part0065

“Coming right up,” I replied and smiled at Lisa, the waitress making drink requests. She flashed a quick smile and hurried away to take another order. It was an unusually busy Monday night at the restaurant and Mikey was out with a nasty case of the weekend flu. I was qualified enough to mix drinks so I was given bartending duty on nights when Mikey was unavailable. I didn’t mind, the tips were good.

I made the drinks and set them on the bar for Lisa to pick up then turned to take my next order. My breath caught when I saw who was sitting at the corner of the bar. Mr. Shy was by himself, on his favourite stool, his features shadowed by the bar’s overhang and the hat he never took off. I hesitated, my feet slowing as I moved toward him. There was just something about this man that I found both utterly attractive and simultaneously terrifying. Probably the fact that he was the city’s leading mobster with both a bank account and a body count higher than I wanted to know.

Yeah, I know exactly who my boss is. Why do I work for him? Because he pays well enough, the work is steady and he’s good to his legitimate staff. So far, in my experience at the restaurant, all three points were accurate.

“Want the usual, Mr. Shy?” I asked, attempting to make my voice sound less wobbly than my knees.

I could feel the heat of his eyes on me, though he didn’t move an inch from his spot in the shadows. “Thank you, Nola.”

His sandpaper voice sent a shudder rippling right down my spine. I tried to hide my reaction by turning quickly and reaching for the bourbon bottle with one hand and the Amaretto with the other. Mr. Shy’s drink of preference was a Godfather. Something that should have maybe been funny but fit his dark persona far too perfectly. I poured 1 ½ oz of the bourbon and ¾ oz of the amaretto, then placed the drink on top of a gold embossed napkin directly in front of Mr. Shy’s gloved hand, which rested on the bar.

He didn’t say anything. He never said anything. Instead, he handed me a $20 and tipped his hat low as I peered into the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes. I wondered what colour they were. Blue, green… or maybe brown like mine? I’d never gotten a good look at them before.

I picked up the $20 and cashed it, taking the leftover for my tip. I knew Mr. Shy well enough by now, that he wouldn’t want any change. He was a generous man when it came to his staff. I also thought it was pretty great that he paid for alcohol in his own establishment. Mr. Shy was all about following the rules he enforced.

I reached for my tip pouch and froze. It wasn’t there.

I didn’t bother searching around for it. I never moved it when I worked the bar. None of us bartenders did. We always kept our tip pouches in the same spot after cashing out the drinks, so that we could work quick and efficient. So that we wouldn’t risk losing our tips. There had been over $100 in tips in that pouch.

I could feel my heart pounding and the blood beginning to rush in my ears as anger surfaced wild and vicious within me. I knew exactly what’d happened. Only one person had invited herself behind the bar while I was working. My back had been turned to the cubby where I kept the pouch, she could’ve easily grabbed it and stuffed it into her apron pocket.

Then another thought occurred to me, like a punch in the stomach, igniting nausea before I could control the feeling. I took several gasping breaths and ran a hand over my forehead and into my hair, forcing myself to calm down. There was nothing I could do until I checked.

I turned to the cash register and checked the tape, taking note of what should be in the drawer. My heart thundering in my chest, I hit the no sale key, popping the cash drawer open. Before I started counting, I placed my palm against my breastbone and took several more deep breaths in and out. I was freaking out so bad I was making myself dizzy. Once I was calm I quickly counted out the float. Then I started cashing out. It didn’t take longer than a minute for me to realize that I was missing cash.

Tears pricked my eyes and I was ready to start hyperventilating again when a heavy hand came down on my shoulder. I let out a squeak and whirled around. I was instantly cocooned in the scent of morning shower and man’s working day. Oddly an extremely pleasant smell. I had to tilt my head back to see who I was looking at. Even once I looked up, I could only see the upturned collar of Mr. Shy’s overcoat and the brim of his hat, now titled down toward me.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked in a low voice.

I thought about lying. Taking an extra break, cabbing home and raiding my tip stash from the past few weeks to make up for the missing cash. I hadn’t been to the bank yet so I had more than enough. But somehow I knew Mr. Shy would see right through a lie.

“I’m short,” I said, my voice breathless. “I-I don’t know what happened… I was so careful. I must not’ve been careful enough though.” Fuck. I knew exactly what’d happened. But I couldn’t go accusing Magda without proof.

