It was close to 9:30, but I walked to The Painted Goose, which had a small crowd gathering in front. All of them were smoking cigarettes. The pungent tobacco hung in the air as I entered.

No one looked at me, and no one said hello as I went inside.

New Order’s “Blue Monday” was playing over the sound system inside the bar. I could see the vinyl propped up above the bar next to a record player. It was filled with people wearing muted-colored outfits, normcore outfits, and others who were dressed like they were at a punk show. Plenty of piercings, black leather jackets, and denim jackets.

It was a younger crowd than Big Henry’s. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if I was the oldest one there but I noticed a group of people at a circular booth in their mid to late 30s.

Red lights attached to metal poles from the ceiling lit the booths. The walls were exposed brick, except there was a myriad of band posters that looked like original prints from touring acts coming through Indianapolis. Or just artsy band posters of The Clash, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Nirvana, and the list kept going on and on. Not to mention, the wall of vinyl records was a marvel. There wasn’t a single television monitor anywhere in the establishment. I didn’t see a seat yourself sign or a, please wait sign. I either had to sit at a table or sit at the bar. I elected to do the latter.

I took a seat at the high chair at the bar, and a bartender came up to me after a few minutes of waiting. While I waited, I looked at everyone who was sitting at the bar. It was crowded. There were only two other seats empty out of 20 seats total. The gentleman who took my order wore a band t-shirt, I think, some group I had never heard of. He had a lip ring and a neck tattoo of a winged beast of some kind.

“Can I get a non-alcoholic beer, please?” I asked him.

“We got non-alcoholic craft brew called negative zone. It’s got an IPA flavor. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, that would be perfect.” I smiled.

The bartender turned around and reached into a fridge below the liquor area and pulled out a 12 oz can, and cracked it open for me at the bar.

“Enjoy,” he said. “That’ll be $3.”

I gave him a $5 bill and told him to keep the change.

“Thanks, man.”

I nodded and continued surveying the tavern. Towards the back I saw two billiards tables. It was on a slightly raised platform that went up two steps. As soon as my beer arrived, I raised my can at the bartender and took a drink.

Bitter but had a nice citrus finish. I couldn’t really listen in on any conversations around me. The music was loud, and everyone was talking close to each other. No one else appeared to be on their own like I was. I decided to walk up to the billiards area, where a group of three people played on a red fabric table.

I approached a guy and a girl, each holding a cue with the multicolored pool balls sprawled in front of them. They had a friend standing off to the side next to a two-top table. She had straightened brown hair with a dark-colored button-up blouse.

“You’re done for, Jill,” the guy said as he put his cue up to the white ball and nailed it, knocking two striped balls into the pockets. He went around the table to get a better angle of the cue ball, rocketing another shot, falling a hair short of banking another.

“Quinn, you blow.” The woman he was playing with was wearing a low-cut t-shirt with skinny jeans. Her hair was black and curly. Quinn wore a plaid button-up, wireframe aviator glasses, and a firm, short beard.

“Scoreboard,” Quinn said.

Jill had measured up her shot next, looking like a scientist analyzing a microscope. After a few draws in and out, she committed to the hit, smacked the cue ball to a solid color ball, and sank it in the corner. She went again and took down another.

“I’m running the table now,” Jill said as she finished the last few balls with precise aim.

Quinn sighed and said, “Good game.”

The other woman leaning against the table took the pool cue from Quinn and asked Jill, “You need a break?”

Jill stepped to their table and took a swig of a Miller High Life. “Gimme one sec.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “Perhaps we could play two on two?”

“You want to play with us?” Quinn asked.

I nodded my head. “Yeah, two on two sounds fun, no?”

“I’m all for it,” Quinn said as he looked at the two ladies.

They both said, “Sure.”

I pulled out my wallet and a few dollar bills.

“Whoa, man, are you trying to make this interesting?” Quinn asked.

“What? Oh. No, sorry, I was just seeing if we had to pay first before we played,” I said.

“I think it might be fun to make it interesting. What’s your skill level?”

“I’m decent.”

“Yeah, but how decent? Like borderline professional decent? Or mediocre?”

“I’m definitely not a professional.” I chuckled.

“How’s about a hundred bucks, me and you,” Quinn said.

