Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
T rucker Hat’s friend stared at me, holding half a pool cue, as four cops came in, hands on their weapons, shouting at everybody to calm down. I held up both my hands, remaining still until they surrounded me and Dan’s friend.
“What’s going on, Betty?” one of the cops asked. He was cute. A couple of years older than us, but I didn’t recognize him from high school, so that probably meant he was from out of town.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, Officer Choi.” Betty grinned at him, and there was a spark in her eye. If Officer Choi was the prize at a county fair, she would spend fifty dollars to knock over that can of milk bottles. “Dan and Bert here got angry about the outcome of the pool game.”
Choi glanced over the situation, catching sight of the broken pool cue before his eyes dropped to where Dan snored happily into the sticky tabletop. He looked up at me, eyes tracing over, trying to find where the pool cue had hit.
I gestured to the table next to me.
“He missed.”
“Did he?” Choi asked. “We should take you to the hospital, anyway.”
I shook my head. Me showing up on any hospital records was a great way for the SPA to find my location.
“I’m fine. They probably should get checked out, though.” I gestured at Dan and Bert.
Bert was wavering on his feet, staring at the stump of pool cue in his hand. He kept looking up at me, frowning before looking back down.
One of the other officers ordered him to drop the weapon, and when Bert took a moment too long, the officer grabbed it from him, twisting his arms behind his back and handcuffing him in one swift movement.
Choi called for an ambulance, and the other officers began questioning patrons. Within a few minutes, the ambulance had arrived, Bert had been bundled into the back of a police cruiser, and Choi was smiling at Betty like maybe she was the prize at the county fair.
“Well, I hate to duck out just as soon as I got here. But duty calls.” Choi nodded his head, both thumbs tucked in his duty belt.
As soon as the cops cleared out, Betty gave a five-minute warning for everyone else. I walked over to Cassander, who was back at the bar, leg propped against the footrest, examining an amber glass of beer that looked different from the one he’d given Dan a bath in.
Lifting my glass, I drank it all in one long swallow, finishing breathless. I barely tasted the bitter, grassy flavor of the hops, made worse because now the beer was warm. When I was done, I managed a low “What happened?”
Cassander considered his own glass. He turned it back and forth, letting the light catch it. I stared at him, unsure what to even ask. How to even ask.
Betty gave another warning shout, calling that everyone only had two minutes to bottoms up or get kicked out. After people had paid up, gathered coats, and left, she blew out a long breath, locking the door behind the last of the patrons.
Going back behind the bar, she climbed onto a stool and grabbed a bottle from the top shelf. Hopping down, she took three glasses out from behind the bar.
The door to the kitchen opened, and a kid who couldn’t have been more than twenty came out with two plates of food. Bright blue headphones covered his ears, hair shaved nearly to his scalp, and a jewelry store worth of silver in his ears. He stared around at the empty bar, eyes going wide.
Finally, he looked at Betty for a quick half second before dropping his eyes to the floor. He shouted over the noise in his headphones. “What happened?”
She rolled her eyes, standing and taking the plates off his hands. “Go clean up. You can head off early. Full pay.”
At that, his eyes went wide and excited. “You got it, Bets.”
Then he was through the door, and I heard the spray of water, the clang of metal as he rushed to clean.
“Bets?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Does Officer Choi have some competition from the punk baby chef?”
Betty rolled her eyes and put down the plates in front of us. Onion rings circled one, a small dipping bowl of ranch dressing in the center. Garlic fries on the other had an aioli sauce that I couldn’t resist.
Dipping one of the fries in, I put it in my mouth to an explosion of perfect, salty, umami goodness. My eyebrows went up. “Baby chef made this?”
“I got him on discount.” Betty took one of the onion rings and crunched it between her teeth. “He used to work at one of the five-star resorts in Palm Springs, but he was fired because he was too slow and too creative. Also the headphone thing.”
“The headphone thing?” I asked.
“They’re noise-canceling. So I can’t really rely on him in situations like this.” She gestured at the room, the half an onion ring indicating the fight that had just happened.
“Ah,” I said. “Makes sense.”
