Small Bytes Read online

  Small Bytes

  by

  Robert T. Germaux

  Copyright ©2001 by Robert T. Germaux

  Cover Art by Brandi McCann

  www.ebook-coverdesigns.com

  Marketing and Promotion by Susan Barton

  Susan Barton Marketing

  For Cynthia . . .

  my split-apart

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  To those of you who have read the other two Jeremy Barnes mysteries available on Amazon, a few quick comments. First, thanks! Second, Small Bytes is actually the first book in the series, written before Hard Court (#4) and In the Eye (#5). Thus, Small Bytes gives you the back story on JB and his friends. Finally, in the coming months, I’ll also be publishing Leaving the LAW (#2) and Speak Softly (#3).

  Again, thanks for taking the time to read my work. JB and I would love to hear from you.

  Bob Germaux

  November, 2019

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Tony’s Bar and Grill was your typical local hangout. Located in a working-class neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else and their business, it had gone through several changes of ownership over the years, but the one constant had always been that strangers weren’t particularly welcome, and anyone who lived more than ten blocks away was a stranger.

  I lived on the other side of town.

  When I walked into Tony’s on a warm spring night, the place didn’t suddenly become silent, the way things happen in the movies, but there was a noticeable drop in the level of conversation. I paused just inside the door and took a look around. Long, polished mahogany bar down the left, with an eating area one step up to the right. About fifteen tables, all with faded red-and-white checked tablecloths. Only three of the tables were occupied, but the bar was just about full, leading me to speculate that either the food was lousy or the beer was spectacular. Or maybe no one was hungry.

  I spotted Tommy Longwood near the end of the bar, sitting between two bruisers in their late twenties. Tommy was in his mid-thirties, just a little younger than me, but he looked a lot older. Ah, demon rum. It’ll do it every time. As I approached Tommy, I could see that he was in the middle of some sort of disagreement with the two weight-lifter types on either side of him. One of them was saying something to him about three weeks being more than enough time. Then the guy saw me and stopped talking. Tommy looked up and saw me, too.

  “JB. The hell you doin’ here?”

  “Good to see you, too, Tommy,” I said.

  Weightlifter number one, to Tommy’s left, frowned at me and said, “Who the fuck are you?”

  I gave him my best smile and said, “Jeremy Barnes, and you are . . .?”

  “About to kick your ass if you don’t get the fuck outta here right now.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s some name. I’m impressed. Listen, let me ask you something. How do you manage to fit all that on those tiny little lines on the coupons when you send in for rebates on soap and stuff?”

  “Hey, asshole,” he said, “I’m warnin’ ya, stay outta this.”

  “Believe me,” I told him, “I would love to ‘stay outta this,’ but I can’t. Look, I’m assuming Tommy here owes you guys some money. How much?”

  “Two-hundred bucks,” said the guy on Tommy’s right.

  “Okay,” I said, as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the money Angie had given me. “Here it is. C’mon, Tommy, let’s go.”

  “Wait a minute,” the guy said. “That only covers the financial side of his debt. Tommy still has a beatin’ comin’, on accounta his being late and all, you know.”

  I looked at him for a minute. I was hoping he’d wilt under the power of my stare, but it didn’t happen. I think he squinted a little, though.

  “Hey, fellas, let’s be reasonable, okay? You got your money. Nobody’s been hurt, so let’s just all walk away from this.”

  “Somebody’s gonna get hurt,” said the doofus on the left, “and real soon, too.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bartender walking our way. His hand reached down under the bar, and when it reappeared, there was a Louisville Slugger in it.

  “Okay, gents,” he said, “whatever it is, take it outside.”

  “You heard the man,” I said. “Show’s over, I guess. C’mon, Tommy, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere with you, Barnes.” Tommy sort of slurred the s in Barnes. No surprise there.

  Goon number one said, “And we ain’t going outside, either.” Looking at the bartender, he added, “And if you don’t like it, tough shit.”

  “Okay,” I said, “this has gone far enough. Tommy and I are walking out of here now. Why don’t you two have a drink on us?” I tossed a ten on the bar and took hold of Tommy’s arm. He didn’t like it, but he knew from past experience that there wasn’t much he could do about it. As I steered him away from the bar, goon number two stepped in front of me and put his hand over my left wrist.

  “Don’t do that,” I said, and this time there wasn’t any humor to my voice.

  “You don’t like it,” he said, “then get outta here and leave your buddy with us.”

  I made a small move with my hand, and suddenly I had the other guy’s wrist in my grasp. He looked down as though seeking visual confirmation of what he had just felt happen. I leaned in close to him, putting my face inches away from his.

  “Listen carefully,” I told him in a quiet voice. “Tommy and I are leaving now. You and your friend sit down and have that drink I mentioned.”

