Free Vengeance by Stuart M. Kaminsky

He’s got a collection,” said Ames.
    Ed Fairing owned the Texas Bar and Grill on Second Street off of downtown. The Texas was not a place where you’d find snowbirds, retirees and people with money. You would find great hot chili and good thick burgers, both with enough fat to kill a long-distance runner and enough taste to lure a vegetarian. Ames had a small room behind the kitchen. In exchange for room and board and a minimal salary, Ames kept the Texas clean and swept. Ames had once been more than a millionaire, but he was content with his job. It gave him plenty of time to think, read the Bible and do odd jobs
for me from time to time on his motor scooter. Ames had also become a great source of information. People liked to talk to the tall, quiet man, and the people who came into the Texas often had interesting things to talk about.
    “Ever hear of Dwight Handford?” I asked Ames.
    Ames thought for a moment and then said,
    “From Ms. Tree’s description, I think maybe he came into the Texas about three or four months back. Drunk. Tried to start a fight with a tomato picker named Seranas, skinny little fella minding his business. Ed threw this guy out who mighta been Handford.”
    When Ed threw someone out, it wasn’t figurative. Ed Fairing had played two years for the Dallas Cowboys. Never a starter. Popped a knee. Gained some weight. Lost some weight and moved to Sarasota, where he had relatives. With the few thousand dollars he had left, Ed had bought the bar and made a living serving as his own cook and bartender. Ed still topped 300 pounds and never lost his temper.
    “Think you could ask some questions?” I asked.
    Ames nodded.
    “Think you can get that gun back to Ed fast?”
    Ames nodded again.
    “I’m not goin’,” said Beryl Tree.
    “And I’m not going to stop looking for Adele. But we can get you somewhere safer.”
    “That’ll be fine,” she said.
    “Okay. Pack your things.”
    “They’re packed.”
    “Pay your bill.”
    “Already did. I knew I couldn’t stay here.”
    “Good. Then I’ll take you to the place Ames lives and works, the Texas Grill. You’ll be safe there. I’ve got a stop to make then. After that I’ll pick you up and we we’ll go see a lady who might be able to tell us how to find your daughter.”
    I got up and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me.
    “I’m not going without Adele.”
    “I know.”
    “Be careful of Dwight.”
    “I will.”
    I looked at Ames, who nodded in understanding, tucked the gun into the pocket of his loose-fitting faded jeans, draped his blue, equally loose shirt over the weapon and moved to the window. He pulled the drapes open just enough so he could see outside and said, “Looks okay.”
    Ames went first. I was sure that if Dwight Handford appeared he would get the surprise of his less-than-savory life. I hoped he didn’t appear. I didn’t want Ames ending his life in prison.
    I picked up Beryl Tree’s suitcase. It wasn’t heavy. She got up from the chair and followed Ames through the door with me behind. Ames stood watch while I pulled open the door of the Metro for Beryl Tree and dropped the suitcase on the backseat.
    “See you at the Texas,” I told Ames. “You fix the air conditioner?”
    “Got to get some parts. Might be cheaper to buy an old one or a used one,” he said.
    “Might be,” I agreed. “Meet you at the Texas in a few minutes.”
    Beryl and I didn’t talk as I drove up 301, turned left on Main and then made a right on Lemon to Second Street. We got to the Texas before Ames, but he wasn’t far behind. He parked his scooter next to me. There were plenty of spaces. Parking was no problem in Sarasota, even in tourist season.
    “Ames’ll take care of you,” I said, handing him her suitcase.
    “I’ve taken care of myself my whole life,” she said. “I don’t see that changing.”
    “You like chili, good burgers?” I asked.
    “I’ve served enough of ’em to know the good from the