Scam

my ID, flopped it open in front of a guy at the end of the bar, and said, “Excuse me, I’m a private detective. I’m trying to locate a witness. I wonder if you could help me.”
    The guy, a young salesman type in a gray suit, didn’t appear too thrilled, but the woman sitting next to him said, “Ooh, a private eye. What’s this all about?”
    “I’m trying to find someone. I’m looking for people who were here around this same time last Thursday night.”
    The woman was young, relatively attractive, and wore a lime-green something or other—I’m terrible with clothes—but I think it was a pants suit with a sort of half jacket, half vest thing on top. Anyway, she frowned, which made her look younger, gave her an almost schoolgirl pout, and said, “I wasn’t here Thursday. Were you?”
    The young man hesitated, and I immediately knew his dilemma. He hadn’t been here, but hated to say so and lose importance in her eyes, and was toying with the idea of claiming to have been here and trying to bluff it through.
    I wasn’t about to let him. “No big deal,” I said. “I’m just trying to find someone who was here that night.” I turned and flopped the ID in front of the guy to my left. “How about you—you happen to be here Thursday night?”
    The guy, a broad-shouldered macho type, regarded me with hostile eyes. “What’s it to you?”
    “No big deal,” I said. “Just trying to locate a witness. I’m looking for people who were here last Thursday night.”
    “He’s a private eye,” the lime-green woman said.
    Macho man looked at her. I could see his mind going. Maybe he could ace out the guy she was sitting with. “Were you here Thursday night?” he said.
    The salesman type put up his hands defensively, which gave him a petulant look. “Hey,” he said. “This is nothing to do with us. None of us were here that night. Let’s let it alone.”
    “Yeah, but someone must have been here that night,” the lime-green lady said.
    Macho man picked up on it. “Absolutely,” he said. He pointed to her. “Maybe we should ask around.”
    “Yeah, but ask what?” she said. She turned to me. “Who are you looking for, and what do you want with him?”
    “Actually, it’s a her,” I said.
    “A woman?” Macho man said. “You’re looking for a woman?”
    “Of course he’s looking for a woman,” the salesman said. “He just has a new approach. Look, this happened Thursday night. I wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. Why don’t you ask someone else?”
    “Not till he tells us what this is all about,” the lime-green lady said. “You can’t just ask the question and leave it like that. Suppose we’d been here Thursday night—what then?”
    “I would ask you if you’d seen a particular woman.” I smiled. “Since you weren’t here, I can’t ask.”
    “But why do you want to know?” she persisted.
    “He can’t tell you that,” the salesman said. He looked at me. “Right? You’re working for a client, it’s confidential, you can’t tell us a thing.”
    That was exactly the case, but wasn’t about to win me any popularity contests. I smiled again. “It’s not as bad as all that.”
    A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
    I turned around, looked up into the eyes of my buddy, Sandy the bartender. Without the bar between us, he looked bigger, broader, more imposing. Macho man might have taken him, but I sure couldn’t. Things did not look good.
    “You bothering these folks?” Sandy said.
    Macho man got up from his bar stool. I had the sickening realization he was going to defend me, a humiliation I could have done without.
    Sandy forestalled it. He put up his hand. “No trouble, folks. No trouble at all. You and this gentleman can discuss anything you like. I just need to have a few words with him first.” He smiled. “Bartender’s prerogative, right?”
    With his hand on my shoulder, he piloted me away from the bar and into an alcove near the telephone. In that particular establishment, it was as secluded as you could get.
    “All right,” he said. “You’re here looking for the girl?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “You recall me telling you not to do that?”
    “I believe you made that suggestion, yes.”
    “And you came back anyway.”
    “I have a job to do.” I took a breath. “Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do.”
    “Uh-huh,” Sandy said. “So your client made you come back here, huh?”
    “That’s right.”
    “He’s not going to quit till