“That's not funny!”
“All right. The truth is there's only crap on television tonight, so I might as well come along.”
The Blue Moon Bar was down by the State Complex. There was a public parking lot on the next block, and there was on-?street parking in front of the bar. There were small businesses on either side of the bar, but the businesses were closed at this time of the night. The bar had been a disco in the seventies, a sports bar in the eighties, and a year before it had been transformed into a fake micro-?brewery. It was basically one large room with a copper vat in the corner, a bar running the entire length of one side and tables in the middle of the room. Besides serving booze, the Blue Moon Bar sold snack food. French fries, onion rings, nachos and fried mozzarella. On Saturday nights it was packed.
It was still early for the bar crowd, and Morelli was able to get a spot on the street, two cars down from the door. “Now what?” Morelli asked.
“Kuntz's supposed to show up at nine. Then we see what happens.”
“What usually happens?”
“Nothing.”
“Gosh, I can't wait.”
By eight-?thirty Lula and Sally were in the building. Kuntz arrived fifteen minutes later. I left Morelli in the truck with a photo of Maxine, and I went in to be with Kuntz.
“You look different,” Kuntz said.
“I had some hair problems.”
“No, that's not it.”
“New dress.”
“No. It's something else. I can't put my finger on it.”
Thank goodness for that.
Lula and Sally came over and stood with us at the bar.
“What's doin',” Sally said.
“We're wasting more time, that's what's doin',” Kuntz said. “I hate these dumb treasure hunt things.” His eyes held mine for a moment and then fixed on a point over my shoulder. I turned to see what had caught his attention.
It was Joyce Barnhardt in a very short, very tig
ht black leather skirt and an orange knit tank top.
“Hello, Stephanie,” Joyce said.
“Hello, Joyce.”
She flashed a smile on Kuntz. “Hello, handsome.”
I turned to Lula, and we made the finger-?down-?the-?throat, tongue-?stuck-?out gag gesture to each other.
“If I had those breasts I could clean up,” Sally whispered to me. “I could make enough money in a year to fucking retire. I wouldn't ever have to put on another pair of heels.”
“What are you doing here, Joyce? I thought Vinnie was going to talk to you.”
“It's a free country,” Joyce said. “I can go where I want. Do what I want. And right now what I want is to get Maxine.”
“Why?”
“Just for the fun of it,” Joyce said.
“Bitch.”