Free No Gun Intended by Zoe Burke Page A

kids?”
    I smiled. He wasn’t old enough to call us “kids.” I figured him around forty-five, tops. “Beer for me, Pops. What do you have?”
    He smiled. “Stella, Blue Moon, and Guinness.”
    â€œNo brainer there. It’s gotta be Guinness, surrounded as we are by Mr. Yeats.”
    â€œSame for me, please,” said Luis.
    He patted the bar top again and withdrew to fill our glasses. The three guys at the bar turned around to size us up, smiled, nodded, and went back to their soccer game.
    â€œLuis, I don’t get soccer. I think it’s boring. Is it boring for you?”
    Luis was watching the television. “Boring, amiga ? You have much to learn about soccer! I was the goalie for my high-school team. I was good, too.” He turned back to me. “My kid, he, she, whatever, my kid is going to play soccer. All children play soccer now. You might have to learn it, amiga , so that you can play with my son or daughter.” Big smile.
    I tried to mirror the big smile but said only, “I’ll take your child to the movies instead.”
    Our beers showed up, and we each had a swallow, setting them back down on the bar. “Yum,” I said, to the bartender. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
    â€œPerry. Haven’t seen you two in here before.”
    â€œNo,” answered Luis, “this is our first time. It is a nice place you have.”
    â€œThanks. I put a lot into it.”
    â€œYou’re the owner?” I asked.
    Perry nodded. “Bought it five years ago and fixed it up. The neighborhood is up and coming. Got a good mix of old-timers and younger people who are moving in.”
    I held out my hand. “May I congratulate you on a brilliant name?”
    He shook it. “Thanks.” He laughed. “Most people don’t get it. I know it’s an odd name for a bar, but I think it’s memorable. On Tuesday nights I play old ‘Rawhide’ episodes, and on Wednesday nights, we have poetry readings.”
    â€œBrilliant. Sounds very Portland to me.”
    Luis and I chatted with Perry, telling him that we were visiting from out of town, and asking him for suggestions of things to do in Portland. He was friendly and cheerful, jotted down the names of some restaurants and bars he recommended on a bar napkin, and then excused himself to tend to another customer who came in.
    Luis said, “It is time to ask him about Hank Howard, yes?”
    â€œYes.” I sipped my beer. “I like this place. It seems safe and fun and neighborly. Not a place for drug dealers.”
    â€œI agree.”
    Perry headed back our way in a few minutes. “Anything else I can get for you two?”
    â€œActually, amigo , we have a question for you.”
    â€œShoot.”
    â€œThe man who was shot and killed nearby recently. He was in here?”
    Perry backed away from us and stiffened. “Who are you?”
    Luis and I both pulled out our Asta Investigations business cards and handed them over to Perry. “PIs?” he read. “DDS? You’re a dentist for a P.I. firm? What the hell?” He tossed the cards aside.
    â€œLuis is a detective. I work for the agency as a partner. It’s just starting up in New York. I’m not a dentist. I, um, dumpster dive, as needed.”
    He stared at me like I was a lunatic, then shifted over to Luis. “Why are you asking about Hank? Why are you investigating this?”
    â€œWe only want to know if maybe there are friends of his that come here, that we could talk to. We don’t want to get anyone in trouble. We just need to find out some information.”
    Perry shook his head. “Some information? The police are all over this thing. Why don’t you talk to them?”
    â€œPerry.” I reached out my hand across the bar as though I was going to hold his, but of course, that wasn’t going to happen, so I pulled it back. “The gun used in the