I tried to keep my eyes on Betty, on the food, on anything other than Cassander, sitting next to me, something inexplicable and impossible, and what had he done? How had he done it?
Betty poured out three glasses from the bottle with no label, just a snake engraved on the glass. “Here’s to you coming back home, getting your ass kicked before you even had a drink.”
“I didn’t get my ass kicked ,” I said. “I was strategically letting him have the upper hand.”
“Right.” She held out her glass, and I reluctantly picked mine up. “Here’s to you strategically letting Dan sit on you and punch you in the face.”
“Cheers,” Cassander said, clinking his glass with Betty’s. My skin prickled, my awareness focused on him.
I muttered under my breath but clinked glasses with her. When I tilted my head back, the glass in my hand cracked, and I got a faceful of whiskey. Swearing, I put the broken glass to the side, wiping at my face until Betty tossed me a clean white towel.
I dried my face, the alcohol immediately making my skin feel sticky and overly dry. Shaking her head, Betty poured me another glass, and I drank it down. The whiskey was good but burned, bringing back memories of a bottle stolen off her father’s shelves and us two, barely seventeen and drunk in the bed of her truck. “God, you still drink this stuff?”
“Hey, I’m a businesswoman, and there’s a lot of people who enjoy the ambiance of home brew.”
“People who don’t like their esophagus?” I asked. But I was mostly mocking. The serpent on the bottle was a dragon, and I tilted it toward the light. Cassander leaned close, and I didn’t even glance toward him, but I could feel him like a shiver of cold air on my skin.
Shaking my head, I focused on the glass bottle. Betty’s dad knew the person who made it and had only let Betty know who it was when he’d gone into the home, and it was clear he was never coming out.
“You have no taste. This is good stuff. This is sipping alcohol, not chugging.” Betty finished off her glass, savoring the last of it.
“It has potential,” Cassander said. He took a small sip and twisted his lips. “Minimal potential.”
I snorted and held out my glass for another pour. “After the week I’ve had, I need it.”
“So what happened?” Betty asked. “I heard you got into it with Brad?”
“You know Candy’s husband?” I wasn’t even sure why I asked. I’d forgotten how small and insular Desert Flower was. Everyone knew everyone else’s business.
“Brad? Yeah. He’s a good guy. One of the guys at his firm helped me out when I was trying to figure out some issues with the liquor license.” Betty narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“I was just wondering what you thought about him,” I said casually. “I’ve only met him once.”
“And whose fault is that?” Betty asked. Then she leaned forward, her elbows resting on the bar top, considering the question. “He’s a nice guy. You know your mom—Rosario wouldn’t let Candace go with just anyone. He?—”
Betty broke off.
“He what?” I asked. Something about our fight that night, something about the stain on his shirt, the grass in his hair still bugged me. A lawyer from Desert Flower shouldn’t be able to beat someone with my experience in a fight. For that matter, a drunk shouldn’t be able to beat someone with my experience.
“I think you should just get to know him. He’s a big… family guy. If you get in with him, he stays loyal.” Betty pushed off the bar. “Unlike someone I know who doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t even comment Happy Birthday on my Facebook timeline…”
I sighed, sipping the alcohol, enjoying the flavor. “Okay, okay. He’s great, and I’m a piece of gum on your shoe. Is that about the gist?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Betty grinned, a sharp show of teeth.
Baby punk chef came out of the back, still wearing his headphones. He didn’t meet any of our eyes, one of his hands drumming repeatedly on his thigh. “I’m off.”
“Thanks, Rafa.” Betty raised her glass in a wave.
He headed out the front door, and I caught Cassander’s eyes. His very brown eyes. I flashed back to the silver I’d seen in his gaze, something bright and shining like liquid.
Betty clapped her hands once. “You two are helping me clean up.”
I didn’t even bother protesting. Cassander’s eyes went wide, and he looked around as though he had never touched a broom in his life and was now being asked to scrub the castle floors like Cinderella.
“Come on.” I threw back the alcohol, wincing again, and began wiping down tables with the rag that Betty tossed me. She poured another one for Cassander but held it away from him, gesturing around the room to indicate he’d have to help clean before he got any more. I rolled my eyes and got to work.
