BooksBarbecue
Back We Were Killers Once
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

Beaufort parked his bike around the corner from the sheriff’s office, and found a coffee shop close by where he could watch the entrance to the building. From there he saw when Meadows exited the building, and followed him on and off for a week to pick up his patterns. He wouldn’t have been able to actually follow the guy home, as he couldn’t keep up with a car. But he did find the guy’s watering hole, which was within walking distance from the station.

Meadows was never on call in the evenings, which allowed him plenty of free time to drink. And talk like he was still somebody. But mostly drink. Always at the same bar, one of those places that cops frequent where there’s always another cop to take them home in case of one too many. The Pelican Pub had dusty nautical decorations, a sign that said HEAD instead of RESTROOMS, heavy boat ropes with a sticky film on them lining the edge of the bar and making it uncomfortable to lean your elbows.

This guy, always on the same days, every other day. That probably meant he had a wife who would complain if he was gone too much. The same place at the bar, too, on this side of the corner. So Beaufort got there about a half hour before Meadows did, and parked himself, not on Meadows’s usual stool, but on the other side of the corner.

Meadows arrived, and glanced at where Beaufort was sitting. He gave Beaufort a hurt look, as if the other man had taken something from him that was his by right. But he continued to amble down the bar and squished his body, not on his usual seat, but two away from the other man so it wouldn’t look like he was gay. Beaufort had expected that. They were still close enough to talk. Two seats between them, no one would take one unless the bar was totally crowded; that was bar etiquette you could count on, and it had never changed.

Beaufort didn’t look up at Meadows’s approach, and nursed his beer until the other was through one finger of bourbon. He didn’t want to speak until he figured the man was sufficiently relaxed.

Then in that nonthreatening southern accent Beaufort said, “Excuse me, sir.”

When the man looked up with a face that didn’t mind his particular thoughts being interrupted, Beaufort held up a few fingers. “Do you mind? If you’d rather—“

“No. No, that’s okay,” said Meadows. “What’s up?”

“I’m traveling around Florida by myself and sometimes I get tired of the silence, know what I mean?”