  He tried to pull his hand away, but I tightened my grip a little, just enough to make him wince a bit. His buddy saw that and stood up.

  “Hey, Frank, you okay?”

  “Frank’s fine,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, he don’t look fine. Whyn’t you let go of his hand there, sport, unless you want me to break your arm.”

  “Hey,” I told him, “look at that.” And I held my right arm up in the air. When his eyes shifted up to look at my hand, I let go of his buddy’s wrist for a second and gave the second guy a quick punch in the stomach. He dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. I looked at the bartender and said, “That’s it, I promise. Tommy and I are leaving.”

  The bartender nodded and said, “Pretty good punch,” as he put the bat back under the counter. Meanwhile, I hustled Tommy out of the place and into my car, which was parked right outside.

  After we’d g
one a few blocks, Tommy came to life.

  “Hey, Barnes, go back there, man. I gotta get my car.”

  “Not today, Tommy. You’ve gotten outside of a few too many beers to be getting behind the wheel of a car.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re drunk again, Tommy, and if I let you try to drive, your sister would definitely not be happy about it.”

  “So whatta you care?” he said. “Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re sweet on Angie, ain’t you? Yeah, you’re in love with my older sister.”

  I turned to look at him for a minute, giving him my stare, all to no avail, of course. The stare doesn’t work on drunks and dogs.

  “Tommy, I know you’re too soused to realize what you’re saying, but when you sober up, I might remind you of this conversation sometime.” I don’t think he got all of it, though, since he was already beginning to snore.

  During the rest of the drive to his sister’s house, I tried to figure out how many times I’d hauled Tommy out of bars, not to mention tight situations, but I gave it up after just a few minutes. “Angie,” I said out loud, “I hope you appreciate all this.”

  Actually, I knew she did. Angie Longwood and I had met in kindergarten, and the chemistry had been there almost immediately. We became best friends. In fact, during recess one day in third grade, she asked me to marry her. I had to say no, though, because the Pirates were playing the Phillies on TV that night. One has one’s priorities.

  When we arrived at Angie’s place, Simon Ventura, her husband, was mowing the front lawn. As I helped Tommy out of my car, Simon turned off the mower and wandered over.

  “How’s he doing, Jeremy?”

  “About what you’d expect, Simon. Where’s Angie?”

  “Out back, with the kids. You want me to take him inside?”

  “Yeah, I’d appreciate it.”

  I watched as Simon half-walked, half-carried Tommy up the steps to the front door of the house. Angie had met Simon in college, at UCLA. Angie went there on a volleyball scholarship, and she’d met Simon her first year. They married during their junior year, but only after she’d made him promise that they would settle in Pittsburgh after graduation. Simon got a job with a commercial real estate firm, and Angie taught 4th grade at the same elementary school the two of us had attended. She and Simon had two kids, a twelve-year-old named Matt, and a nine-year-old named Abby. They were great parents, and they had a life together. Simon was a good man, and I liked him.

  As I walked around to the backyard, I thought about what might have been, but only for a second.

  Chapter 2

  When I turned the corner of the house, I saw Angie and the kids at the far end of the yard, playing with Pepper, the family dog, a mixed-breed mutt that Angie had found at the Animal Rescue League a few years earlier. When Pepper spotted me, he immediately dropped the toy he had in his mouth and raced over to greet me, which in Pepper’s case meant hurling his fifty-five pounds directly at my midsection. I turned slightly and used my arms to deflect him to one side. By that time, the kids had launched their attack on me, and within a minute, we were all rolling around on the grass.

  “Hey, Jeremy,” shouted Abby, “wanna see my new video game?”

  “Un-uh,” yelled her brother. “Jeremy’s gonna help me learn to dribble with my left hand, right, Jeremy?”

  Fortunately, their mother came to my rescue. Pulling the kids off me, she said, “I have a better idea. Matthew, take your sister inside, and the two of you get ready for bed. Then Jeremy and I will come in to say goodnight.”

  After a couple of protests from the kids, the kind that kids do even though they know there’s no chance of the adults changing their minds, Matt took his little sister into the house. Angie and I walked over to the patio and sat down in a couple of chairs around a table with a big umbrella sticking up out of the middle. Angie’s about five-ten, with dark, curly hair and a slim figure, even after the two kids. She’d been one of the best all-around athletes to ever graduate from our high school in Pittsburgh.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “He’s okay, Ang. Just needs to sleep it off, is all. I gave the guys the money.”

  “Was there any trouble?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “I know I don’t have to thank you, Jeremy, but, well, thanks, anyway.”

  We were both quiet for a minute then. I looked around and saw that she and Simon had been doing some yard work. A few new bushes along the fence that rimmed their property, a red maple tree in one corner.

  “Place looks good, Ang,” I said.

