“Please be nice to Joey!” I blurted. He halted, looking back at me. “Life hasn’t been kind to him, and he doesn’t know about Gordon. No one in this town does. Don’t hold that against him.”
“Margo—”
“Please, Hayes,” I rasped.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, opening the door and shutting it behind him.
I turned to Grayson and rocked back on my heels. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked. He was leaning back against the windowsill, hands braced on it by his hips, ankles crossed.
“No, thank you,” he replied, his voice soft.
I started to straighten up the living room, needing to keep my hands busy. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
“I’m not sitting on the damn couch.”
It was at this point that I burst out laughing.
Chapter Nineteen
Hayes
By the time I reentered the Buoy, the place was packed, the parking lot full. The music was blasting, and Margo’scoworker, Rachel, was behind the bar. Thus, the beer and alcohol were still flowing. My eyes scanned the space, the scent of dead fish, fried fish, musk, and beer filling my nostrils. Above the L-shaped bar and shelves of spirits sat five flat-screens, each of them showing a different game from different parts of the country. Nearly every barstool and table were taken. It was a full house, and if I was a different kind of man, I would feel guilty about taking Margo’s tips away from her. Tonight was an opportunity for her to make some money.
But I wasn’t a different kind of man.
I was the kind of man who provided for my woman.
This lost money was no skin off my back.
Out of the corner of my eye, the kitchen door swung open and Joey stepped through. He was just a few years older than me, a recovering alcoholic and gambler. And according to his background check, he had done a pretty good job staying on the right side of the law after his mental break a few years back. He had thinning black hair, a scruffy black beard, and tired gray eyes. He, as Margo stated, had no idea about Gordon. She’d asked me to be nice to him, but if he wasn’t willing to talk, then my mercy would be limited.
I weaved through the patrons, ignoring the howling laughter of hard-working fishermen and women as half of the bar booed at the touchdown on one of the screens. Once I was at the bar, Joey’s head snapped to me, eyes going wide, and suddenly, Rachel was at his side, whispering in his ear, her golden eyes on me. He looked at her for a moment and then back at me. Then he jerked his chin, telling her to get back to work before making his way to me.
“Is Margo okay?” he asked.
Yeah, he was a good guy.
“She’s fine.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t know what kind of history she has with Gordon, but when he came in here yesterday, I figured it was for me, not her.”
My head jerked. There was nothing in his file about him being involved with Gordon. I bit down and tipped my head to the kitchen door. “It would be best if we discussed this in your office, Mr. Adams.”
His throat bobbed. Once we were in his office, I remained by the door, watching him navigate through the cramped space. There were stacks of old newspapers against the wall, an overflowing trash can at the corner of his desk, and several white coffee-stained mugs littered across the desk, sprinkled in with the mountain of paperwork.
“I take it Rachel doesn’t do the bar’s taxes in here,” I noted, testing him.
He did a double take as he sat in his chair. “How in the fuck do you know that?”
“My job is to know that,” I returned. “I know everything about you, your father, your gambling problem, your wasted inheritance, and that Rachel is the only reason this bar is still functioning.”
He blinked. “Are you a cop or something?”
“Or something,” I answered, pulling out my phone, shooting a text to the Red Snake group chat.
Me: Got something. Margo’s boss at the Buoy, Joey Adams, has a history with Gordon.
Jake: The fuck? That wasn’t in his file.