Following our last lead in the brutal alleyway slaughter, my partner Dina Genovelli and I were about to visit a biker bar called “Halloran’s.”

I went inside first, both of us knowing the reaction a woman was likely to get walking inside this place. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting – and in that time one of the patrons managed to size me up: “You carry yourself like a cop. We do not like your kind ‘round here. Beat it.”

I narrowed my gaze and focused on the speaker – once clearly a mountain of a man, a large portion of his muscle now ran to fat – but he was still very powerful-looking. His once-black hair was shot through with gray and his face showed signs of wear due to abuse more than age. He stepped towards me, clearly expecting me to back down.

“We are looking for one man, a man we only wish to talk to – no arrest at this time, just talk. His name is…”

“We?” I only see one a’yuz,” the man snarled at me, almost in my face now.

Dina’s voice cut in at this: “That is because I had to steel myself to put up with your stench, Raph.”

“Dina Genovelli?” the man replied, chuckling. “’Less you’re here to give me and the boys blowjobs, grab your rookie and get that cute little backside out of here, now.”

A ghost of a smile on her lips, Dina patted her sidearm: “How about Smith here gives you a blowjob and I save Wesson for the first of your punks who tries to follow suit?”

The man she called Raph – I vaguely recalled his rap sheet – Raphael Marcotti, several counts of assault and battery, a few for disturbing the peace, and one, dismissed, on suspicion of possession – laughed. “For a broad, and a cop, you are OK, Dina. But we ain’t seen your guy so just move along.”

“I did not tell you the name of the…” I began, but again he interrupted me.

“Does not matter son, we ain’t seen him, capische? Now scram ‘for someone breaks up that pretty face of yours…”

I glanced at Dina; she sighed and nodded. I stepped closer to Raph. “We need to speak to Samuel…”

He moved to push me back as he started to interrupt me; with a single fluid motion, I grabbed his arm and spun him around, pinning his arm behind his back and pulling him up against me. “Do not do that,” I warned, then finished my earlier statement: “We are looking for Samuel Innes. We have been told he is here, and we need to talk to him.”

Raph struggled briefly, and then laughed, looked at me and said: “Damn, kid, you been eatin’ crates o’ Wheaties or somethin'?” Then he turned to the bar and added: “Sammy, it’s all right – just don’t let ‘em take you out of here and we’ll all be OK.”

Another large man rose to his feet. I had never seen anyone with a tattoo on their face before, but Samuel Innes sported one – a lightning bolt that ran from the left side of his mouth up to the center of his bald head. He must have stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. Raph whispered: “You can let me go kid, we’re OK, unless you try to take him out of here. Then we got issues.”

I nodded and let the old man go. “Samuel Innes, is there some place we can go – in the bar – to talk quietly?”

“Yeah,” his deep baritone answered, “Booth in the back corner. Follow me.”

I turned to Dina, who shrugged and moved to follow him. As she did so, there were two wolf-whistles from a nearby table. She patted her sidearm again – and someone at another table let out a wolf whistle, followed by: “That one’s for the gun, babe, not you…” followed by laughter.

My partner ignored them after that and followed the behemoth known as Sammy to his proffered booth. He sat first, and then pointed for us to take the opposite side. I slid in next, and Dina followed suit.

“Make this quick – I rode into town two hours ago and just wanted a drink before facing the old lady.”

“Just rode in? Where were you last night, between midnight and seven AM?” I asked.

He seemed to go pale at the question, but then countered with: “Uh, why?”

Dina answered: “Because we have evidence suggesting a man matching your description was present in an alley about two blocks from your house last night during that time period.”

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“My house? At that time? I was about ten miles from there most of the night.”

“Got witnesses?” Dina countered.

He glanced around the room, looking defeated, sighed, and quietly answered: “None who’d testify under oath, ‘leastwise not without some kind of immunity deal.”

Dina rolled her eyes and let a frustrated sigh escape her lips as she asked: “You were engaged in something illegal?”

“Me? No – not a chance. But I can’t vouch for the guys I was with.”

“You were muscle?” she said, nodding.

