Sara

7

The bar was a grimy place, the lightning dim and causing Sara to blink rapidly, hoping her eyes adjusted quickly. It was also loud, filled with raucous cries as people drank, talked, and shouted.

Sara had no idea what to do next.

Flicking her eyes over the room, she tried to take in as much as possible as she walked boldly toward the bar, fighting the urge to shrink away, to run and cower in a corner. Leo's Bar was filled with seamy people, the type she would avoid when on the sidewalk or whom the sight of made her quicken her pace heading to her car at night. It took everything in her to maintain her show of boldness and reach the bar, hopping up onto the grungy barstool like she belonged in a place like this.

Oh, Leah, you owe me one for this.

Sorrow filled Sara as she realized her sister would never owe her anything again, would never return a favor ever again with her characteristic Leah flare and the well-placed song lyric or Seinfeld quote, but the sorrow was quickly replaced by rage. Darius stole that from me. He didn't just take Leah's life from her, he took her from me, from Mom, from everyone who cared. He will pay. I will make him pay.

And that anger, that determination, kept her sitting on that barstool as she signaled to the bartender.

"Can I get a beer?"

The bartender, an older man with a balding head, grunted and poured her a beer, slamming it down in front of her so that the liquid slopped over the sides and puddled around the base of the mug. Sara bit the inside of her lip, trying to prevent herself from making a face at the mess, the smell, and the dirty marks on the glass, whether inside or outside the mug she couldn't tell. She'd never been one to like beer – that had been Leah. Leah had liked alcohol. Sara didn't mind it, but only in small quantities. The idea that something could befuddle her mind and make her do things she'd regret later had acted as a deterrent from the substance. It was the opposite of Leah, who knew how much she could drink before she'd gone too far, and also seemed to always be in control of herself while drinking.

Carefully, Sara grabbed the handle of the mug, wrapping her fingers around the dirty and wet thick glass. Resisting the urge to flinch away from the drops of beer dripping over her fingers, she lifted the glass to her lips, letting the liquid rise to touch her lips before setting the mug down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowing noisily.

I just need to listen and blend in enough, just long enough to hear something to signify why this bar was so important, why Leah had a scrap of paper with the name of it in Darius' handwriting. Just long enough to find out what's really going on.

Sara glanced around the bar casually, lifting the mug again and pretending to take another sip. A man entered the bar, already smelling strongly of alcohol, and took the barstool next to her, ordering a beer that he gulped down immediately, demanding a refill as soon as he had finished.

"Hey, pretty girl," he crooned after his third beer, glancing at Sara and reaching a hand out toward her face. Sara jerked back but not before his fingers had wrapped around a strand of her hair, tugging at it. "How you'd like to come home with me?"

"No," Sara said, rescuing her strand of hair. "Leave me alone, please."

"No, no, no," the man sneered, words slurring slightly. He stepped off his barstool and leaned toward her, hands grasping her arms as Sara's hand fell to her gun. "You're coming with me, dolly."

Sara's fingers closed around the gun. She didn't want to shoot the guy, but....

Wait.

Quickly, Sara grabbed her full mug of beer off the counter and flung the contents into the face of the drunk man. He gasped, falling back as beer dripped down his face and clothes, adding to the general reek already surrounding him.

"I said, leave me alone!" Sara snapped, adding menacingly, "Or else."

The man glared at her murderously, wiping his face off with his damp sleeve. "Oh, you little –" he snarled.

"The lady told you to leave her alone, Fields."

Another man moved over to the counter from one of the booths in the corner, walking purposefully over to the two. Dressed in jeans and a button down red shirt, blonde hair slicked back, the man stopped by the man and glared at him with piercing green eyes. A little shorter than Darius, the man definitely looked like he could make the drunk regret ever laying eyes on Sara. And he did not look like the type of person who hung out in a bar like this, his looks and clothes too good for the place.

Then again, who am I to talk?

"Michaelson," Fields sneered, turning to glower at the man. "This ain't none of your concern. The lady and me were just having a slight disagreement."

Michaelson.

Sara's eyes widened. This was Eugene Michaelson, the witness who had testified that Leah had been cheating on Darius?

Michaelson turned to Sara. "Miss, is he bothering you?"

It took Sara a moment to regain her composure and understand his question. "Uh, yes, he is," she said. "I want him to leave me alone and never talk to me again."

Michaelson nodded. "You heard the lady, Fields. Get the hell out of here and don't come back in tonight."

Fields glared at Michaelson but obviously didn't want to take on the bigger, less drunk man, who was a lot more capable of fighting at the moment. "I hope you rot in hell, Michaelson."

"I'll see you there, then!" Michaelson shouted after him as Fields staggered out of the bar. He glanced at the bartender. "Sorry about that, Leo."

Leo mumbled something about "the no-good bastard" and Michaelson nodded before glancing at Sara again. "You okay, miss?"

"Yes," Sara said, muscling back her desire to scream and curse him out. You lied about my sister! You got Darius a lighter sentence! He should be in prison for the rest of his life, but you had to open your filthy mouth and lie! "I'm fine."

"Get the lady a refill on her drink, on me," Michaelson directed Leo. Then he smiled at Sara, white teeth flashing, and headed back over to his booth. "I'm sorry, where were we?" he said to his companion.

Sara strained her ears, fixing her attention on the booth, but she couldn't hear well from where she sat. Scanning the room, her eyes lit on the ladies' bathroom door, positioned near Michaelson's booth. Perfect.

Standing, Sara walked across the bar toward the bathroom, resisting the urge to glance at Michaelson and his companion as she opened the door and stepped inside. After a quick glance around the restroom to find it empty, Sara leaned up against the door and pressed her ear up against the wood, listening hard.

"I can't believe you managed to pull this off," she heard an unfamiliar voice say.

Michaelson laughed. "I know, it was genius. And to think it wasn't even planned! We were actually going to take old Fields out until Darius found out his wife was snooping around his office. She knew too much and so the plan changed, just like that." He snapped his fingers.

Sara stiffened, her mouth dropping open. What?