Free Sigma Curse - 04 by Tim Stevens

older. The men outnumbered the women three to one, Venn estimated. It didn’t look like a pick-up joint – more like a fairly quiet pit-stop, a place to have a drink or two after work. Soft rock played from the speakers.
    Venn made his way to the counter along from the two corporals, several other patrons separating him from them. The lone bartender was moving about swiftly, and he nodded to Venn. Venn held up a casual hand in a no rush gesture.
    He ordered a Budweiser in a long-necked bottle, tipped it to his lips but didn’t swallow. There were no mirrors across the bar, so he couldn’t watch Craddock and Austin that way. But he was aware of their presence down the bar, aware of the way they sat with their heads down, nursing their drinks, deep in quiet conversation.
    Venn knew they’d see him, sooner or later. If you wanted people to notice you, eventually they always did.
    The couple of drinkers between Venn and the two soldiers moved away. A few moments later, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Austin had turned to stare at him.
    Venn glanced down the bar.
    He said, “Hey, fellas. Fancy meeting you here.”
    Without being asked, he scooted down the counter and sat on the stool beside Austin. The two men had almost-empty whiskey glasses in front of them. From the smell on Austin’s breath, it wasn’t their first round. Or even their second.
    Neither of them spoke. Venn said, “Remember me? Joe Venn. NYPD. We talked earlier today.”
    “How can we help you, Lieutenant?” Austin muttered. His speech wasn’t quite slurred. Past him, Craddock glowered.
    Venn knew alcohol did one of three things to a guy, even in small quantities. In each case, it brought out something essential about his temperament. Sometimes – usually – it made him affable. Sometimes it made him pathetic and maudlin.
    Other times, it made him mean.
    Venn saw that now in Craddock’s face. The meanness, like a tightly coiled spring which has suddenly been allowed a little leeway. Austin, on the other hand, just looked wary.
    Instead of answering Austin’s question, Venn looked over his shoulder.
    “Not a lot of women here, are there?”
    Both men frowned, as if some crazy drunk had just accosted them.
    “Sir?” said Austin.
    “Mostly guys at this establishment.”
    “It’s a soldier’s bar,” Craddock muttered. “Soldiers and truckers.”
    “Ah. I get it.” Venn took another hit off his beer bottle without actually drinking any. “For a moment there I thought this was some other kind of place.”
    He saw Craddock stiffen, his face darken. Austin glanced incredulously at his friend, then back at Venn.
    Craddock knocked back the last of his whiskey in one shot. He put the glass down harder than necessary.
    “What are you trying to say, sir ?”
    Venn raised his eyebrows in mock bewilderment. “What? Nothing. Nothing at all.” He paused. “Just thought Arturo’s might be a gay bar, is all.”
    The glass in Craddock’s fist creaked an instant before it splintered. Craddock snarled: “Mother-”
    Venn glanced down the bar. The bartender was at the far end, tending to a customer, and hadn’t noticed.
    He looked back at Craddock. The man had his hand raised, a trickle of blood running down the palm and dripping on to the counter.
    Venn said, “You might want a napkin for that.” He grabbed a handful out of a container on the counter and shoved them Craddock’s way.
    As the soldier wadded them in his fist, Venn said: “What’s the problem, Corporal Craddock? You got something against gay people?”
    Beside him, Austin said, his voice low and hoarse: “Listen, pal.” There was no sir this time. “I don’t know what you’re playing at. But this is police harassment All we need to do is pick up the phone and call -”
    “You threatening me, soldier?” said Venn, his voice even quieter. He gazed mildly into Austin’s face.
    When the other man didn’t drop his eyes, Venn said: “Here’s the thing. I’ve got