“Dude, let’s just play two on two. Don’t get all weird about this,” Jill said.

The other lady rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on, he just saw me get my ass kicked by you. He probably thinks he can at least beat me,” Quinn said.

“I seriously think you have a problem,” Jill said.

Quinn stared at me. “Hey, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Quinn.”

“Edward Wright.”

Jill and the other lady smirked and snickered to themselves. “What are you, some kind of businessman? Who introduces themselves like that?” Jill said.

As I shook Quinn’s hand, Jill grabbed the pool balls and wrangled them inside the triangular frame, and placed the collection near the end of the pool table.

“What do you say? We playing for 100?” Quinn asked.

“Sure, that’s a good start.” I grinned as I took a pool cue from the wall.

The table was all set, and Quinn said to me, “Guests first.” I took aim at the cue ball and got a feel for the stick. Rubbing it up and down the crook of my hand for a moment before rifling off a shot that sank two solid color balls.

“Bloody hell,” Quinn sighed.

“Chill, there’s still plenty of game left to be played,” Jill said.

Quinn and I went back and forth, sinking down well-executed shots, but because of my early lead, I always had at least one ball on him the entire time up until I dropped the eight ball myself.

“God damn it, good game Eddie Wright.” He pulled out a $100 bill from his wallet and slammed it on the table off to the side.

I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I didn’t plan on keeping it, though, but I wanted to see Quinn’s reaction.

“Let’s go again. $200 this time. Let me break first,” Quinn said.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked.

“Yeah, come on, let’s go.” Quinn framed another triangle and prepared the cue ball.

“Quinn, you legit have a problem, dude.” Jill chuckled and rubbed her forehead. The other lady watched in shock as if Quinn was a building on fire.

Quinn had furrowed his brow and seemed rushed with every step when he prepared the table.

“We doing this again or not?” He barked.

I nodded.

“All right.”

Quinn led the first break, and he sank a single solid color ball. He held a one-ball lead on me majority of the game. But as we went back and forth, I eclipsed him with only two balls left to sink. I managed to snipe them both.

“Jesus, this guy is lethal,” Jill commentated and snickered.

Quinn fumed and muttered something to himself that I could only imagine as obscenities. He shoved his hand in his pocket and ripped out his wallet, slamming $200 on the table. I had set my beer down with the others, and he paused, squinting at my beer.

“What the fuck is this? Drinking non-alcoholic beer?” Quinn blurted.

“Ay, mind keeping your voice down?” Jill asked.

“No, no, no. That’s really not fair. I’m like three beers deep, and this guy just hustles me while sober the entire time. What are you a fucking cop?”

“Hey, you don’t know anything about him. Don’t make assumptions. He doesn’t want to drink alcohol. Leave him alone about that,” the lady came to my defense, and I was grateful for it.

“Come on, Vicky, you have to admit, it’s really not cool about what just happened.”

“It’s not like you’re drunk. You can totally play just fine. You lost. Get over it,” Jill said.

I pulled out the $100 bill he gave me and put it back on the table with the $200. “It’s all right, man. I wasn’t planning on taking your money anyway.”

“Dude, I don’t need your fucking charity. A bet’s a bet. I lost. You won, just take the money and take your sober ass elsewhere.”

Jill and Vicky were mortified. Jill especially had a flame in her eye like she wanted to sock Quinn with a haymaker.

“You really can’t talk to people like that,” Jill said.

“I really ought to drain his fuckin’ blood.”

“What’s the matter with you, man?” Vicky put her hand on his shoulder.

Quinn tried to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, fuckin’ cool it.” Jill’s voice seemed to make him even more frustrated.

Quinn gripped my shirt and got in my face. “You played me, you sunnuva’ bitch.” His voice lowered to a growl.

“Quinn, you really don’t want to do this,” I said. I didn’t have any fear in my voice. I was calm and collected.

“Why? Are you gonna turn into the Incredible fuckin’ Hulk or something?”

I thought that was pretty funny of him to say, but I didn’t smirk nor laugh. I kept a straight face and said, “No. But if you hurt me, you’d likely go to prison. I’m a federal agent. I don’t want your money, Quinn. I just wanted to make friends here at the bar. That’s all. I’m investigating the murders that happened in Wilton.”

