The bartender brought my drink, waited on another customer, then drifted over my way.
“What’s the picture?” I asked, showing him the photograph.
“Huh?”
I said, “It was here on this stool next to me, face down. I thought it was a piece of paper and was going to crumple it up. Then I saw it was a photograph.”
He took a good look at it and frowned,
I said, “She must have dropped it here — must have been someone who was here a minute ago, sitting on that stool.”
He shook his head, even while he was trying to think, said, “No. She wasn’t there a minute ago, but I’ve seen her. Wonder how that picture got there. She was in here — seems like it was quite a while ago. I’m certain she hasn’t been in today.”
“Know her?” I asked.
He said, “I know her when I see her, but I don’t know her name.”
I put the picture in my pocket. He hesitated a moment as though debating the ethics of the situation, then moved away.