PROLOGUE: THE JOB

“Here’s a photo of him,” the client said.

The client’s name was Leila, and she was offering me $25,000 to find out what happened to her brother, Kyle.  Apparently, he had gone missing just over a month ago while fishing with some friends, who had also disappeared.  I remembered reading about it in the paper; it happened just a couple counties from here.  The police had no leads whatsoever.  The five of them just… vanished.  A month prior to that, in a neighboring county, another group of boys had also disappeared, roughly the same age.  The month before that, further north, another disappearance was reported.  Theories ranged from alien abductions to giant hoaxes, but to date nobody had any evidence of anything. 

I asked what made her think that I, an investigative journalist moonlighting as a private investigator, could do that the police could not.  She told me she knew that foul play was involved, somehow.  That she no longer had hope, and at this point, she just wanted answers.  I had a reputation for finding answers. 

“Can you handle the job?” She asked.

Of course I could.  For $25,000?  You’re damn right I could.  She recalled the last time she talked to him via cell phone.  He was at a bar called The Lonely Tavern, a couple clicks south of Pyramid Lake in Gainsville.  She asked around and found the name of the barkeep that was there that night.  She said he would be working this Thursday and that I should go see him then.  She paid $5,000 upfront to cover expenses.  If I found anything, anything at all, I should call her with it immediately.  She just needed closure, she said.  I any case, it was a good payday, and I needed the cash.

Find the truth.  That’s what I do.

And I’m pretty good at it.

But this job had a few “big” surprises in store for me…

CHAPTER 1: THE LONELY TAVERN

I pushed past the tavern doors roughly after 10pm that following Thursday.  This place sure lives up to its name, I thought, marveling at the lack of patrons.  The barkeep called out to me.

“Just so you know, sir, we’ll be closing soon.  Private party coming in,” he said.

“No problem.  Just a couple drinks?” I asked.

He looked down at his watch nervously but reluctantly agreed.  As dead as this place was, turning down business was probably not the best idea.  As I took a seat, I glanced at his nametag to make sure this was the guy Leila mentioned.  It was.  I opened a tab on my credit card and ordered vodka tonic.  We talked about nothing for a bit, although he seemed preoccupied through all of it.  After my second drink, the last patrons besides me finally left.  The barkeep glanced at his watch again. 

“Last call,” he said.

“Hit me once more,” I asked, tapping my empty glass onto the bar.

As he poured my last drink, I pulled out the photograph my client had given me of her brother.  When he turned around, I held it up casually in front of me, and asked him if he remembered Kyle.  He claimed to have never seen him, but his eyes said something completely different.  I slipped two crisp $100 bills across the bar and told him that all I wanted to know is if he’d ever seen the young man in the picture.  He quickly pushed the cash back towards me.

“Mister,” he said.  “I don’t want your money.  I ain’t never seen him before.”

“That’s odd.  He and his friends certainly remember you,” I said, bluffing.

“He… you talked to him?  He say anything about what happened? When they was missing?”

“Who said they were missing?” I said, cocking my head to side. He shifted his feet.

“Well, I seen him, the boy you talkin’ bout.  Seen him in the news,” he said, and not too convincingly.

“But never before in your bar?” I pressed.

An icy breeze stroked my neck as the brewery door swung upon.  Five very sloppy young men stumbled in, apparently already intoxicated.  I looked at each of them.  None were the guys I was looking for, but their profile was roughly the same.  All young studs in the primes of their lives.  Just like Kyle, I thought to myself, when a hand gripped my shoulder and turned me back towards the bar.  The bartender’s face was so close I could smell his breath.

“Mister.  You ought to leave now.  I’ll close your tab out.  The private party is here.  You best go now.  Things… you just best go.”

“What things?” I asked, signing my tab.

The barkeep leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone.  “Mister, I ain’t tryin’ to be rude to you.  I’m tryin’ to help you here.  I seen the boy in your photograph.  Him and his friends.  And yeah, they was in here.  What happened to them… it’s is about to happen again.  Unless you wanna go missing, too,  you best get on outta here.  They said they’d leave me alone, but if they see you…” 

Sounded like the answers I needed were about to transpire in front of me.  The barkeep’s eyes flashed with urgency.  One of the young men stumbled over next to me and sat himself down on the adjacent stool.

 “Hey!” The word “Hotshot” came to mind when I looked at this cocky little douchebag.  He gave me a dismissive glance and then turned his attention to the barkeep.  “Hey, chief.  You seen a group of hotties?  A hot Asian girl?  She said you was gonna be expecting us for private party with her and her friends.  Said you’d take care of us till they got here.  You seen them?”

“Yeah, they said to stay put,” barkeep replied, then turned towards me, that get out look still in his eye.  “Hey, friend, would you mind fetching me a clean bar towel from the storage closet?  I seem to be out.”  He nodded at me knowingly.

I didn’t have my story yet, but I didn’t want to become the story either.  I glanced down the length of the bar to my right and saw the door to the storage closet.  It had a pretty clear vantage point to the action in the bar.  When I looked at the barkeep again, he nodded as if to say yes, there.

“Sure thing,” I said, standing up.

“Hey,” Hotshot clapped my shoulder.  “If they got any rubbers back there, can you bring them out for me and my boys, too?”

Classy.