Free Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce Page A

said, hauling
the drunk man to his feet.
    Mackenzie and Porter watched as the
guard escorted the drunk man to the door. Porter nudged Mackenzie and chuckled.
“You’re just full of surprises, huh?”
    Mackenzie only shrugged. When they
turned back around to the bar area, the bartender had returned. Another man
stood beside him, staring down Mackenzie and Porter as if they were stray dogs
that he didn’t trust.
    “You want to tell me what that was all
about?” the man asked.
    “Are you Mr. William Avery?” Porter
asked.
    “I am.”
    “Well, Mr. Avery,” Mackenzie said, “your
patrons need to do a better job of keeping their mouths shut and their hands to
themselves.”
    “What’s this about?” Avery asked.
    “Is there somewhere more private we can
speak?” Porter asked.
    “No. Here is fine. This is the busiest
time of the day for us. I need to be here to help tend bar.”
    “You sure do,” Porter said. “I ordered a
rum and Coke five minutes ago and I still haven’t seen it.”
    The bartender scowled and then turned to
the bottles behind him. In his absence, Avery leaned forward and said, “If this
is about Hailey Lizbrook, I already told your other cop buddies everything I
know about her.”
    “But you didn’t talk to me,” Mackenzie
said.
    “So what?”
    “So, I take a different approach than
almost everyone else, and this is our case,” she said, nodding toward Porter.
“So I need you to answer more questions.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “Well, if you don’t,” Mackenzie said, “I
can interview a woman named Colby Barrow. That name sound familiar? I believe
she was seventeen when she started working here, right? She got the job by
performing oral sex on you, I believe. The case is dead, I know. But I wonder
if she’d have anything to tell me about your business practices that might have
been swept under the rug six years ago. I wonder if she might be able to tell
me why you don’t seem to give a damn that one of your dancers was killed three
nights ago.”
    Avery looked at her like he wanted to
slap her. She almost wanted him to try it. She had encountered far too many men
like him in the last few years—men that cared noting for women until the lights
were out and they needed sex or something to punch on. She held his gaze,
letting him know that she was much more than a punching bag.
    “What do you want to know?” he asked.
    Before she answered, the bartender
finally delivered Porter’s drink. Porter sipped from it, smiling knowingly at
Avery and the bartender.
    “Did Hailey have men that came in and
usually flocked to her?” Mackenzie asked. “Did she have regulars?”
    “She had one or two,” Avery said.
    “Do you know their names?” Porter asked.
    “No. I don’t pay attention to the men
that come in here. They’re just like any other men, you know?”
    “But if it came down to it,” Mackenzie
said, “do you think some of your other dancers might know their names?”
    “I doubt it,” Avery said. “And let’s face
it: most of the dancers ask for the man’s name just to be nice. They don’t give
a shit what their names are. They’re just trying to get paid.”
    “Was Hailey a good employee?” Mackenzie
asked.
    “Yes, she was, actually. She was always
willing to work extra shifts. She loved her two boys, you know?”
    “Yes, we met with them,” Mackenzie said.
    Avery sighed and looked out to the
stage. “Listen, you’re welcome to talk to any of the girls if you think it will
help figure out who killed Hailey. But I can’t let you do it here, not right
now. It would upset them and screw with my business. But I can give you a list
of their names and phone numbers if you absolutely need it.”
    Mackenzie thought about this for a
minute and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.
Thanks for your time, though.”
    With that, she got up and tapped Porter
on the shoulder. “We’re done here.”
    “I’m not,” he said. “I still