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Snow was falling softly as Damien left the car and entered the muni.  There was a nice crowd in the little place so he got a diet coke from the tall drink of water behind the bar and tried to slide unnoticed over to a small table away from the one Hodges and his cronies occupied in the far corner.  Boston Whitley noticed Damien enter the bar almost immediately.

“Hey,” he said to his friends at the table.  “Junior just came in.”  The others cast their faces to where Boston was looking.

“Well, well, well.  I think it is,” said Earl Mancoat.  “I’ll bet we can expect Miss Beautiful to come in any second.”

“Probably parking the car.  Jesus, I’ll bet he makes her drive the damn car everywhere.”

“Yeah, like a little chauffeur,” Seth Tryton added sneeringly.

“It’s plain to see who the brains of that outfit is,” huffed Mancoat, as Gerald Hodges sat silent.  Mancoat continued, “I got an idea, let’s invite Junior over and we’ll pump him for information.”

Hodges perked up, “Capital idea,” he said.

Whitley rose, hobbled over to Damien’s small, high-top table.  “Junior, come on over and join us.  We’re having good “man” conversations over there, and we figure you might learn something.”  Damien, who had been watching Whitley cross the bar to his table, didn’t answer right away and frowned.

Eyebrows raised, Whitley tried again.  “What’s the matter, too much testosterone for a young buck like yourself?  Come on, have a beer, er, uh, or a diet coke, and let us know what’s happening with your investigation.”  Whitley sneaked a peak at his compatriots at the other table and winked.

Gathering momentum to rise up and join the party, Damien rose and said, “Ok,  I’ll be with you in a second.  Gotta go to the bathroom first, though.” 

Whitley smiled a wide one,  “Great, kid!  Take a piss and come on over.  I’ll bring your diet coke.”  He picked up the drink and limped back over to the old mens’ table while Damien took his time walking over to the bathroom.  He entered, waited until the gentleman ahead of him used the facilities, took out his cell phone and texted Beth that he was joining the old guys.  He finished, washed his hands out of habit and went back out to join the old guys.

As Damien sat down in a chair that had been pulled out for him by Seth Tryton, Gerald Hodges extended his hand.  Damien grasped it and was surprised by the strength of Hodges’ grip.

“So good to see you old boy,” Hodges stated in his acquired English accent.

“It’s good to see you, as well Mr. Hodges.”

“Call me Gerald, please, or better yet, Gerry.  That’s what they all call me here.”

The others chimed in.  “That’s right, Gerry,” they said in unison while staring at Damien, making him distinctly uncomfortable.  Shifting in his chair, he wondered if the little group had an ulterior motive for asking him to join them.

“So, Damien, if I may call you that, could you share any tidbits of your investigation with us?” Hodges asked.

“Actually, there isn’t much to share at this point.  As you know, the police have some persons of interest they are doing some background work on.”  He delivered the words while staring at Hodges.  The others, except for Hodges shook their heads no.  Hodges smiled a half smile and concurred.

He looked at his friends.  “I regret that I did not inform my friends I have been told I am one of those persons of interest,” he said.   His “friends” were all silent for a moment until Earl Mancoat spoke up.

“Ha, good one, Gerry.  Why would they think a harmless old guy like yourself, hell, like any of us here, could be involved in a murder?”

“He’s not joking, uh, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Mancoat, Earl,” he said forcefully.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mancoat, but he’s not joking.  The authorities think that Gerry might know more than he’s told them so far.”

“And what do you think, Junior?”  Boston Whitley asked.

“Me?  I tend to leave the thinking up to my boss.”

“Ah yes.  The beautiful Miss Reddy,” Hodges said.  “Speaking of whom, where is Miss Reddy tonight?”  Damien, who hadn’t planned to be sitting with the gang of oldsters and be subjected to questions, squirmed in his chair a little trying to come up with a plausible answer.  The old guys noticed his discomfiture and leaned forward to put a little more pressure on him.