Free Blood Stains by Sharon Sala

like the man he’d been then, mimicking wealth with a ten-year-old Corvette, his JCPenney suits and fake gold jewelry. But he’d had plans and dreams, and by God, he’d made them happen. His suits were Armani now, and his watch was gold, as in Rolex. And the car he drove these days was a baby blue Mercedes with matching leather seats—his dream car.
    Convinced that he’d made a big deal out of nothing, he waved at his waiter and ordered a second glass of wine, then glanced at his watch. Where the hell was his client? Didn’t the little bastard know his time was valuable? He would give him ten more minutes, and then he was out of here.
    His second drink arrived at the same time that a man walked into the bar. Franklin eyed him, thinking to himself that he knew the guy from somewhere. As the man passed, he caught a glimpse of a badge clipped to his waist and the bulge of a shoulder holster, and thought cop. That’s it. The guy’s a cop.
    Out of curiosity, he turned to see where the man was headed, and once again, his stomach rolled. That woman—the Sally Blake look-alike. The cop was going to her table.
    “So what?” Franklin muttered, unaware he was talking aloud. “So she’s talking to a cop. So what? It’s still nothing to do with me.”
    “Mr. Sheets. Sorry I’m late.”

    Franklin jumped, then turned around. The missing client had arrived. He glared at the pasty-faced accountant who was having trouble with the IRS and thought about telling him he wasn’t going to take the case. Then he remembered the hefty retainer he’d already accepted and made himself focus.
    Maria saw Bodie enter the bar and lifted her hand. Immediately he saw her and headed her way, moving with a slow, easy stride that reminded her of the cowboys on the Triple S. She hadn’t known he wore a Stetson, but she had seen his boots. Even though it wasn’t how she’d imagined a detective would dress, she thought little of it. This was Oklahoma, after all. Plenty of cowboys here.
    Now, watching him wend his way through the maze of small tables, she had to admit that he was very easy on the eyes.
    “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me,” Bodie said, as he took a seat at the table beside her and laid his hat on an empty chair.
    “No problem,” Maria said. “You’re the one doing me a favor. It’s why I came here, remember?”
    The waiter stopped by the table to get his order. Bodie noticed the brown long-neck bottle in front of Maria and stifled a grin. A woman after his own heart.
    “I’ll have what she’s having.”
    As Maria’s focus shifted, she realized the detective was watching her. They locked gazes, and she was the first to look away. Suddenly the condensation dripping down the side of the bottle became an irresistible point of interest.

    Bodie could tell she was nervous. He didn’t know whether it had to do with him, the case, or both.
    The case he and Dave had just worked was still weighing on his mind. He would like for this one to have a better resolution. If he was to believe everything Maria had told him, then all he had to do was find a way to help her unlock her memory.
    The waiter came back with his beer.
    “Thanks,” Bodie said, then eyed Maria. “Did you make reservations in the restaurant?”
    “No, I was just going to take my chances,” she said.
    “Grab your drink and let’s head that way. My belly’s rubbing against my backbone.”
    Maria grinned. “That’s pretty hungry.”
    Bodie grabbed his hat, settled it on his head, then picked up his beer.
    “When it comes to food, I don’t mess around. After you, ma’am.”
    Maria walked out of the bar, thinking only of the detective behind her, and she didn’t even notice that another set of eyes was following her every move.

Six
    B odie waited until after he and Maria had ordered their food before taking the DMV photo of Tank Vincent out of his jacket pocket.
    “This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, and slid it across the table.
    Maria