Quinn rapidly looked back and forth between my left and right eye. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“I can show you my badge right now. Just let go of me. It’s okay, Quinn. You’re not in trouble, and I don’t want you to get in trouble. We can just settle down and have a pleasant evening. You seem like a good guy, and we just had a little misunderstanding. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner.” I reached into my flannel and pulled out my FBI badge, and showed it to him.

Quinn’s eyes widened, and he let me go. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Were you spying on us or something?”

“I can assure you, I was not spying. If it came off that way, you have my sincerest apologies, but I was not spying,” I said. “And I never had any intention of taking your money. Please, have it back.”

Quinn scowled at me; his anger was coming down from a boil to a simmer.

Realization settled in.

Jill leaned in closer, only a foot away. She could have been there the entire time, and I didn’t even notice. “All right, Quinn. Let’s just settle down here and cut this guy loose. You don’t wanna’ make any dumb mistakes,” Jill said in a soft voice.

Quinn unclenched my shirt and returned his hand back to his side. His expression switched from hostile to lost puppy. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Quinn. We can forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

I stepped back over to the table to grab my beer. Quinn, Vicky, and Jill all sat together.

There was something on my mind, and I needed clarification. I cleared my throat and looked at Quinn. “Although, I do have to ask one small question. What did you mean a moment ago when you said you were going to drain my blood? That’s not really a threat I’ve heard before.”

“He was just being an idiot, okay?” Vicky snapped.

“And that’s fine. But I just want some harmless clarification. Is that threat something unique to Wilton?”

“Yeah, it kind of is.” Quinn shrugged. “I mean, that’s what happened with those bodies that were found. The blood was all drained from them. Right? So it’s just been like a joke kind of.”

“And that’s what I’m investigating. Just out of curiosity, did either of you see those victims when they were in town?”

They all shook their heads.

“Not to be rude, but even if I did know anything, I’m not sure if I would tell the police department,” Victoria said. “In fact, I would really appreciate it if you left our table and left us alone.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell the police here if you had any information about the murders?”

Vicky tightened her lips and crafted a sentence in her head. “Sorry, I’m being hyperbolic with that statement. If I did know anything, I would have told Sheriff Martha. Sure. But I just don’t like being involved with cops in any sort of way. I don’t trust them.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Vicky narrowed her eyes at me.

“Absolutely. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t any corrupt police officers.”

“And the systems we have in place are fucked. And you allow it to happen.”

I frowned and kept my voice calm. “I’m sorry. I understand your frustrations.” I lowered my head and thought about what I wanted to say next. “But I just want to help people. Honestly, it’s why I joined the FBI. I can only do so much in my sphere of influence, and one of those duties is to provide closure to grieving families. And to put a stop to this monster that is killing young people who are traveling through. Have you ever had a close friend disappear or go missing?”

Jill and Vicky both shook their head, but Quinn nodded. “One time, my cousin went missing for like 12 hours. No one had any idea where he was, but he just went on a long walk and got lost. It was over the summer, and I’d hang out with him pretty much every day. But that day, he was going through some shit, I guess, and just went out for a really long walk.”

“Was it frightening when you thought he was gone?”

“Hell yeah. I was like ten, and it just freaked me out. Especially my parents and my aunt and uncle. They were hysteric and crying, but it was all good though because he ended up coming back home.”

“Trust me, it’s the worst when there is no closure.” I took a deep breath. I hadn’t planned on diving into my own emotional past and being so vulnerable in front of these strangers, but It came out naturally. They were listening to me.

“What happened?” Vicky asked.

“My best friend when I was 10 just went––” My voice was choked out by an emotional grip over my throat. Eyes brimmed until I felt a drop trickle down the corner of my eye. “Excuse me.” I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to explain the rest,” Jill said.

“Sorry, I think I need to step outside for a moment.” I forced a smile and took my beer, and went to the exit in the back of the bar. I was outside on a pleasant patio. Holiday lights strewn above on wooden posts and a few tables. There were two other people outside smoking cigarettes to my right. Beyond the chain-link fence protecting the perimeter of the lot, there was a vast field of grass between The Painted Goose and a neighborhood full of houses. I leaned up against the wall, away from the smokers. Tears continued to pour down my eyes, like a pitcher overfilling a glass of water.

Please just make this stop. Make this stop.