Free Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1) by A Wallace Page B

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    O’Shea’s Pub brimmed with chatter and laughter. Old wood and varnish lingered in the air. Charley navigated the maze of tables to the rear of the watering hole. In the far corner, she spotted a tall cocktail table for two. She hiked her hip and slid onto the oak barstool. Her face buried in her hands, a female voice greeted her.
    “Hi, Charley, the usual?” the server said.
    Charley smiled at the young woman. “Hey, Tara… yes, please.”
    “One bourbon, straight, coming up,” Tara said as she turned to leave.
    “Hey, make it a double. I’m gonna need it.”
    “Sure thing.”
    Charley’s eyes patrolled the roomful of young lobbyists, lawyers, and reporters sitting about with yanked ties, and pulled-up hems. Most wanted to score before midnight with a name or face they wouldn’t remember. O’Shea’s attracted the up and coming. Charley could name them all.
    Tara placed Charley’s drink in front of her. “Here ya go.”
    “Thanks.” Charley dug into her satchel, lifting out a credit card and handed it to Tara. “Put it on this. Add twenty percent for your tip.”
    “Thank you.” Tara took the card and disappeared into the myriad of customers.
    Charley spun her glass on the smooth oak surface. She flipped through her mind what and how she would explain her idea to Murphy. Startled by a tap on her upper arm, she flung in his direction.
    “You must be ashamed of me.” Murphy sat on the barstool across from her. “Far corner, damn, it’s dark back here.”
    “Privacy is necessary,” Charley said.
    “So, no romance.”
    “I doubt you know what that is,” she said as Tara approached their table.
    “Here’s your card, Charley, and thank you.” Tara turned to Murphy. “Would you like to order, sir?”
    Murphy smiled. “I want the hard stuff tonight. Chocolate milk.”
    Tara tipped her head. “Really?”
    He chuckled. “Jack please, neat.”
    “Yes, sir.” Tara turned to Charley. “Is this on the same tab?”
    Charley and Murphy’s voices rang in unison.
    “No.”
    “Yes.”
    Their eyes locked as Charley clocked his shin with her foot.
    “He’s paying for his own.”
    Murphy produced his debit card. “This’ll do.”
    “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back with your drink and card.” Tara smiled, leaving them more cocktail napkins and left.
    “What’s this about?” Murphy said. “I doubt you wish to squander a Friday night with me.”
    “We’re partners on the case, right?”
    He crossed his arms on the table, arching his eyebrow. “Yes.”
    “So… if I discovered something you would want me to share it?”
    Murphy tilted towards her. “I’m listening.”
    After a sip, Charley placed her bourbon on the table.
    Murphy grabbed her glass and took a drink. “Mmm, ahh,” he grunted, sliding the seamless glassware towards her. “Good stuff. Nice of you to share.”
    She slapped his hand. “What the hell are you doing?”
    “Testing,” he said as Tara returned with his order and credit card. He smiled, nodded, and refocused on Charley. Tara grinned and left.
    “Testing what?” Charley said.
    “To see what you would do.”
    “Now you know. Do it again and I’ll break your face.”
    “Just messing with you, Faraday. Continue with what you were saying.”
    Charley composed herself as she stretched her shoulders. “What if I acquired info, dismissing proper procedure, or I stepped away from protocol?” She diverted her attention to a couple spelunking each other’s tonsils with their tongues.
    “What’s going on, Faraday?”
    Charley placed her drink on the table and rubbed her chin. “While we were at the Senters, I kinda did something against professional integrity.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Remember when I went into both bathrooms and the nursery?”
    “Sure.” He savored his drink and licked his lips.
    “Well… I… uh…” Charley placed her fingertips on her mouth, “took hair samples from the brushes. I also lifted a sample of baby Robert from the