Blood in the Ozarks

16. Children of Fiends

The moment we entered the bar, the hairs on the back of my neck raised like hackles on a cat. I barely had time to survey The Shed and all it's faux wood paneled glory before I stopped cold. I'd thought the pinprick feeling I'd had was caused by a supernatural presence and hopefully one leading to our uck, however; the scene I faced was much worse.

A tight group of county deputies were circled around a dart board directly in my line of sight. I was debating what the chances were they wouldn't notice me when one of the deputies looked over at the door and our eyes locked. Recognition filled his face and he quickly leaned over to another member in their group, his wide doe eyes not leaving mine.

Giving a lengthy exhale, I approached their group with Ortega in tow.

"Agent Ross," a stunned deputy addressed me, standing straighter. "Ellery is fine," I corrected him and silently hoped no one nearby heard I'm an agent. So much for a low profile.

The one who had spotted me stepped forward, his eyes continuing to bore into me now from pointblank range. "What are you doing here, Agent—Ellery? Does this have something to do with the case?"

This was the same British deputy who'd taken Yvonne's statement. I'd talked with him a bit after the Clark murderer and found him to be as new to the job as I expected, but he caught up quickly. I felt like I was being confronted by an overeager student, the person that lifts their hand up higher if not called on.

"Uhh," I stuttered.

Ortega leaned over my shoulder. "I'm getting a drink," he said. Then added, "Have fun" before giving me a patronizing pat on the back.

I gave Ortega my best death glare as he walked away. Then when I turned back to the deputies I settled on an answer.

"Aren't you a little young to be here?" I asked. I didn't want to call him out, but more importantly I didn't want to talk about the case. I wasn't entirely sure he was old enough to drink. He looked like he'd walked out of high school and straight into the Sheriff's Office. Bringing up his age was a pretty safe bet whether he was old enough or not.

He gave an abashed chuckle. "I normally stick with uni parties. More low key. Or there is a bar closer to campus. But the guys..." He looked over at the group of men who all seemed to be bread from the same stock. Without the uniforms they still held a sense of discipline and authority no matter the age.

It was surprising to find that the deputies had the same hang out as the local fiend pack. Were they attracted to the chaos? Did they draw nearer to a sense of structured power? Because I knew they weren't there for the beer and shot special.

"You're welcome to join us." A taller and much older deputy offered me a cluster of mismatched darts.

"I'm good, guys. I think I'm going to get a drink and sit at the bar." And hope that my whole plan for the night wasn't blown.

"If you change your mind..."

I put on a smile and nodded. Then I moved on to the bar, glancing around at the other patrons as I went.

I eyed Ortega across the bar as he sipped from a glass of whiskey. We weren't supposed to drink on the job, but I supposed he was no longer federally employed. Not to mention he was doing a better job of blending in than I was since all I had done was talk to the only possible minor and definite law enforcement in the whole bar.

I approached the bartender, an older woman with ample amounts of cleavage visible thanks to her choice of bedazzled t-shirt. The woman gave me a friendly smile. "What'll it be, sugar?"

"One Bud."

A bottle was harder to see through and easier for people to ignore the fact that I wasn't making any headway on it. I needed a clear mind for work. Although, the second this case was over, having a drink was not a bad idea.