Duke frowned. The trial had dragged on so long because everyone believed there was a missing shooter—they’d never found the gun that killed Mark. His friend’s murderer was probably still out there.

“I don’t want to talk about it. And quit trying to play my nursemaid, Aaron. I got this. I’m not going to make a fool of myself.” Duke slugged back his drink and reached for the bottle, refilling his glass.

“You go down, I go down.”

“Dude, chill out. No one knows we’re here. It’s fine.”

Roland butted in. “Dude, what happened with the ugly finder you pitched today? Anyone get hurt?”

“What’s an ugly finder?” asked Aaron.

Duke grinned. “The foul ball that moron hit into the dugout today, that’s called an ugly finder. The ball will either find someone who is ugly or make him that way, if he gets hit. In this case, Johnny B took one on his big forehead. Luckily, he didn’t have any looks to worry about.”

“Goddamn, I wish I’d seen it! I bet he cried like a baby.” Roland hooted with laughter. “Too bad it didn’t hit that bastard harder—coulda knocked the ugly right off him. An ugly finder … perfect!”

A server walked up just then, her back to Duke as she slammed down a tray with glasses of water and a bowl of house-made chips. He heard her snort and then say to Roland, “You’re talking about that poor player who got hit in the dugout today? Nice.”

She stalked off before they could respond. Something about her walk and the swing of her curly ponytail was familiar. Do I know her? thought Duke. Hard to tell, he decided. He knew so many bitchy girls.

A few more tequila shots and, soon enough, Duke’s ankle no longer mattered and the images of Mark, lying in a pool of blood, faded into the background.

The three men drank and riffed on each other and sized up the women.

Roland suddenly perked up. “Hey, I think I recognize that lippy bartender. I think she’s a stripper at that new place over on Bronx Street.” He pointed toward the end of the bar. “She has one helluva ass. And she does this thing where she grabs a beer and pours it out, real slow, over her white T-shirt. Hot.”

Aaron leaned forward and tilted his head, judging. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

Duke pushed up the brim of his hat and turned to take a closer look.

He could see her face now. It was the nurse from earlier today. She was the bartender.

He tugged his lid back down. If he was smart, he’d leave. She probably knew who he was by now. He didn’t need a bartender calling up the news stations.