it lacked the raucous atmosphere it would no doubt offer after dark. The pool tables were unused, most of the chairs were unoccupied, with only a few all-day drinkers lounging in the corners. Behind the bar a large man was scowling at a wall-mounted TV set that was showing an auto race. Tess approached the bar, aware that every eye in the establishment had turned her direction—even the bartender’s, though he did his best to look uninterested. She leaned on the bar and let him take his time coming over to her. She pegged him as an ex-con—it was hard to say how, but there was something about the his physique, the prison-buffed muscles that had turned to fat, and the set of his jaw, as if he had learned to keep his feelings hidden from anyone in authority. “You Eddie?” she asked. “What?” “Fast Eddie’s is the name of this place. Is that you?” “There’s no Eddie. It’s just a name. Because of the pool tables.” Tess didn’t get it. “Pool tables?” “Like in the movie.