“It’s what I’m best at,” the man-mountain replied proudly, stretching and cracking his knuckles to emphasize the point. While they talked, I glanced around the room. Most of the patrons cast occasional glances our way but kept to their own affairs, but one man seemed to be staring intently at us – no at me. He stood out - first, he had a slim frame, barely looked strong enough to handle a bike. Second, he was the only African American face in the bar. Third, and perhaps even more distinctive, instead of the leathers or denim and chains sported by most of the bar’s patrons, he wore a business suit, not perfectly tailored but still a fine-quality outfit.

“If you can’t vouch for your whereabouts at that time, we’re going to have to ask you to not leave town until our investigation is done.”

“Man, I’ve got obligations – I…”

“A woman died in that alley.” Dina replied coldly.

He froze for a moment. “You want me on a murder rap? No way. No frickin’ way. Ain’t goin’ down for murder, never, less’n I did it – and I didn’t. I swear it. I’ll find some guys who can prove I wasn’t around. Give me to sundown.”

Dina laughed. “I know your crew. You’ve got until sun up tomorrow. Then we have to haul you in if you don’t have a more solid alibi.”

“Only time I ever killed anybody was an accident – and it ended my boxin’ career. Won’t do that again, not ever. I’ll prove I wasn’t there; you mark me.”

She met his gaze for several seconds, before nodding: “I think we can do that. But if you make even an effort to skip town, several warrants will surface, I can guarantee it.”

“Hey, I got a kid on the way. Ain’t doin' nothin’ to keep him from havin’ a father. Hated visitin’ mine in the pen.” There was genuine concern in his voice.

“I think we’re done here. Tomorrow at dawn you had better have your alibi set in stone, or you will be sitting in a ten-by-ten room.”

“Yeah, man, I got it… Thanks.”

Dina glanced at me, nodded towards the door and rose to her feet. “Glad you’ve been cooperative,” she told Mister Innes. She then walked toward the door, ignoring a few more catcalls. I tried to follow in her footsteps, but the man in the suit grabbed me in passing. “Nathan Daniels?” he asked.

I felt a cold chill as he said my name. I stopped and turned to face him. “Yes – Detective Nathan Daniels,” I replied.

“You made detective! Excellent! I knew you would make something of yourself…” his voice trailed off as he met my gaze. “You don't remember me, do you?”

I tried to look as contrite as possible as I shook my head. “I was your public defender before someone took an interest and bought you a high-end attorney.”

“Ah! Uh… Price - Michael Pryce, right?” I replied, finally relaxing.

“Yeah! Mikey,” he answered, grinning. “Man, I have got a client here but … we should exchange cards, get together for drinks some time or something…”

“I don't drink.”

He laughed. “Wise man. Anyway, here, give me a call.” He handed me a piece of cardboard with raised lettering on it. I nodded, slipped it into my pocket and hurried to catch up to my partner.

Something in Mr. Pryce’s demeanor did not sit right with me – hours later, I realized what it was – the whole time we talked, he seemed to be fighting to hold back laughter.

I found Dina on the sidewalk outside, talking to a uniformed officer. She nodded as I approached. “Yeah, I want you to make sure someone has eyes on this guy twenty-four seven. I don’t think he’s guilty of our murder but … I don’t know. Until we can prove he isn’t, he needs to be monitored.”

The uniformed officer nodded and pulled out his phone to contact dispatch. Dina turned to me: “What was the delay?”

“Michael Pryce recognized me.”

“Pryce? The Public Defender?” she replied, her eyes wide.

I nodded. “You know my background, right?”

“Yeah – ran with a gang for a few years until you realized they were dealing with child prostitutes on the side, turned them in and decided to do a full one-eighty with your life. Read your file twice, kid.”

I laughed lightly. “Looking for reasons to turn me down as a partner?”

“Damned straight. I had one true partner, and nobody will ever take his place. You are just a rookie I'm showing the ropes to, nothing more. You'll move on to be someone else’s partner when we're done, and I'll get a new rookie to train.”

I nodded, well aware of her views. Desiring to change the subject, I asked: “So, you think he's clean?”

“Sammy? Of our murder? Probably, but there’s always a chance he’s playing us. Let’s go have a talk with the lab boys and see if they’ve got any more leads to follow. Otherwise, we may have to chat with your professor again.”