THIRTY-TWO
Terrorcertainly was a fit description of the man who was standing at the door surveying the pub’s crowd as though he were hunting for prey. With fire in his eyes, the ugly brute then headed to the bar.
“That’s Clive Harcus.” Fletcher whispered his name and hunched down until his forehead was almost touching the tabletop. “Graeme Gibson is with him. They’re both mean as rabid dogs.”
Isabel didn’t think she had ever seen anyone this angry. Harcus’s body was rigid and his clinched fists shook with his fury. He was a big man, about Michael’s size, but the comparison stopped there. Clive had more flab than muscle through his middle, but his shoulders and beefy arms were those of a weight lifter. He had a double chin and a thick neck that all but disappeared in his sloped shoulders. The hateful expression on his face could give children nightmares. Their parents, too. He looked exactly like what he was. A bully. And he was out for blood.
Graeme trailed behind him. The look on his face jarred her, as though he might start laughing at any moment. His expression wavered between a smirk and a smile, and how creepy was that? Was he eager for the blowup he knew was coming?
An older woman called out to Clive as she entered the pub behind them. She looked worried.
“Mr. Fletcher, do you know who that woman...” Isabel’s voice trailed off when she realized he was gone.
Michael explained before she could ask. “He flew out the back door.”
“I was about to look under the table,” she said as she turned around and saw no sign of the man.
Annie rushed over to their booth. “You should get out of here. It isn’t safe. Go out the back way,” she whispered. “And be careful. They’re here for you.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m with him,” she said, nudging Michael. “He won’t let anyone get to me. Tell me, Annie. Who is the woman pleading with Clive Harcus?”
“Freya,” she answered. “Poor thing. She looks like she’s going to cry. She’s Clive’s mother, and that’s reason enough to weep, I suppose. Now go, both of you,” she begged before she hurried away.
The crowded pub was rapidly emptying. Customers couldn’t seem to get out of there fast enough. One man tripped on the steps, and another man, clearly inebriated, fell on top of him. The two were a sight, staggering to their feet and helping each other out the door.
Clive was arguing with his mother, who was clinging to him. He pulled her along to a table in the corner and all but pushed her into a chair.
“Stay calm,” his mother called out. “Try to stay calm.”
The woman looked so anxious. Who could blame her? Her son, after all, was a monster. Did Freya realize it, or did she wear blinders?
Isabel noticed the paper in Clive’s hand then.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered. “The paper Clive is waving around is the eviction notice, isn’t it?”
“It would seem so,” Michael said. “Gladstone did say he would have both letters delivered by the end of the day.”
Graeme was also holding a paper. His termination letter, no doubt. He obviously wasn’t upset about it because he was grinning. What was that about? These people were crazy, Isabel decided. And violent, she added when Clive started shoving chairs out of his way to cross over to Isabel and Michael’s booth.
Sinclair intercepted him in the middle of the pub. With an obstacle suddenly standing in front of him, Clive got into Sinclair’s face and began shouting at him.
Isabel was impressed by the inspector’s calm demeanor. “Does Clive think Sinclair wrote the eviction letter?”
Michael shook his head. “From the look in his eyes I don’t believe he’s thinking at all. His anger is controlling him.”
“Get out of my way,” Clive shouted at Sinclair.
Unfazed by the madman screeching at him, the inspector held his ground. Twice Clive tried to get around him, but each time he was blocked.
“I told you to get out of my way,” Clive shouted again. “You can’t stop me from getting to her. Now move. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Sinclair drew Michael and Isabel’s attention when he looked in their direction and tilted his head ever so slightly toward the back door.
The bartender reached for a phone on the shelf behind him and ducked behind the bar, undoubtedly calling for backup.
“The inspector is giving us the nod. He wants us to leave, doesn’t he?” Isabel asked. Not really wanting an answer, she rushed on. “No, I’m not going to run away. I want to stand up to Clive and let him know he can’t bully me.”
Michael wasn’t going to argue with her. He’d like nothing better than to knock the smug look off Clive Harcus’s face, but Isabel’s safety came first. He was determined to get her out of harm’s way, and if that meant throwing her over his shoulder and going out the back door, then that’s what he would do.