Inherit the Dead

turkey sandwich, then slid Angel’s photo across the mahogany surface.
    The bartender studied the photo. “She was here, couple of weeks ago, with a real bruiser. At least he wanted to think so.”
    “Why? He start trouble?”
    The bartender shook his head. “I just didn’t like him. Thought he was God’s gift to everyone, especially women. The girl, though”—he tapped Angel’s photo—“she didn’t mind.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Just that he had his hands all over her, and she seemed to like it fine.”
    “You see them often?” Perry wanted to know.
    “They came in for drinks and snacks a couple of nights. I didn’t spend much time with them. The place gets crowded.” The bartender shrugged. “But she was a real looker, hard to miss.” Something at the other side of the bar caught the man’s eye. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, leaving Perry to his beer and food.
    Three swigs later, a man of about forty, in black jeans and a hooded sweatshirt over a green sports shirt, took the barstool beside Perry’s. “Nasty night,” he said, signaling for a drink.
    Perry scooped up the photo of Angel but not before the other guy got a good glimpse. “Pretty,” he said.
    “Uh-huh.” Perry said, downing the rest of his beer. The bartender returned with two more Driftwoods. What the hell, Perry thought. Since the guy was clearly interested in Angel’s photo, it was worth asking a few questions.
    “You’re staying here?”
    The other man shook his head. “Nah, just passing through. I thought the Led Zeppelin cover band was playing tonight, but I got the dates mixed up. They’re supposed to be really something else.” His eyes brightened. “You know this place was voted the best bar in the Hamptons a few years back? That’s why I had to stop by. I didn’t want to miss it. I’ve already missed too many things.”
    Perry wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean but said nothing. The guy continued. “My mother always says I’m too dramatic . . . ” He trailed off into a half chuckle. “So what’s your deal? You staying here?”
    “Just for the night. Had a meeting that got pushed back a day,” Perry said. “Plus, I’m looking for information about the girl. Know anything?”
    “Never seen her,” the man said, running a hand through his hair. “But I know my mother would have a lot to say about someone that pretty.”
    Perry let the comment slide. Some guys, they dress like adults but stay children forever, their best girls always their mothers.
    He felt a rustle to his right, turned to find a blowsy blonde smiling up at him. “Well hello, sailor.” She was eager, buxom, and Botoxed.
    Perry wanted to roll his eyes, the urge he always had with women trying too hard. “Hey,” he said.
    “What are you drinking?”
    “I’m good.”
    She laughed. “Your bottle is empty.” She signaled the bartender for another round. “What brings you to the Memory?” she cooed.
    Perry slid over Angel’s photo. “Her.”
    The woman frowned. “What about her?” she asked, her voice sharp as glass.
    “She was here a while ago. Now she’s gone. Know anything?”
    The drinks arrived, but the woman pretended not to notice. “Why would I know anything? Am I supposed to know something about every person who ever walks into this dumb joint?”
    “Well, I’m not sure—” Perry started, feeling off-balance. Was this woman bipolar? First she was hitting on him; now she was insulted.
    “Oh, forget it,” she said, grabbing her bottle and sliding off the barstool. “You’re a real stinker.”
    As she stalked off, leaving Perry bewildered at the whole exchange, he looked back to his left. The man in the sweatshirt was gone. And Perry was stuck with the tab.
    Ten minutes later, still discombobulated from the whole bar business, Perry found his Datsun in the still-pouring rain and parked it in front of room twelve. He bolted the few feet, slammed the door behind him, and took stock of the room. A little dingy, a little musty, with a haphazardly made bed and some weird Painter of Light shit hanging on the wall, but it would do. It was a stopgap kind of place, perfect for Perry’s current state of mind: in suspended animation, needing a better read on where Angel might be.
    He lay on his back on the paisley bedspread and took out her photo again. Just as before, he sensed he was missing something about her. About the case. But before Perry could ruminate further, exhaustion