There were three bartenders on duty behind the long chromium bar. When the bald-headed man became momentarily disengaged, Shayne said casually, “You do a rushing business here.”
“Pretty good this time of the evening. It’ll slack off about midnight, and we don’t do much until after dark.”
“Open in the afternoons?”
“From one o’clock on. Not enough to keep one man busy, though.”
“Did you work a shift this afternoon?”
“Yep. We alternate. I go off at twelve.” Some of his wholesome joviality went. He looked at Shayne with a sudden suspicious leer, then glanced up at a clock on the wall.
Shayne saw his quick change of expression and laughed. “Lucky I had my accident convenient to a bar. This must be the place my girl friend told me about. She was here this afternoon. Maybe you remember her — pretty, with a lot of blond hair.”
The bartender shook his head. “Lot’s of those young dames drop in for cocktails. I don’t notice ’em much.” He turned to move away.
Shayne stopped him, his voice peremptory and hard. “You’d remember this girl. She left with a friend of yours — Michael Finn.”
The man turned slowly to stand in front of Shayne. His gaze was veiled and afraid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”