretended not to notice the ancient man who smelled like he had been buried and recently dug up. Instead, he took a seat in the middle of the bar where he could keep an eye on both the entrance and the exit.
    “What’ll it be, handsome?” Amy said in her sandpaper voice. She called everyone handsome, but Roen secretly harbored the suspicion that she really meant it with him. “The same?”
    He nodded. “Wait,” he patted his pockets; it felt light. He had brought one of his fake identifications with him tonight and had forgotten to transfer his money. “Cutty,” he said dejectedly. “Neat. No, better make this one on the rocks.”
    Cutty gives you headaches.  
    “So does not eating.”
    No, that just makes you grumpy.  
    Amy brought over two glasses of brown liquid and slid one toward him. “Got your usual Glen. I’ll just put it on your tab, and this one too.” She winked. She thought she was doing him a kindness, but frankly, Roen would rather just get the Cutty than buy her a drink.
    He suppressed his sigh and raised the glass. “To the finest lady this side of the mountain.” They clinked and emptied their glasses.
    She brought the bottle out from the shelf and poured them both another drink. This was about to get expensive on his dime. “So what kept you so late from visiting me tonight, Charlie?” she asked, twirling the bottle in her hand.
    “Shooting a dozen guys trying to kill Jill” seemed like the wrong thing to say.
    Roen lifted the glass to her eye level and tipped his hat. “Had to check chemical levels at the plant.” The local industry in this region was chemical processing and it was common to carry odd hours. Usually, no one batted an eye at his alibis.
    Amy leaned in close, her finger running along the rim of the glass. “So what else you got planned tonight, muscles? This ol’ bottle and I are all by our lonesome.”
    Roen hesitated. On the one hand, she revolted him with her ashen face, yellow-stained teeth, and inane prattle. On the other hand, she did come with a free bottle...
    The door opened with a loud creak. “He’s already got plans,” a strong, clear voice butted in, the sound traveling all the way through the entire bar. Roen didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Instead, he took the bottle out of Amy’s hand, poured himself a double, and threw it down.
    Amy looked over lazily at the new voice and turned her back to it, pretending to be wiping the counter. “Sorry, honey, we’re closed.”
    “I’m not here for a drink,” Jill said as she took a seat next to him.
    “Get her one anyway. Tequila for the raging tempest,” Roen said.
    “I’m here to talk