2. Chapter 2
The next morning, I wake with pain everywhere.
Fucking fantastic. Hissing, I get out of bed and take a better look at the bathroom.
Looks like it’s well stocked. Grabbing the basket of first-aid supplies from the vanity, I clean my cuts and wrap my ribs and wrist. Popping more pain meds, I get dressed and make my way to the kitchen.
The condo is silent, so the asshole must still be sleeping.
I scramble some eggs and make a coffee for myself.
I quietly rummaged through the kitchen drawers, but find nothing interesting.
Moving through the dining room and living room, the only things I come across are knives and drugs.
No keys, no papers, and nothing personal.
It seems Patrick's gotten a little smarter.
Most of the evidence I found as a kid was in our shitty apartment.
He didn't have the brains to keep business and personal separate back then.
He must keep everything in his office at the bar now.
Deciding to give my body a break, I take a seat on the couch and turn on the television. I think about leaving the condo building, but my body is already banged up enough, so I decide to behave.
After he pours a second cup, he takes a seat across from me. “You’re up early.”
All I give him is a nod in response.
“You’re still talkative,” he chuckles. “Here’s the deal.
You can use the facilities in this building, but don't leave. I’ll give you a key to this condo, but not the front door.
No phone, no vehicle. You’ll come to work with me and leave when I do, and your first fight will be in two weeks on Friday night.
Until then, you do what I tell you to do. ”
Rolling my eyes, I tune back into the tv. Patrick cooks himself some food, then tells me it’s time to leave. He chucks a single key at me, and then I follow him back downstairs to his truck.
I’m silent as he drives us back to the bar.
Following him to his office, the lights are already on inside.
He flops down into the seat behind his desk as if he’s exhausted.
A double life will do that to you. “You’ll be unloading the bar inventory arriving today.
Store the liquor in the other basement under the kitchen, second door on the right,” he says, throwing another key at me.
“That’s the key to the storage room. I expect it back as soon as you’re done.
Johnny will have the order list in the kitchen.
The bar is a clean front for operations, and most of the staff are unaware of what happens back here, and you’ll keep it that way. ”
A bulky dude in black jeans and a black tee knocking on the door interrupts us. “Take Nick with you, Hank. He’ll be helping at the bar,” Patrick tells him.
Hank looks me up and down before he walks out.
I follow behind and out the same door we came through.
On the far right is a set of banged-up steel doors that Hank props open with rocks.
Peering inside, I see another hall off the kitchen and an office with an enormous man sitting behind a desk.
He looks up and motions me towards him. “Are you Nick?”
Nodding, I step through the doorway.
“I’m Johnny.” He passes me a clipboard with an inventory list. “That’s everything that should arrive today. Patrick said you’re a bartender, so you can handle the liquor and help Hank with the kitchen inventory.”
Bartender, I’ll have to add that to my resume.
Patrick wasted no time in starting a lie about me.
I walk back out and hand Hank the kitchen list, and he motions for me to follow again, so I do.
He grabs one of the two rolling carts near the cooler in the kitchen, so I do the same.
A truck is waiting when we get back outside, so we load the carts with produce and meat as he checks off his list. There's quite a lot of food, so the bar must be popular.
Silently, I follow his lead and store the perishables on shelves in the cooler until the truck is empty.
A green van is waiting when the truck leaves, full of paper products and pantry items. We do the routine again, and then Hank parks his cart, hands me the sheets, and walks into the bar. Quiet guy.
I walk back to Johnny’s office and drop the sheets on his desk. “What now?” I ask.
“Liquor should be here by 2pm. Any kitchen experience?”
Shaking my head in the negative, Johnny sighs. “Decker was working last night, so you can clean up the bar area until the liquor arrives. Once you put that away, stock whatever the bar needs. You’ll need to check with Patrick after that.”
“Got it.” I walk along the hallway to the bar area to find Hank sweeping the floors.
He must be a jack of all trades. I go behind the bar and find a fucking disaster area.
Some empty and some half full bottles are scattered on the lower counter, along with plates of old food.
The garbage can is overflowing onto the floor, and there are dirty glasses everywhere.
Decker's a slob. Remembering the cleaning closet by the cooler, I walk back to grab what I need.
I spend the next hour stacking cases of empty bottles and cleaning.
What a fucking fantastic time. The cook doesn't seem surprised as I haul all the dishes into the kitchen, and a younger guy starts rinsing and putting them in the dishwasher after my first load.
At least I don't have to wash dishes too. Old memories of doing the same thing for Patrick try to surface, but I focus on Shortie instead. I wish I didn’t have to leave her, but her safely will always come first. I hope she doesn't blame Z for letting me leave, but the alternative's so much worse.
