ROYAL ROCK(117)

Seedy for Outer Banks standards, at least. It was still pretty decent, with plenty of tourist crap and whatnot, but it wasn’t geared toward the rich and the ultra-rich. It was a little rough around the edges. As I walked around the downtown and boardwalk areas, I felt much more comfortable here than I had back with Claire and her dad.

It didn’t take me long before I found the shadiest bar in the area. It was a dive called The Salty Pecker that had a seagull as their mascot. I smirked to myself, always one to appreciate a good penis joke, as I went inside the dimly-lit space.

It was early, still before noon, and the few people in there were hardcore regulars. Otherwise, it was mostly empty, and so I took a seat at the bar until the bartender came over.

“What can I do for you?”

“Beer. Coffee, too, if you have it.”

“Beer and coffee, coming up. You want some food?”

“Nah. Not right now.”

He nodded. “Kitchen does breakfast for another hour.”

I thanked him as he walked away. Only in the Outer Banks would a dive bar also serve breakfast.

He returned with my drinks pretty quickly, and I left him a decent tip. I drank the coffee first, enjoying the scalding heat, and watched a soccer game on TV.

I was going to have to be patient, and patience was not one of my strongest qualities. Still, I couldn’t exactly wave the symbol around to every asshole I saw, hoping that someone would lead me directly to the pirates. I had to be subtle, or at least a little bit subtle, otherwise I’d get that knife right in the back.

I wasn’t sure why I kept thinking about getting stabbed. I was probably remembering how I had killed the first guy on the boat. Not that I felt bad about that or anything. I’d killed before in the line of duty and would kill again. But it was the first time I’d killed outside of a mission, and it felt a little strange.

Still, I’d do it again if it meant protecting Claire. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it or anything like that.

I started in on the beer as the first hour ticked away. I finished it and ordered another, tipping generously again. Soon people began to filter in, mostly tourist types, but also a few hard-looking people, probably locals.

Eventually I started chatting with the barman. He was a bored guy, owner of the place, and seemed happy just to have someone to talk with. He’d been married but was divorced, and he had lived in the area his whole life. He was Dan the barman, and I had to repress a little smile at the stupid rhyme.

Eventually I ordered a third drink, tipping well again, and worked up my nerve.

“So, Dan, you must know a lot about this place.”

“A lot? My great-granddaddy was the mayor for a few years. I know this place better than anyone.”

I nodded. “You seem like a smart guy, too.”

“Guess you could say that.”

“Well, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“If I can, I will.”

I took the drawing out of my pocket and opened it up. As soon as he saw it, I could tell he recognized what it was, but his face quickly passed over his initial reaction.

“Do you know what this means?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? I have a friend who has this tattoo, and I’m trying to find him.”

He looked at me quietly for a minute. “You got a friend with that mark?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I think you should leave.”

I was surprised at how fast his demeanor shifted. One second he was affable and kind, and the next his eyes were narrowed and I could sense the threat behind his words.

I folded the paper back up. “Okay, okay. No harm meant. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“I ain’t kidding. Get out of here.”

“What do you know about this, Dan? It’s very important to me.”

He leaned closer. “Don’t go around asking folks about that symbol unless you want to get yourself killed. That’s all I’ll say.”

I stared hard at him for a second and then nodded once. “Thanks, Dan.”

He nodded back and walked away. I finished my beer and left the place.

What a damn strange interaction. I figured Dan might have some passing knowledge, maybe had seen it on someone’s riding leathers or something like that, but his reaction was of a very different order of magnitude. Whoever these people were, they were not to be fucked with. And Dan the barman definitely knew exactly who they were.

As I sat down on a bench outside the bar, I knew I had a conundrum on my hands. Based on the way Dan had reacted, any local that knew about the group wasn’t going to say a word to an outsider. Whether it was out of fear or something else, I wasn’t sure. Dan seemed afraid, but also a little angry that I was even mentioning it.