“I didn’t harass—”
“You followed her out when she left, which amounts to stalking.”
“My friends dared—”
“A guy winds up with his brains on the ground, and you say you found him like that.” Joe let that dire description of his predicament resonate, then said, “If I were you? I’d lose the attitude and stop pissing me off.”
He squirmed, he swallowed, he picked at the red eye socket of the skull on his shirt, and finally he mumbled his name—Royce Sherman.
Hick tapped it into his iPad and started a search to see if Royce Sherman had a police record.
Joe asked, “You live around here, Royce?”
He named a nearby town, not Tobias.
“What brought you over here tonight?”
“Met up with some buddies to shoot pool, have a coupla drinks, hang out.”
“Did you know Jordan Bennett before tonight?”
“Never saw her before she walked in. Still don’t know her.”
“But you recognized her name.”
“No. Didn’t know it till he told me.” He motioned toward Morrow.
“Witnesses told Deputy Morrow that you came on to Ms. Bennett pretty strong. That true?”
“No.” Some of the attitude had edged back in. He sank deeper into his seat. “I went over and asked could I buy her a drink. That’s it,” he declared, stabbing the top of the table with the tip of his index finger.
“Of all the women in the bar, you picked her to hit on. How come?”
He gave a short laugh. “Are you yanking my chain?”
Joe’s expression didn’t change. “Am I yanking his chain, Agent Hickam?”
“I don’t believe you are, sir.”
Their somber tones collapsed the young man’s leer. He shifted on the bench again. “If you saw her, you wouldn’t have to ask how come. She’s hot.”
“I have seen her. In fact, I and Agent Hickam have spent a lot of time with the lady.”
Royce Sherman’s bloodshot eyes sawed back and forth between them. “Seriously?”
“In the line of duty.”
“Wha’d she do?”
“Are you familiar with a fugitive named Billy Panella?”
“A fugitive? Like, from justice?”
“Heard of him?”
“No.”
“Joshua Bennett?”