Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

“And she was looking forward to it?”

“Oh yes. We all were.” She looked at him appraisingly. “You don’t think that your mother just walked away from her family, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think right now, ma’am. I’m just trying to collect the facts and see where they lead me.”

Bristow nodded. “Your father was not the easiest person to live with.”

“I can attest to that.”

“But that would not have been enough of a reason for her to leave. And she never would have left her sons behind. Don’t believe for one minute that she would have.”

Puller considered this, his pen hovering over his notebook. “So if she didn’t walk out on us, then something happened to her.”

Bristow nodded. “That’s what I always assumed. The MPs and CID agents came to talk to me, of course. And other people who knew your mother. Your father was out of the country, if I remember correctly.”

Puller did not tell her that this was now known not to be the case. “Do you know anything that might have explained what happened?” he asked. “Something she might have told you that didn’t seem important at the time?”

“They asked me the same sort of questions back then. I really didn’t. And over the years I’ve thought about it from time to time, but nothing pertinent ever occurred to me.”

“Carol Powers said that my mom was all dressed up that night. Like she was going somewhere special. Do you know where that might have been?”

“No, I really don’t. She sometimes went out to dinner with some of the gals. But she usually didn’t dress up for that. How was she dressed exactly?”

Puller told her what Carol had told him.

She shook her head. “That sounds like her Sunday best.”

“I guess it does.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. But I just don’t know what she might have been doing. It was just a typical Saturday night as far as I was concerned.”

Puller asked a few more questions and then thanked her and left.

He sat out in his car for a few minutes pondering all of it.

Then it clicked.

He put the car in gear and pulled off, heading back to Fort Monroe.

He finally had a potential lead.

Sunday best.

PAUL ROGERS STARED up at the sign taped to the door of a bar called the Grunt.

Not a bad name in an area with a huge military footprint. He could imagine it was filled every night with rank-and-file Army grunts looking to drink away their troubles and have a little fun in between dodging bullets and IEDs and getting screamed at by sergeants.

Bouncer wanted.

That’s what the sign said.

He opened the door and walked in.

At this time of day there were only a few people inside. He could tell most of them worked here and were getting the place ready for the nightly invasion.

He walked over to the bartender, who was stacking glasses behind the bar.

“I’m here about the bouncer job.”

The bartender looked him up and down. Rogers was rock-solid but he hardly had the heft one probably thought a bouncer should possess.

The bartender pointed at the other end of the room. “Office is back there. Knock on the door first.”

Rogers headed that way, gazing around and taking in the space in one effective sweep. Large dance floor, video game room, raised platform for a live band, lots of tables and chairs. And enough alcohol stacked behind the bar to sink an aircraft carrier with all hands on board.

Rogers thought back to the time he had been in a bar once. It had not ended well.

It had cost him ten years of his life, in fact.

A stupid mistake on his part. But the thing in his head had not let him make a better choice.

He walked down a short hall, reached a door marked Office , and knocked.

He heard footsteps and a moment later the door was opened by a man so large that he filled most of the doorway. He had a shaved head and was dressed in a black jacket, slacks, and a black turtleneck. He looked down at Rogers.

“Yeah?” he said gruffly.

“I’m here about the bouncer job.”

The man took a step back and looked amused.

Rogers could now see into the office. It was a large room, twenty feet square with high-end built-ins and furnishings. Behind a sleek mahogany desk sat a woman in her midthirties, dressed in a beige pantsuit with a white blouse underneath.

The big man looked at her. “He’s here about the bouncer job,” he said derisively.

The woman stood. She looked to be about five-eight, slender with long blonde hair that held far darker roots at the top of her head.

“You have any experience?” she asked.

Rogers nodded.

“You’re a little small for that line of work. And a little old.”

“I can handle myself.”

She came around the side of the desk and perched a hip on it. Rogers now saw that her heels bumped her height up several inches. Without them she was really about five-five.

She said, “You former military? You look it.”

“Something like that. I don’t want to fill out any paperwork. And I prefer cash. If that’s a problem, I can leave now.”

“You don’t get to make the preferences,” said the big man. “She’s the boss. She calls the shots.”

Rogers rubbed the back of his head, the sensation more a tingling than a pain. He looked up at the big man. “So why aren’t you the bouncer? You’re big enough. The boss afraid you can’t cut it?”

The man looked ready to drive a fist right through Rogers’s face. “Where the fuck do you get off–”

“Karl!”

The woman stood and walked over to them as Karl took a step back.

“Karl is my security chief. He stays with me.”

“You need security?”

“I’m Helen Myers, Mr.?”

“Paul. Just call me Paul.”

She looked at Karl. “He vets the bouncers. That’s part of his job as head of security.”

“Okay.”

“And we normally run a background check on potential employees.”

Rogers turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Myers.

Rogers turned back around.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“I had some trouble and I paid my bill on it. I’m a free man. And I really need the job. But I’m not going through a background check. No harm, no foul. Thanks anyway.”

“Just hold on for a sec.” She studied him for a few moments.

“Okay, Paul, I’m going to turn it over to Karl now.”

Rogers looked at Karl expectantly.

Karl stepped forward and gave Rogers a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Let me see how you do visual sweeps.”

Rogers turned his head to the right.

A second later his hand reached out and caught the haymaker Karl had planned to land on his chin.

Caught and held it.

Karl tried to pull free but couldn’t break Rogers’s grip.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed.

Next, Rogers gripped the fist so tightly that one of the man’s knuckles popped out of joint.

“Shit,” cried out Karl. “Let the fuck go, man.”

“Please release him, Paul,” said Myers.

Rogers let go and stepped back, putting his hands behind his back and standing at attention.

“Son of a bitch,” said Karl, holding his injured hand. “What are you, some kinda freak?”

Rogers looked at Myers. “How much does the job pay?”

Myers said, “Five hundred a night. Hours are eight to two in the morning. We’re closed on Mondays. We get a lot of soldiers and they can get rowdy. And none of them are lightweights. They all know how to fight. That’s why the pay is what it is. I can’t guarantee that you won’t get injured. That’s what happened to the last bouncer. You will have to sign off on that disclaimer.”