Sally and Agatha looked at one another.
“Horrible. Just horrible. Reminds me of that other case — the Thurman girl. Remember, Ag? She just vanished without a trace one night…”
“Of course I remember, Sal. Whole town was in an uproar looking for her.” Agatha’s brows pinched inward. “That must’ve been… what? Fifteen, twenty years ago?”
“At least,” Sally said, shaking her head. “Strange case. Very strange. And very sad.”
“Okay,” Florence interjected, patience dwindling. “Normally, I might care more about some long-past case involving another missing kid, but tonight we don’t have time for your tangents.Comprende?”
Agatha shot her a look. “This is why you never win when we play canasta. No patience.”
“No ability to see the big picture,” Sally added.
“What?” Flo gaped. “You said I was getting pretty good!”
“We lied,” they chorused.
Flo looked truly aghast at this news.
“Sally, Agatha…” Gwen waded into the squabble. “The thing is, we’re pretty certain Georgia is about to walk into a dangerous situation involving the O’Banions.”
Sally gasped. “Oh! That’s not good.”
“Our thoughts exactly. She needs a bit of backup — that’s where we come in.” Gwen leaned forward in her seat, swaying slightly from the Patrón still coursing through her veins. “I’ll explain more on the way. Just drive, Sally.Fast.”
Sally needed no more encouragement. The minivan took off like a shot, peeling away from the curb with a screech of tires that left the scent of burning rubber in the night air.
Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm me, I reached for my seatbelt.
* * *
I’d seen The Banshee my first night in town, when my car had broken down. It had looked foreboding then; now, it seemed even more ominous. The facade was dingy, with missing shingles and a boarded-up window. The illuminated sign was peppered with rust.
Gwen, Florence, and I stood on the sidewalk outside, shoulder to shoulder, studying the line of motorcycles parked at the curb and listening to the clatter of pool balls that spilled out the open windows. (It had taken some arm-twisting, but we’d managed to convince Sally and Agatha to wait in the minivan across the street.)
“Whatever you do,” Flo said. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Or let anyone touch you,” Gwen added.
I chewed my bottom lip. “Maybe I should call Cade.”
“The O’Banion boys will go apeshit if the SPD storms into their bar.” Gwen shook her head. “Besides, they’re busy searching for Rory. If we call them, we take them away from that.”
She was right. Still, a flutter of nerves occupied my stomach. They vanished in a puff of smoke as a female scream — Gigi’s scream — split the night.
“I know you know where he is, Shane! Tell me where my boy is!”
We all looked at one another for a heartbeat. Then, we rushed for the door. We practically fell through it, the three of us one big tangle of limbs. It was only by the grace of god that we didn’t sprawl onto the sticky bar floor. (Seriously, it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since Salem was founded in 1626.)
The rest of the place wasn’t much better. I’d seen a glimpse of it in my vision the other night, when I’d touched Donny, so I knew not to expect five-star service and designer decor. But the events I’d witnessed took place about a decade ago. Things had deteriorated significantly in the years since.Shabbywas too nice a word to describe it.
Seedycame closer.
The bar stools had visible foam peeking out of the cracked leather. Several were sporting duct tape. The pool table in the corner had chipped legs and fraying green felt. Three of the neon beer-brand signs had burned out and never been replaced. The bar-top was cloaked in a layer of grime I could see clear across the room. The whole place smelled of cigarettes, mildew, stale beer, and body odor.
The clientele was, if you could believe it, even less appealing. A handful of burly men were clustered around the pool table with sticks in their hands. Several more were planted on stools, nursing beers. But it was the two giants standing behind the bar who caught my attention. Firstly, because they looked like Donny — bushy red beards, brooding demeanors, built like a walking advertisement for anabolic steroid use. Secondly, because they had Georgia cornered behind the bar, her back to the wall of liquor bottles. Thirdly, because one of them had his ham-sized fist wrapped around her throat.
I didn’t think, I just reacted. So did Florence and Gwen. We all launched into motion at once, running full tilt at the bar, screaming our heads off.