Chapter 2 #2
“Here ya go, Frog.”
Frog. I take in his bulbous green mask, the wisps of black hair combed over his shiny, sweaty head. Fitting.
He doesn’t bother to thank her, but if she minds his lack of manners, she doesn’t show it, now wiping the countertop in quick circles toward me.
When she’s within earshot, I lift the drink and shake my head. “I didn’t order anything.”
“First one’s on the house,” she answers without sparing me a glance.
“What if I don’t like it?” I sniff the drink, coming up with the syrupy sweet scent of Coca-Cola rather than Jack.
She snorts, finally pausing to lift a sharp, sparkly-blue brow that rises above her mask. “You really gonna shit on a free drink?”
I pretend to weigh her question. “Touché.”
Club or not, I have no intention to drink while I’m on the job. But I sip it to play the part. At the taste of the sweet fizz, I lift to investigate, then frown.
“It’s just Coke.”
“Everyone likes Coke.” She shrugs shoulders inked with stunning butterflies that are almost as good as something I could design. “It goes well with Smoke if you want that too.”
Smoke? Does she mean cigarettes? Weird way to put it, but okay.
“Nah, trying to quit, thanks.” I tap the cigarette behind my ear. “This one’s just a security blanket.”
Her face scrunches, but then she blinks and grumbles, seemingly to herself, “Jesus, you too?”
Ummm, what?
Before I can ask, she turns away from me to bus a newly empty seat down the bar.
Getting on this chick’s chatty side is gonna be harder than I like. While I’m normally a patient guy, knowing Lucy’s somewhere in this building—that I’m so fucking close—has the back of my neck sweating and my mouth drying. I’ve got to get this conversation under control.
She’s casting me weird looks, and I try to play off my nerves, resting my arm over the back of the chair beside me and flashing a grin.
“Like what you see, darlin’?”
Faint wrinkles line her glitter-blue lips as they press into a thin line, making her look older than the late thirties I suspect. She plops the towel behind the bar and her breasts nearly spill out of their tight binding as she leans close enough that she doesn’t have to shout over the music.
“We don’t get a lot of new people around here that don’t know what we’re about. So how’d you find this place, Hatter?”
I almost frown. It’s the third time I’ve been called that, and it’s too damn close to my real name for comfort. I assume it came with the hat, but the familiarity is still uncomfortable. Nothing I can’t roll with, though.
I rock forward and put on a smirk. “Who’s asking, gorgeous?”
“Can’t you tell?” She steps back, leaving the scent of berries and weed in her wake, and gestures to her outfit. “I’m Mariposa the Caterpillar.”
I snort. “Y’all really commit to the bit around here, don’t you?”
She gives me a wry look and twirls a finger, indicating the incredibly on-the-nose themed club. “Stick around long enough and you’ll find out real quick, clichés makes money, kid. Now back to my questions.” She places both hands on the counter. “Where’re ya from, Hatter?”
Rolling the rocks glass around in circles on its bottom edge, I hide the nervous twitch in my fingers. “Now why would you wanna know a thing like that, Mariposa the Caterpillar?”
She takes another puff from the hookah before blowing a smoke ring at me. The cloud full of the scent I thought was her itches my nose, and I resist the urge to waft it all away. Thank fuck I brought emergency meds. The last thing I need is to go into anaphylactic shock in a strip club.
“For starters,” she points the mouthpiece at me. “You’ve never been here before, I’d remember that.”
“Aw, am I so memorable?”
“I remember everyone,” she replies deadpan, not taking the bait. “You’re not here for just anyone, though.”
I’m about to spout off more flirty bullshit, until she continues, “Your accent is more Upstate than Lowcountry, and we only ever get locals, dockies, and rich assholes. But I know every local. Dockies wear Carhartts like a second skin. And none of the rich assholes here have worn a scuffed leather motorcycle jacket a day in their lives. So, I’m asking where you’re from as a courtesy.
But if I had to guess, you came all the way from the mountains? And you came for a reason.”
Shit.
My hand tightens around my drink, stopping it from rolling around to sip my Coke as I wait for her to keep reading my fucking mind.
“Which means…” She takes a drag then blows a ring into my face again, practically a direct hit to my nostrils this time. “You are here for someone. The question is who.”
My thoughts race so quickly they’re a haze, but I shrug easily. In literally any other circumstance, I think I’d like this chick. She’s smart. An asset to this club, for sure.
But how on earth did Lucy keep whatever cover she’s got with this psychic around? I’ve been in here less than three goddamn minutes and I’m already made.
Or maybe Mariposa the Caterpillar knows exactly who Lucy is.
Is she protecting her? Is Lucy in trouble? What’s Lucy doing here in the first place?
One question at a time.
“You seem to have all the answers,” I tease, unable to help the edge in my voice. “Why don’t you tell me who I’m here for?”
Her eyes are a magnifying glass on me before she wipes off her mouthpiece on the hookah and holds it out. “Want some?”
Irritated that she’d ask when I told her I was trying to quit, I wave her off with a growl, “No.”
Her lips twist into a half-smile, half-disappointment, but she sucks from the mouthpiece she just half-ass cleaned before blowing out the smoke again in one sharp huff. Whatever she’s smoking smells good, making my mouth water.
She waits, and that weird grin sharpens, almost like she wonders if I’m on the verge of caving. I don’t.
Finally, she huffs and her crisp smile is gone in a flash. “Not one for conversation I guess then. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Here are the things you should know, if you’re gonna stick around.”