Page 18 of Crosshairs

The pretty bartender didn’t fit with the place. She was chatting with a tall guy at the end of the bar and showed no interest in seeing if Trilling wanted a drink. That was fine with him. After his childhood, he barely drank more than a single beer when he went out. It had been tough in the Army, but now he just avoided invitations to go out with people from the NYPD. Easier that way.

As Trilling stood at the bar, something whizzed past his left arm. He looked down at the noise it made as it thunked into the bar itself. He had to squint to make sure what he was really looking at: a dart was buried deep in the mahogany.

It definitely had been intentional.

CHAPTER 23

ROB TRILLING STARED at the dart that someone had thrown dangerously close to his arm. It was a cheap green plastic dart with a brass head. The attractive bartender glanced at the dart and then at him but didn’t say a word.

Trilling worked hard to maintain his composure and not snap his head around. That would give too much satisfaction to whoever had thrown it. He turned his head slightly and looked instead at a framed poster leaning against the wall. In the reflective glass of the frame, he caught a glimpse of two young men laughing at their handiwork. They were both about his age, with a little more muscle and weight than him. He knew guys like these in the military. A lot of time at the gym, the rest of the time bothering people.

Trilling turned his head slowly and smiled at the two men. They were both still smirking. He firmly gripped the end of the plastic dart with his fingertips and jerked it from the wood.

He stood there, watching the men in the poster frame while he held on to their dart. He wondered if it would interfere with their game to be missing one of their darts.

Then he heard a voice behind him say, “Little help?”

Trilling glanced over his shoulder at the two men. He didn’t say a word.

The taller of the two, a guy with shaggy hair and a half-assed goatee, said, “That dart don’t do you much good unless you’re going to clean your fingernails with it. How about tossing it back to us.”

Trilling didn’t hesitate to wing the dart as hard as he could at the table in front of the two men. The man with the shaggy hair and goatee was leaning on the table and the dart landed pretty close to between his hands. That wasn’t what Trilling had intended, but he’d let it ride. That was as good a throw as he was going to make. He risked a quick glance to the back of the bar to make sure the man who might be Pershing was still sitting alone. He was.

The shaggy dart player stood up straight, showing that he was a good six foot two. “Think that’s funny?”

Trilling smiled and let out a laugh as he said, “Yeah, kinda funny.”

“How’d you like it if I shove that dart up your ass?”

Trilling kept his broad smile. “Your mom tried to do that last night. Can’t you think of anything new?”

He let the man rush him. It was almost like when he used to wrestle with his brother. The man was slow and cumbersome. With the smallest of movements, Trilling stepped aside and grabbed the man’s right arm. Facing the nicest part of the lounge—the mahogany bar—Trilling guided the man’s headdirectly into the wooden bar top. The resulting thud was the only sound from the encounter.

Trilling felt the man’s legs go weak and shoved him so that he landed on a stool in a dazed lump.

Now he gave a hard stare at the man who’d been playing darts with the groggy one.

The second man lifted his hands and backed away to show that he wanted nothing to do with this.

Trilling scanned the bar one more time to make sure his potential fugitive hadn’t walked out. Clearly no one here cared if there was a fight going on or if a semiconscious man was sitting on a stool. Only a few people even looked up.

Trilling’s eyes darted to the rear of the bar.

The table where his suspect had been sitting was empty.

CHAPTER 24

IT WAS A nice surprise when Mary Catherine and I got home to find that all the kids had already eaten and were just finishing up the dishes. I’d like to think my grandfather had something to do with it, but I knew Ricky would have done the cooking, while Seamus was sitting at the end of our long dining table, teaching the twins which hands would win in poker.

My grandfather may look like a kindly old priest, and he is, but he sowed a lot of oats before taking his late-in-life vows.

I was still feeling great after a wonderful meal with my wife. My resilient and understanding wife. The one who wanted to have a meeting to discuss the possibility of bringing a new baby into the family. God, I hoped she was right about a family meeting.

I spent a few minutes chatting with my grandfather, which drew the attention of a couple more of the kids.

Seamus said, “What an easy task it is to babysit these angels.”

I cocked my head. “Okay, that doesn’t sound like you. What’s wrong?”

---