Page 15 of Fire Peak

In fact, just recently a major bust had exposed a local family, the Chilkoots, with some wild plans to cut themselves off completely from the outside world.

It felt strange heading for a dive bar when it was full daylight outside. But his phone told him it was after eight in the evening. Everything about Alaska was disorienting to Nick, but he liked that. Being in the investigation business could make a guy cynical. You saw the same criminal behavior over and over, you spent time in the same kind of seedy environments. Sometimes Nick thought he’d seen and heard everything.

But he’d never breathed anything like the pure mountain air here, and never seen anything like the brilliant sunlight glaring off the fields of snow in the upper ridges. One particular peak drew his eye because of its nearly perfect triangular shape and the beautiful colors along its flanks. He’d have to find out what that one was called, and if it had a hiking trail.

You’re not here to hike, he reminded himself.

But if his crazy idea worked out, and if he wrapped up this case in a couple of days, maybe he could come back here with Hailey.

“So…you’re law enforcement?”

The big black-haired guy behind the bar frowned at him. Nick hadn’t noticed him in the crowd gathered around the bulldozer, but word must have gotten around.

“No.”

“Impersonating an officer?” The bartender still didn’t seem inclined to take his order. He rested his hands on the counter, his bulging muscles flexing under his thermal shirt.

“Oh, you mean my car? Yeah, I gotta get a paint job. Everyone thinks I’m an undercover cop. Go figure.”

“You’re not?”

“If I were, would I even say those words?”

Big Guy didn’t seem impressed. “Who are you?”

“Just a guy, looking for a girl.”

“Wrong place to look for a girl.” The old guy at the next barstool over snickered. He wore a battered straw hat and his gray beard was scattered with peanut crumbs. “We got women here, not girls, and they’re tough as they come.”

Glancing around The Fang, Nick didn’t doubt it. One woman in an olive-drab fishing hat and her arm in a sling was matching shots with a man the size of a small bulldozer. Another woman had her feet on the table, her chair tilted back against the wall, and what looked like a baby porcupine curled on her shoulder.

“It’s a specific woman. I have some good news for her, but she seems to think it’s bad news. She stays one step ahead of me.”

“Can’t you call her? Text her? Send her a letter?” the bartender demanded.

“I am familiar with all the modern modes of communication, yes. I’ve even tried faxing her, which shows just how desperate I am. No go. So I’m going the old-school route. Face to face, live, in the flesh. Nick Perini, by the way.” He stuck out his hand. Big Guy ignored it.

“Got some ID?”

“Are you carding me?”

The bartender just waited stoically for him to dig up his license. He handed it over and watched the man scrutinize it within an inch of its life. It wouldn’t tell him much. Nick Perini, born thirty-six years ago, brown hair, brown eyes, six feet tall, a hundred and eighty pounds, resident of Chicago, Illinois.

Finally, the man handed back his license. “We don’t like strangers showing up here asking questions,” he stated.

“That must make it hard for tourists,” Nick said mildly.

The man’s mouth twitched. A-ha. A sense of humor lurked behind that iron-man facade.

“Bear’s just being his usual nice-guy self,” said the old guy on the next stool. “He’s trying to warn you to mind your own business.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nick said. “So long as I can get a drink to do it with.”

Bear finally relented. “Beer?”

“Beer will do. Whatever’s on tap.”

He didn’t much like beer, but he’d gotten used to it over the years. That and whiskey were his go-to drinks for pulling information from people.

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