I flashed a fifty. “It’s yours if you help me.”

“All right.” He made the money disappear. “Tell me what you need.”

I opened my mouth, ready to save my brother’s life.

I had no idea what to say.

At first, the bartender seemed amused. It didn’t last. “Fifty bucks is a lot of money, but it’s not that much. I’ll give you ten more seconds.”

“My brother is Jason French.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Um, do you know him?”

“Maybe.”

“He was here a while back. He got into a fight with some bikers.”

“Look around. We have lots of fights and lots of bikers.”

“He was with Tyra Norris.”

“Oh, that one.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. It could mean anything, so I tried again. “She may have started the fight. Does that help?”

“Tyra Norris and a fight with some bikers.” The bartender’s face shut down, a cold, blank slate. “We’re done now.”

“If it’s about more money…” I emptied my wallet, and spread bills on the bar. “Sixty-three dollars. It’s all I have.”

He looked at the money, but didn’t touch it. “You don’t want to go this way, kid. Trust me.”

“Take the money. Please.”

The bartender took another look around the room, then pocketed the bills with a world-weary shrug. “I know your brother, and I know Tyra, too, tart little sex pistol that she was. And yeah, I was here when the fight went down, five on one against your brother. It cost me two busted tables and about thirty broken glasses. It started here, and spilled outside when they tossed your brother through that window.”

“What was the fight about?”

“What I told you is all I know.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Jesus, kid…”

“Tyra’s dead and my brother’s in prison. What would you do if you were me?”

“Look, I’m trying to save your ass.”

“So give me back the money.”

I held out my hand, but he didn’t reach for any bills. With another I-don’t-care-about-this-anyway kind of shrug, he said, “All right, tough guy. It’s your funeral. Wait here.”

He slid a bottle of beer into my hand, then ambled to the end of the bar where an older man hunched above a glass of brown liquor, four other bikers sharing the same corner. The bartender whispered a few words and then returned. “I told him you want to talk, and what about.”

“So I wait?”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home and go to bed. Other than that, yeah, you need to wait.”