  “Thanks, Jeremy. Mostly, it’s Simon’s doing. He says that after working with high finance all day, he enjoys getting back to nature when he comes home. If it were up to me, I’d probably put lava rock anywhere the kids weren’t going to be playing.”

  After another pause, she looked over at me and said, “When you say the trouble was nothing you couldn’t handle, what’s that mean?”

  “It means that the two jerks Tommy owed the money to didn’t want to let him walk out of the bar without a beating.”

  “And you stopped them.”

  “And I stopped them,” I agreed. Then I added, “He’s got to get some help, Angie.”

  “I know he does, Jeremy. I’ve talked to him about it until I’m blue in the face. Last week, Simon wanted to drag Tommy to an AA meeting, but that’s not the way to do it, and Simon understood that. It’s just that he gets so frustrated with my brother. Mostly for the kids’ sake. I mean, when Tommy’s sober, he’s a great uncle, but when he’s had a couple of drinks . . . well, at least he’s not a mean drunk, and he understands that he can’t get drunk in front of my children.”

  “I know, Ang, but he still has to get some help. These guys tonight were low-level thugs, but they were still thugs. If I hadn’t been there, they would have hurt him.”

  “I hear you, Jeremy. I’ll have another go at him tomorrow morning, when he wakes up. Then I’ll drive him down to get his car, so he can go to work. Anyway, thanks again.”

  “Anytime, Ang, you know that.”

  “And now that you’ve just done one favor, I have to ask you for another.”

  “Fire away, kid.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “A friend of mine, someone I play volleyball with at the Y, her husband was killed last week. Shot down in front of their house. The police say it was a robbery attempt gone bad.”

  “And your friend doesn’t think so?”

  “Rachel wouldn’t tell me why, but, no, she doesn’t. Or at least there’s enough doubt in her mind that she wants someone else to look into the situation. She talked to me about it at the funeral home, because she’d heard me mention once about you being a private investigator. She asked if I’d talk to you, see if you’d go and see her. I told her I’d ask you about it.”

  “This was that shooting at The Poplars?”

  “Yeah, that was it.”

  “From what I remember, it seemed pretty cut and dried. The guy left his house to go to work, got shot to death a few seconds later. Cops figured somebody tried to mug him, the guy tried to fight the mugger off, got shot for his efforts. It’s been known to happen, Ang.”

  “I know, Jeremy, but Rachel says there’s some other stuff involved. Look, I’m not saying she’s right, but she’s a friend, and if you could just talk to her, I think it might help. The lady’s in pain, Jeremy.”

  “How well do you know her?” I asked.

  “We met at the Y about six months ago, started going out for coffee after the games on Monday nights. I can’t say we’re best buds or anything like that, but I know her well enough to say that I don’t think she’s some wacko. Whatever she thinks is going on here, she’s very serious about it.”

  “What about her husband? Did you know him?”

  “Never met him. Rachel never said anything bad about him, at least not to me. From what little I know, their marriage seemed to be a good one.”

  “Okay, Ang,”
I said. “I’ll talk to your friend.”

  Angie smiled and said, “Thanks, Jeremy. Just having someone like you listen to her, and maybe check things out a little, will probably make her feel a little better. I’ve got her phone number in the house. C’mon, let’s go say goodnight to the kids.”

  As we stood up, she put her hand on my arm.

  “I’ll talk to Tommy tomorrow, Jeremy.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m getting too old to be messing with thugs in bars. One of these days, someone’s liable to bounce me right out into the street.”

  Angie stopped and looked at me for a minute. Then she led the way into the house, saying, “That’ll be the day, Jeremy. That’ll be the day.”

  Chapter 3

  After we got the kids settled, Angie went to get Rachel’s phone number while Simon and I had coffee in the kitchen. As we sat on stools at the center island, he just smiled at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t talked to you about her friend, has she?” he said. “Not Rachel, the other one.”

  “Un-uh,” I said. “Just Rachel, so far. What’s the situation with this other one?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll let my wife handle that.” And he smiled again.

  “Uh-oh. C’mon, Simon. What’s going on? Oh, damn, I just realized what it is. A blind date, right? Angie knows how I feel about blind dates.”

  “Angie knows you need a good woman in your life.”

  Simon and I turned to see Angie walking back into the kitchen. She handed me a slip of paper and said, “Here’s Rachel’s phone number. It’s Rachel Pendleton. I told her you’d probably call her tonight, okay?”

  I put the paper in my pocket and said, “I’ll call as soon as I get home. Now, about this blind date.”

  “It’s not a blind date, Jeremy, not really, anyway. I just think you and Laura should meet, that’s all.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back a little.

  “Uh-huh. So tell me about Laura.”

  “She works with me, transferred to Fairview at the beginning of this semester when a kindergarten position opened up at the school. You remember, Mrs. Seldon finally decided to retire, took up with that trombone player and moved to Phoenix.”