CHAPTER NINE

"When I suggested you take us to a nice lunch or dinner, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," frowned Erin.

"I know, babe. It's not dinner. It's lunch, and I just want to get a sense of what's going on here."

"Help you, folks?" asked the bartender as every man in the room turned to see the foursome. They all had to adjust their eyesight to the dim lighting of the bar. Compared to the glare outside, this was positively dismal.

"Just looking for a quick bite. Maybe a burger or some wings?" said Nine.

"Take a seat. I'll be right with you."

"Well, at least we weren't kicked out," said Gaspar. They took a seat in a booth, pushing their wives toward the seats against the wall. The bartender dropped off a one-page menu and four waters.

"Anything else to drink? A beer? Whiskey?"

"Diet soda for me," said Alexandra.

"Same," smiled Erin. The bartender frowned, nodding at the women.

"Two beers," said Gaspar. He looked at Nine and nodded. They needed to attempt to fit into the crowd, and diet sodas weren't going to do it.

"Be right back to take your orders," he said.

"Actually, just make it two burgers, fries, two dozen wings, spicy, and whatever the girls want," grinned Gaspar.

"Grilled chicken sandwich," laughed Erin.

"I'll have the same," said Alexandra.

"Makes it easy, thanks."

As they chatted casually about Atlanta and where to have dinner, the men took the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were filled with photos of police officers, some retired, some dead. There was memorabilia from different departments, frames of patches, badges, and other items. This bar was all cop, and they were telling anyone who entered exactly who owned the place.

When the three from earlier that day walked in, Nine knew that they could have just placed themselves in trouble. No doubt they'd followed them from the hotel to the restaurant.

The three men looked at them but didn't say a word, just giving a curt nod and heading to a table in the back of the bar.

"What do you think?" asked Alexandra.

"I think this is more than just a cop hangout. I think something is going on here. I just don't know what."

The bartender walked over to the table with the three cops and set down three envelopes. He walked back to the bar, seeing two more men walk in. As they approached the bar, he rifled through a stack of envelopes and handed them each one.

"Payday," murmured Nine. "It's fucking payday."

"Where the fuck are they getting the money and what is it for? What are they getting paid for?" asked Gaspar.

"In case you're wondering. I placed a dozen listening devices in Erin's bag. If you place them around the bar, I'll know a helluva lot by tomorrow morning," said Code.

"I love you, you geeky little bastard," grinned Nine. "I'll go to the head and plant a few along the way. Erin, I feel certain you need to use the ladies' room as well."

"In fact, I do," she smiled.

"I'll ask the bartender for some directions," said Gaspar.

As they wandered around the bar, placing the pinhead devices in obscure locations, Alexandra scanned her phone for any messages from home. When a shadow fell over her phone, she took a deep breath and looked up at the man.

"You're awful pretty to be with that big ugly bastard," grinned the man.

"That big ugly bastard is my husband," said Alexandra. "I'm with him because he's amazing in bed."

The man took a step back, staring at her while she went back to her phone. Then he came forward again.

"Nothing like being with a cop," he said confidently.

"Sure there is. Being with a twenty-year veteran of the Army Rangers." Alexandra just grinned at him, seeing Gaspar come up behind the man.

"Problem, babe?"

"Nope. Just explaining to this nice cop why I love you so much," she laughed.

"Oh. Because I'm great in bed, right?"

"That's it." Nine and Erin returned, and the shocked cop was still standing there, looking at the tiny blonde woman.

"Something else you need, buddy?" asked Gaspar.

"Army Ranger, huh? You still active?" Gaspar wanted to laugh out loud. Active? He had grandsons who were active. He was old as fuck and felt it.

"No. Not active. As she said, retired."

"And you?" he said, looking at Nine. He took note of the tattoos on his arms and could see the faint outline of the bottom of a trident.

"Retired. Navy SEAL," he said, staring at the man.

"And you just decided to visit our little bar in the big old city of Atlanta, Georgia?" he asked.

"Is there any crime in that? We were told at our hotel that this is where we could get a great burger. I damn sure hope they're right because I'm starving."

"What are you folks doing in Atlanta?" asked another man, walking toward them.

"You know," laughed Nine, "I'm getting the distinct impression that y'all don't like tourists. We are just passing through, that's all. We'll eat our lunch and leave."

"Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," said the second man. "As my friend said, we just don't get a lot of visitors who aren't law enforcement or former law enforcement."

"We'll make sure to steer our friends away from this place in the future." Nine just glared at the two men who were at a loss for words. Nodding at the strangers, they moved away and back to their own tables.

"Sorry about that," said the bartender, setting down their food. "Cops are suspicious by nature, and we always like to know who's frequenting our bar."

"I get it," said Gaspar. "Rangers and SEALs are fucking suspicious as hell, so you can imagine what's going through our minds with all that inquisitiveness."

"Don't let anything go through your minds, stranger. It's just cops being cops."

"Cool," said Nine. "We'll eat our lunch and leave you all alone."

"Take your time. No harm, no foul. You folks have plans for dinner tonight? There are some great restaurants in the area," he said, suddenly very friendly.

"We promised the girls a great dinner out tonight, so we definitely could use some suggestions," smirked Gaspar.

"Well, they look like they deserve a night out," smiled the man.

He wrote down a few restaurant names and handed them to Nine, then left them alone to eat their meal. It was nothing special. Just as advertised. Bar food, but it was hot, good, and inexpensive. After paying cash for their food and leaving a generous tip, they walked out of the dark bar and noticed at least six cops standing outside.

"Now, why do you suppose they didn't go inside?" asked Gaspar.

"Maybe they heard there was company," he said, smiling at his friend. When back inside their truck, they turned to see all of the men walking into the bar. "I guess that confirms it. We're not welcome at The Shield."