Page 17 of Brutal
“I’m working on a piece,” I say. “Some corporate stuff. Old disputes that didn’t get much attention at the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “A lot of it is buried in paperwork. But sometimes the details are somewhere else.”
He sets a glass down and picks up another.
“Something happened years ago,” I continue. “About fifteen years, to be exact. At the marina.”
The men at the far end of the bar continue their conversation.
The bartender doesn’t respond to me. I don’t push.
“A lot of things happen out here,” he finally says.
“I’m sure.” I tilt my head. “This one was bigger. Business-related, from what I can tell.”
His mouth tightens. Just a fraction, but I notice. A good investigative journalist learns to notice everything.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.” I keep my tone easy and take another sip. “All my sources say it was an accident. I’m trying to understand the context.”
He exhales slowly through his nose. “It was a rainy night.”
I don’t move.
“It came down hard for a while. Slicked everything up. People get careless in weather like that.”
I let him talk.
“A couple of guys were out on the dock. Arguing.” He gestures vaguely toward the door. “I couldn’t hear everything from inside, but it wasn’t friendly.”
“How many?” I ask.
He shrugs. “More than two.”
Nothing new.
“One of ’em went too close to the edge,” he continues. “His footing wasn’t great. Water was high.”
“Did he fall?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Not exactly.”
I keep my expression neutral. “What do you mean?”
“Looked like—” He stops, shakes his head once. “It looked like someone grabbed him. Pulled him back.”
I tighten my fingers around the whiskey glass.
Pulled back.
Not pushed.
“Before he went over?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Yeah. Like they were trying to keep him from going in.”
