Free Boy Who Shoots Crows (9781101552797) by Randall Silvis Page A

onto a spacious, dimly lit room.
    Gatesman stood in the doorway, surrounded by morning light as he surveyed the room. He finally located the owner, a thin, once-pretty woman named Bonnie, alone at one of the two booths overlooking the three pool tables. A newspaper lay spread out before her on the table, a mug of coffee near her right hand. A push broom leaned against the corner of the nearest pool table, the blue plastic dustpan balanced on the edge of the table.
    She had looked up from the newspaper but said nothing when the front door swung open and Gatesman stepped inside. Now she watched him find her in the empty room, watched a smile form on his mouth when he saw her smiling across the room at him. He crossed to her and sat facing her and clasped his hands atop the small table. She continued to look at him and smile. Finally he nodded toward the paper spread open before her and asked, “Any interesting news this morning?”
    â€œThere is,” she told him. “Apparently hell has frozen over.”
    He reached out and put a hand atop hers and squeezed her fingers. Her hand was rough but warm. “How have you been, Bonnie?”
    She turned her hand against his and returned the squeeze. “Older by a decade,” she said. “And you?”
    â€œPretty much the same. But it hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”
    â€œOh, you’ve seen me,” she said, “and I’ve seen you seeing me. But this is the first time in ten years you’ve come close enough to say hello.”
    After a few seconds he withdrew his hand. His gaze shifted away from her momentarily, and when it returned, she saw that something had shifted in his eyes and that his smile had become tired at one corner.
    â€œSo this is a business call,” she said. She sipped her coffee and watched him.
    He asked, “Has Denny Rankin been in here lately?”
    â€œWhat do you mean by lately? Past week or so?”
    â€œLast night or the night before.”
    â€œNot to my knowledge,” she said. “But I only spend my days here now. Judy and Joanne will show up in about an hour. You want some coffee?”
    â€œI’d love some, but no. I’ve got this little hypertension thing I need to watch out for. Who are Judy and Joanne?”
    â€œMy bartenders. Twins. Judy’s a redhead and Joanne’s a bottle-blonde.”
    â€œThat should be good for business,” he said.
    â€œAnd I’ll tell you what else. Those two can defuse an argument faster and with far less blood than a SWAT team. They’ve been working here not quite a year, and what a godsend they’ve been.”
    â€œI’ve always heard that women make the best bartenders.”
    â€œThe best everything,” she said. “Now about that blood pressure of yours. I was just reading in here about how important it is for men your age to have a good love life.”
    â€œShow me that,” he said. “I’d like to read it.”
    She smiled. The steadiness of her gaze made him look away for a moment. “Ten years,” she said. “I can still remember it like yesterday. Do you?”
    He leaned away from the table and looked at the ceiling. “Tell you what,” he said. “How about we don’t go there right now, okay?”
    â€œNot now or not ever?”
    â€œBonnie, please.”
    â€œSo you’re still not over it yet,” she said.
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œI mean the guilt. That’s the one thing I never felt. You still dragging that little red wagon around with you everywhere you go?”
    â€œI’ve got a child turned up missing yesterday. That’s what I need to concentrate on right now.”
    â€œDenny Rankin’s little boy?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œMissing how?” she asked. “Like abducted?”
    â€œJust not at home, that’s all we know. I’m betting he’s off with his dad