I laughed. “I dunno. Not sure it really worked well with Diego.”
Jack opened the glass door of the bar for me. We strolled in, the dark lighting and the smell of beer invading our senses. The place was nothing to write home about. It was filled with tired plywood tables, old wooden chairs, three pinball machines, and an old Galaga video game.
An eighties heavy metal band played softly on overhead speakers. The Shady Lady wasn’t where one went for atmosphere. It was a place for tired, fed-up people to do some hard drinking at the end of a long workday.
Possibly because it was only eight at night, the place was no more than half full. Or maybe the hard drinkers had come and gone. It was difficult to tell.
“Looks like there’s a band tonight,” Jack said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
I eyed the four musicians on the stage, who were setting up amps and guitars. I didn’t recognize any of them. Come to think of it, I didn’t recognize anyone in here at all. Over the years, when I’d come home from Boston and stopped here with Vera, I’d know at least a few people from high school.
Now, I guessed, they were all home with their families. I, on the other hand, was out on the town with a total stranger, investigating a homicide. Maybe I wasn’t doing this adulting thing right.
We sauntered over to the bar. An older woman was the only other person sitting on the stools, and she was focused on her phone, a thin cigarette in hand. There appeared to be a creature on her shoulder, and I did a double take.
“Jack.” I turned so my back was to the woman. “Come closer.”
He did, and the scent of his soap—Irish Spring, I detected—was a pleasurable tickle in my nose. “What’s up?”
I leaned to whisper in his ear. “Does the person at the end of the bar have a monkey on her shoulder?”
“Literally or metaphorically?”
“Literally.”
There was a pause, and he swallowed. “Yes. In fact, she does.”
We sat in two of six empty seats, with the monkey lady at the end corner. I tried not to stare, but couldn’t help sneaking glances. The monkey appeared to be wearing a little red vest and was attached to a leash. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was a capuchin. Between sips of her beer, the woman would pass the monkey a peanut in a shell. It was impressive how his tiny hands cracked open the nut, just like a human would.
The bartender wandered over. She was a young and beautiful Black woman wearing a tank top with the bar’s logo on front. It made her slender, muscular arms look incredible. I wondered if this was who Gene had the hots for.
“Hey there,” she said warmly. “I’m Farah. What would you two like this evening?”
Jack and I both ordered a local beer on tap and Farah walked away. We swiveled our chairs a few inches to face each other.
“Do you think that’s the woman Diego mentioned? The bartender?” I asked in a low voice, trying to put the monkey at the end of the bar out of my thoughts.
“Could be. I’m going to ask.”
“Hang on, give it a few minutes. Let’s assess the scene first.”
Farah brought the two glasses of beer and Jack paid in cash. As we sipped, I tried to make conversation instead of drinking too much. The beer was a dark brown ale, and it tasted bitter on my tongue.
“I told Vera that we’re on a date.”
He grinned. “Is that an unpleasant thought?”
Was he flirting with me? I smiled back at him. “I... guess not?”
“Good,” he said.
An adorably awkward pause hung in the air, and the strains of Night Ranger’s one hit came over the speakers. The band seemed nowhere close to starting. I hummed along with the tune.
“You like eighties hair bands?” Jack asked.
I shrugged. “Not really, but I know all the songs because of my parents. They played all this stuff when Vera and I were kids. My father and his brother looked like Mötley Crüe as teenagers—and loved their music. And in their later years, they kind of looked like the guys from ZZ Top. You know, with the beards?”
Jack nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t sure if I was joking.