Johnny hollers that the liquor's here, so I grab my clipboard and walk back there. He points to a single door beside his office that leads to the basement. The delivery people stack the cases in the hallway as I check them off, and then I lug them downstairs to the storage room. My ribs and wrist are screaming by the time I’m done. It’s going to be a long damn day.
I grab a bottle of water to wash down more pain meds and then go back to Patrick’s office. He is on the phone when I enter, so I painfully sit on the couch until he’s done. When he turns to look at me, I ask him what my actual job is.
“Whatever I tell you, it is,” he replies.
Rolling my eyes, I stretch my good arm across the top of the couch cushions. “Be specific.”
“Let’s go grab a bite to eat.”
He must be worried about someone listening. Keeping the groan to myself, I get up and follow him out to his truck. Cash’s door is still closed, and I don’t hear anyone else around on this side of the building.
Patrick drives us to a fast food joint 10 minutes away and leaves his phone on the dash before exiting the truck. After getting our food, we take a seat at a booth near the back. I eat my food while I wait for him to talk.
“You’ll be a bouncer at the bar. I leave work at different times each night, so your schedule will vary. 9pm to whenever I’m ready to go.”
“Daytime?” I ask. I won’t do well standing around all fucking day with nothing to do.
“Let’s see how it goes. If you behave, I’ll send someone to pick you up at the condo after dinner for your shift so you’re not standing around all day.
I don’t trust you with the other side of the business yet.
When I think you’re ready, you’ll start travelling with me during the day, and I expect you to stay in shape for your fights each week. ”
“Where’s your crew?”
“You’ll see them at the bar at night, and the fights, but most of them work elsewhere.
” Not unexpected if they want the bar to be legitimate.
I need to earn his trust soon so I can tail him during his daytime activities.
The bar isn’t going to get me the information I need, and I have no idea who's clean and who's not. The sooner I get the information, the faster I can deal with Patrick and go home. “When Artur is around, you do what he asks of you. He’ll be in charge of your fights.”
“Where are the fights?”
“A building nearby. You’ll see it soon enough.”
We finish our meal, and then Patrick drives us to an office building in an upscale part of town.
I’m told to wait in the reception area, so I take a seat in the lobby as he takes an elevator up.
There must be 10 floors above me with all kinds of people walking around.
Suits, workout clothes, and everything in between.
Curious, I stand with a grunt and walk over to the directory on the wall.
The upper floors seem to be reserved for office type businesses, while the lower floors have a little of everything, including a sauna, Pilates studio, and a hair salon. Interesting mix.
An hour later, Patrick returns empty-handed and drives us to a mechanic shop, a gas station, and a warehouse before returning to the bar.
Idiot. After his speech at lunch about not trusting me, he doesn't drop me off at the bar and instead carts me around while he does business. Does he think I’m so stupid I can’t figure out why he’s making all these stops?
I keep my mouth shut but memorize the businesses while I wait in the truck. All useful information for later.
After being bored out of my mind sitting in Patrick’s office the rest of the afternoon, I wander out to the bar close to 8pm. The bartender catches my attention and tips his head for me to come over. “You Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Boss said you’re working security. Johnny’s door has the schedule posted on it.”
Nodding, I walk away to have a look. I didn’t notice one earlier today, but it’s tacked to his closed door now. Looks like I’m stationed in front of the other hallway door for the night, and two bouncers will work at the main door. Exciting shit.
Going back to the bar, I take a seat on the stool closest to where I’ll be working and grab a menu. I’m going to miss E’s cooking and Shortie’s baked goods really soon. I order a water and a quesadilla.
While I wait, I survey the crowd. It’s not busy right now.
There are a few guys sitting in a corner booth looking my way that could be in Patrick’s crew.
They look the part. Low class, shifty, and desperate.
The ages of the crowd range from their early 20s to ancient.
Two women servers in short black shorts and white tees are moving between the tables, bar, and the kitchen.
My food is dropped off by one of them with a smile. It’s greasy but filling. I tap the bar when I’m done for the check, but the bartender tells me we get one free meal per shift. I continue to sip my water until it’s time for me to work. Getting up, I take a position beside the door and wait.
Fuck my life, this is boring shit. It’s after midnight, and people are getting stupider by the hour.
Most of the tables are full, and there’s country music playing from somewhere.
The corner booth filled up around 11pm. Although I’m being watched, no one has approached me yet, and I haven’t seen Patrick all night.
Besides pushing a few drunk women away from the door, I’ve had nothing to do.
Finally, Patrick walks through the hall door around 1am. He doesn’t acknowledge me, going straight for a beer and then the corner booth. I discreetly watch, but I’m too far to get any information, and I haven’t seen any drugs or inappropriate behavior from his crew all night.
Half an hour later, Patrick motions for me to follow him to his office. Thank fuck.
“How was your first night?” He asks me.
“Boring as shit,” is my quick reply.
He laughs. “Good. Let’s go home.”