“So, Officer Choi,” I said.
“Stop. That was an unlucky break for both of us.” Betty began putting up chairs.
“Unlucky?” I scrubbed at a stain of sticky alcohol on one of the tables. “He seemed fine.”
“He’s a stick in the mud, is what he is,” Betty said. “And now you are on his radar. And he’ll probably be swinging by every day to check and make sure I’m not having problems.”
“Is that a bad thing?” The stain finally came off, and I glanced over to see Cassander had given in to Betty’s arch look and was scrubbing at a different table, bent over, his ass on display in my old jeans. I licked my bottom lip before dragging my attention back to Betty, who was hefting a stack of chairs. “He looked like he wanted to role-play pogo stick with you.”
“Trust me, if there’s one person you don’t want in your business, it’s Officer Choi.” She looked me up and down. “And right now, D, you seem like you don’t want anybody in your business.”
She wasn’t wrong. I made a mental note to keep my nose clean, to not give Officer Choi any other reason to pay attention to me. He would put my name in whatever report he wrote up, but unless he ran my prints or a background check, it probably wouldn’t flag any SPA alerts.
Cassander grunted, standing and stretching, revealing a slice of skin at his waist.
“What’s up with the gym clothes from high school?” Betty asked.
“Our luggage got lost on the plane,” I lied easily.
Betty threw me a disgusted look, obviously not believing me. I shrugged.
“Seriously, we don’t have any clothes.”
“Get some before you come back. People showing up in what looks like their pajamas is bad for business.” But she was smiling as she said it, the joke written in the wrinkles next to her eyes.
Betty went in the back and returned with a mop, which she handed to me. Cassander was shooed back to the bar, and she poured them both another glass as I put the mop into the bucket, squeezing out the water on the side. When I bent to use the hand press, it squirted water all over my shirt.
“Who ordered the wet T-shirt contest?” Betty called out from the bar, mimicking a cat meow.
Shaking my head, I made quick work of the floor.
“All right. I’m calling it an early night for everyone.” Betty wrapped her arms around me in another tight hug, her fingers sliding over my arm. “Get home safe.”
Then she pushed us out the door, locking it behind us and turning off all the lights.
“Well, that was entertaining. Certainly more so than your mother’s television shows.” Cassander tilted his head toward the car.
I looked around. The lot was empty; with the bar lights off, the only illumination came from a distant streetlamp and the passing headlights of cars on the highway.
“What the hell was that, Cassander?” I asked.
“What was what?” Cassander pulled his chin back, spine straight, shoulders squared.
“The pool cue. You broke it.” I waited, staring at him.
His skin, lit by the distant lights, gleamed. His eyes seemed to flash.
“You seem to have me mistaken with a drunken hick. I didn’t break anything.” His tongue flicked out, and I was hyperaware of how close we were standing. If I reached out, I would touch him.
“You do have an artifact with you.” I spat out the words, feeling myself heat with anger and something else that twisted my stomach, made my fingers spark like I was already touching him.
“No.” Cassander stepped closer, but I refused to back down. “You have the only magical artifact between the two of us.”
“But you did magic.” I lowered my voice even further, the sound impossibly loud, even with the whoosh of cars in the distance. “I know what I saw.”
“And what exactly did you see?” Cassander asked.
“That pool cue didn’t touch me.” I searched his face, my eyes locking on his as if I could draw out the silver I’d seen in them. “You raised your arm, and it shattered. Your eyes were silver. You have an artifact.”
“Maybe it was just the coin.” Cassander reached forward, and I startled when his fingers brushed over the outline of it in my pocket.
“No. I’ve seen the kind of luck this coin brings me. If it had been the coin, his swing would have broken my jaw.” That would have been a turn of my luck, ending up in the hospital, trapped and drugged, trussed up like a Christmas turkey for the SPA to come pick up.
“I don’t have an artifact.” Cassander leaned in close, pushing up onto his toes to whisper into my ear. “But I do have magic. Would you like to see it?”