Free NO Quarter by Robert Asprin

of waitresses from around. Chanel. I was just talking to—“
    I’d seen him talking to the redhead. “Look, Bone, I want to talk to you about this. But let’s get off the street. We’ll go to Fahey’s. Come on, I’ll buy a round.”
    He looked at me funny. “Talk? Maestro, I ought to be getting back to the Calf. I left Alex sitting there. Talk about what? Did you find out something about Sunshine?” He asked it eagerly.
    “Who killed her? No.” No one was within earshot, but I still wanted off the street.
    “Talk to me on the way back to the Calf, then. I don’t want another drink. I’m going to meet Alex and go home.”
    For the third time tonight I put a hand on him, on his shoulder this time. “Bone, we need to talk. Seriously.”
    I guess I said it convincingly. After a few seconds he nodded. Tufts of his dark hair were sticking out from his ponytail, and his already thin face looked even more drawn. We hiked down to Fahey’s, which is just two blocks off Bourbon, on Burgundy and Toulouse. On the way, I thought about what I wanted to say.
    We stepped into the air-conditioning. Milo was bartending. I took Bone at his word and just ordered him a soda, but by now I definitely wanted another cocktail. It was quiet in the bar but I led Bone back toward one of the high tables by the poker machines anyway. We were isolated. Even both pool tables were unoccupied, which was rare. Fahey’s is a little local Irish pub that never plays Irish music, but is home base for several pool league teams and has a bank of cue lockers. There’s little or no “trash talking,” no big money games, but on any given night you can normally find half a dozen to a dozen solid shooters sorting out the pecking order over drinks.
    “Okay,” Bone said, leaving the soda untouched and lighting a cigarette. “What?”
    He wanted to be direct? Fine. Now was the time for it.
    “What the hell are you trying to do?”
    He had the perplexed look again. “How’s that?”
    “Earlier you were ready to go charging off to the crime scene. Why?”
    “To find out what happened to Sunshine—if it was true, and what exactly it was that happened.”
    “And then you went over to Sunshine’s work place, asking questions.”
    “Right.”
    “Why?”
    He was starting to look pissed off. “Like I said—to find out.”
    I took a pull on my drink. “But why?”
    Now he was getting angry. “What the hell you think?”
    “Doesn’t matter what I think,” I said steadily. “Just answer, Bone. Why are you asking around about Sunshine’s murder?”
    “So I can find out who’s the motherfucker who did it!”
    I saw Milo glance our way, but the bar’s few other patrons didn’t pay us any attention. It was mostly service industry people, familiar faces.
    I leaned forward on my stool and pinned him with my eyes. “And what do you plan on doing with that knowledge, if you get it?”
    He bit back on an immediate retort. I watched him think it through. He puffed hard on his cigarette.
    Finally, he said, “It depends.”
    “On what?”
    “On whether the cops know who did it, and whether they catch him.”
    I had him thinking in an orderly fashion now. That was good. Before, he’d been reacting strictly from the gut. Still, I had a good idea where this was going, and that wasn’t good.
    “What if the police don’t have any suspects, don’t pick anyone up?”
    “Then I’ll find out who killed her.” His voice was a level growl. “And I’ll set things right.”
    “Revenge?” I asked, almost softly.
    “Justice ... no, you’re right, revenge . The eye for an eye kind.”
    I let out a long sigh. “Don’t personalize it,”
    “What do you mean?” Anger flashed back into his eyes.
    “Most of the murders the police get are what they call ‘smoking guns,’ where they know almost immediately who the perpetrator is.” I spoke slowly and quietly, trying to wind him back down. Sometimes boring lectures work. “You’re most likely to