A Fifth of Trouble a Jake Burbank mystery series

 

CHAPTER ONE   JAKE

 

He stared at the drop of golden amber liquid on the tip of his finger. It glistened in the neon glow of a beer sign behind the bar, beaded up and hiding his fingerprint underneath.

He imagined for a second he could see the twirl and swirl of the unique lines that only he owned in all the world. Fingerprints, the ultimate identifier.

“Are you going to bet?”

Jake shot a look at Amanda behind the bar.

She had one hand behind her back, a bottle of what was on his finger hidden in her grip.

“Double or nothing?” he shot her a cocky grin.

“You’re on,” she snapped back with a smile.

He put the tip of his finger on this tongue, transferring the drop onto his taste bud.

He let it roll around a minute, savoring the miniature volcano of heat on just that one section of his tongue.

It made the rest of his mouth water in anticipation.

“Dewar’s,” he announced.

Amanda pulled the hidden bottle from behind her back and showed him the label.

“I’m impressed,” she said and started to fill his glass.

“I’ll just stick with my regular,” he said, moving his hand over the lip of the tumbler to halt the pour.

“This is the good stuff,” she said. “Are you sure?”

“It’s all good stuff.”

“I’ve got rotgut in here for two dollar mixers that I’m prepared to argue is not good stuff.”

“Save your sales pitch for someone else,” Jake rattled the empty glass in her direction. “Stop selling once I’m sold.”

She shook her head and put away the Dewar’s on the middle shelf behind the bar. She reached for the bottle of black label Jack and served him up a double neat.

“Not a lot of use for that skill,” she admired.

“You’d be surprised how many drinks I don’t have to pay for,” he told her as he sipped the whiskey and let it slide down his throat in a trail of fire.

It was as delicious as he anticipated.

It always was, just like the warm burn that radiated from his stomach in a low level buzz that always made him feel relaxed.

“Where’s your friend tonight?”

“Which one?” he asked and couldn’t keep the hint of pride from his voice.

A few months ago, he was a pariah.

It was his fault, really, though the things that caused it spiraled out of his control too fast for him to react.  All of his old friends left him, all but one, a new cop to the Pine Bluff police department.

She had taken a shine to Jake Burbank, broke lawyer and stuck by his side for a reason known only to her and never shared with him.

He just considered it lucky, the only luck he had of late.

Until his friend pool doubled.

Deonte was a fresh friend, an inmate he shared a cellblock with once, who saved his life.

“The cop,” Amanda said without looking up.

Jake couldn’t tell if she was blushing in the competing glare of neon beer signs, but he imagined she might be.

The bartender had a crush on his cop friend, and Jake was pretty sure that crush was returned.

Still new and none of his business, he told himself as he took another sip.

He shrugged.

“Maggie’s up to Maggie business,” he said. “Cop stuff, I bet.”

He had found this little hole in the wall honky tonk and decided he liked drinking here more than at home alone. He was surprised at how often Maggie joined him.

“She coming by?”

“She might,” he said. “You could call and ask.”

“No one calls anymore, Burbank,” the curvy bartender shook out her mane of hair. “God, how old are you?”

Jake pouted.

“Text,” he said. “What’s App? Snap?”

“Okay Grandpa, just keep going down the list.”

“You kids get off my lawn!” he yelled and she laughed.

He pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and pulled up her information.

It was still new and he didn’t want to add to the Grandpa image by looking like anything less than an expert as he used one thumb to slow crawl a text into the box.

There were only six misspellings in the five word missive, and he counted it a triumph.

“Are you coming by?” he clicked send.

“LTR,” the response was almost immediate.

Maggie was better at typing with her thumbs than he was.

“Bet I could beat her in thumb war though,” he muttered.

“Thumb war?”

“Does this mean long term relationship?” he turned the screen so she could see it.

“Later,” Amanda translated. “Jesus, how old are you?”

“My grandpa said I had an old soul,” Jake said. “So about Methuselah’s age.”

“Who the hell is Methuselah?”

“Oldest guy to live in the Bible.”

She shook her head and drizzled more bourbon into his glass.

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“Product of a misspent youth.”

“And you can’t speak text?”

“I’m not misspending my adulthood,” he informed her.

The door open to let in pale streetlight that outlined a tall figure wearing a cowboy hat as he stepped through.

“What do you think?” Deonte pointed to his new straw hat. “I got it for the hillbilly bar you got me coming back to.”

“And I thought it was my company that kept you coming back,” Amanda pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler and twisted off the top.

“You know I ain’t coming in here just for this fool,” Deonte settled on the stool next to Jake.

“Nice hat.”

“Yeah, you know, when in Rome and shit.”

“It’s honky tonk, not hillbilly.”

Deonte waved him off with a smile.

“Same thing.”

“It’s almost the same thing,” Jake said. “Hillbilly is more bluegrass and moonshine. Honky tonk is cowboy country and whiskey drinking.”

“He been talking again?” Deonte joked with Amanda.

“You missed the bible lecture.”

“Dang, you gonna have to catch me up on it later.”

“Deal.”

“In the meantime Mr. Lawyer man, I got a cousin wants to see you.”

“Any friend of yours,” Jake said.

“I ain’t said he’s a friend. He’s my cousin, so family gets him certain passes and liberties, you know what I’m saying. But he got a business thing he want to discuss with a lawyer and you the only lawyer I know ain’t doing criminal cases.”

Jake drained his drink and tapped the edge for a refill.

“I’ll meet him,” he said. “I don’t know if I can help him, but I can at least listen.”

“That’s fair,” said Deonte.

He pulled out a phone and keyed in a number.

“Now?”

“No time like the present,” the tall man answered. “He’s out in the car. Hey, come on in.”

Jake watched Deonte hang up the phone.

“Calling,” he pointed out to Amanda.

“Old school.”

“Who’s old school,” Deonte grinned. “Business is fast. You got to keep up.”

The door to the sidewalk open and Jake got a glimpse of Deonte’s cousin as he stepped through the door like a country kid getting off the bus in the big city.

“What are you doing to me?”

“You said you’d listen,” he motioned the kid over to the bar.

“Is he old enough to be in here?”

“Just enough,” Deonte said as he ordered another round for their conversation.

 

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