Page 23 of Long Way Down

The owner, Denny, was working the bar today, and he turned a glare and a pointing finger on Pongo when he slid onto a stool. “You. I’m not serving you shit today, troublemaker.”

Pongo clutched at his chest. “That hurts, Denny, it really does. I didn’t even start it! I was the victim!”

“Hmph. What the fuck were you doing?” He was polishing glasses, and set down a clean one to pick up the next in line. “Starting shit with that crowd. Thought you knew better than that.”

“It’s like I said.” Pongo did his best puppy eyes – and had it on good authority from more than a few of the Lean Bitches that they were very effective. “I was minding my own business, andhecame afterme. I was totally innocent.”

It appeared the puppy eyes had no effect on middle-aged male bartenders. Denny huffed an annoyed breath and set the next glass down with a ringing thump. “Don’t bring the cops down on my bar, asshole.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As expected, Denny relaxed, finally. He was the fourth-generation owner, and while he ran a tight ship, and felt he needed to put in a solid show as a hardass, he liked his outlaw clientele.Real outlaws, he always stressed,and not petty dipshits. Pongo had learned the distinction when he first came on with the Dogs, and was glad to see that civilians understood it, too.

“You want a beer?” Denny asked.

“Just a Coke, actually. I’m on the clock.”

Denny’s brows twitched as he retrieved a bottle from the cooler. “Look at you. Responsible and shit.”

“My ma would say the world’s ending.” Denny served glass bottles, and Pongo knocked the cap off on the edge of the bar; took a long, cold swallow and said, “I’m actually looking for information.”

Denny made an expansive gesture as if to sayyou came to the right place.

Pongo put his elbows on the bar and hunkered in close, lowering his voice. “You heard anything about working girls getting cut up by johns? Like…raped and beat to hell?”

Denny sighed. “You’re telling me there’s johns out there whodon’tget too rough?”

“No – I mean, well. Yeah. Lots of worthless fuckers out there. But this is specific. A guy who literally carves words in a girl’s back.”

Denny was hard to startle; he’d seen and heard almost everything, working in his pub. So the way his face blanked with shock drove home the conclusion Pongo had come to after leaving Titus’s place: this guy wassick.

“Words?” Denny asked.

“Yeah. Like…a sentence. A message.”

“What sorta message?”

Pongo checked over both shoulders to be sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice another fraction. “It said, ‘This one’s for you, Davey.’”

Denny blinked. And then swore. “Shit. That movie. That shittyLambswannabe.”

“You saw it?”

“In theaters a hundred years ago when it first came out. Fuck. Took my wife to see it – we were still just dating. She was so freaked she answered the door holding a tire iron for six weeks after that.”

“Smart girl.”

“Not that smart if she married me.” He shook his head. “Somebodycarvedthat into a girl’s back?”

“Saw it myself just a little while ago.”

Denny made a face.

“Not like that. I don’t have to pay – gimme more credit than that.” He raked his curls off his forehead, well aware of the way they tumbled back into place afterward; Melissa’s gaze always tracked the movement when he did that.

Denny rolled his eyes.

“Her – uh, heremployerasked me if the Dogs could track this guy down. Think he’s wanting his pound of flesh, you know?”

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