“How much?” he asked.

I could feel myself getting warm, my palms growing damp. This wasn’t just any restaurant. This was a mob-owned restaurant. A place where made men came to kick back and clean up their cash. There was a reason each of the wait staff had our own codes for the cash register and were extremely careful with cash out. No one wanted to get caught stealing from Mr. Shy.

“$160,” I whispered. He was standing so close I was sure he could feel the tension pouring off me.

“Never been short before,” he said, his voice a musing drawl. “Not even a dollar.”

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. Then he leaned a few inches to my right and reached past me, his sleeve brushing my hip. I bit my lip and dug my fingers into the counter behind me, trying to stay calm and immobile. Mr. Shy reached long leather-clad fingers into the cubby where I kept my tips, searched around and came up empty. He straightened.

“Tips’re gone too.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“How much?” he asked a hard edge to his voice now, like he cared more about my missing tips than the cash in the register.

He nodded. “10% would’ve gone to the kitchen,” he mused. I didn’t bother to confirm. Obviously Mr. Shy knew exactly how his restaurant ran. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Keep working. No one comes behind the bar while you work, or they answer to me. Understand?”

When it became clear he required an answer I quickly nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Shy.”

He grunted, turned on his heel and stalked away, his coat swishing out behind him. It was odd. No matter the season, Mr. Shy always rocked the dark, sinister look. I sighed and shook off the fanciful thought, knowing he would never look twice at a college dropout like me. I was just happy it looked like he wasn’t going to be murdering me for Magda’s extremely bitch move. I was pretty sure she hadn’t done it straight up for the money, but to get me in trouble with the boss. And she could’ve gotten me into BIG trouble!

I worked the rest of my shift keeping an eagle eye on the other woman. For the most part she stayed well out of my way, a smirk playing about her thin red lips. She’d observed the conversation between Mr. Shy and myself but hadn’t been close enough to hear the specifics. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn’t be so smug. Never in my life had I wanted to gut a bitch more than I wanted to kill this one. Magda was lucky I had both self-control and a healthy desire to stay out of prison.

I finished my shift, cashed out and left, mumbling a quick goodbye to Lisa. I walked rapidly to the bus stop, ignoring the constant drizzle of the rain. It wet my hair and the collar of my jacket, running inside and along my collarbone, dipping down to the valley between my breasts. I arrived at my bus stop earlier than usual, since I hadn’t participated in my normal after work chatter with the other waitresses and kitchen staff. I stood alone in the dark, glaring down at a puddle, watching the drops as they obscured the glassy surface cast by the streetlight.

“Hey, pretty lady, got any money?” a voice growled from the dark. A hand landed on my shoulder, jerking me back.

I screamed, my head snapping up. I twisted around just as the hand disappeared, along with the rest of the man. I opened my eyes wide and stared in open-mouthed astonishment as a man wearing dark, dirty clothes appeared to fold in on himself and practically fly backwards down the dark alley behind the bus stop, his feet kicking and banging along the ground as he went.

“What the fuck…?” I whispered as he disappeared completely from view. I jumped when a guttural scream broke the silence. I stood completely still waiting for something else to happen. Maybe a wild animal had come leaping out of the darkness of the alley. “Oh. My. God.”

I jumped again when the bus pulled up beside me and then dashed onto the warm safety of the vehicle. I flashed my pass and took a seat near the front wanting to be close to the driver. Wrapping my arms around myself I leaned close to the window and squinted into the rain-filled night. For just a moment I thought I could see the rain sluicing off an invisible object underneath the streetlight next to the bus stop. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from my eyes. The bus pulled away from the curb and when I looked again the illusion was gone.

I shivered and constantly looked around, staring out the window as I rode the twelve blocks between the restaurant and my apartment. I was too upset to settle down, just wanted to get home and locked into the relative safety of my apartment. As soon as the bus stopped I gave the driver a distracted wave and leapt off the bus, making a beeline for my building. As soon as I reached my apartment, I let myself in, quickly slamming the door shut. I frowned when it caught on something, preventing it from closing completely. I pulled, but it wouldn’t close. Finally, I swung it back open, checked the hinges and then tried again. This time it closed no problem. What a bizarre fucking night!

I threw my purse toward the couch with more force than necessary and growled in annoyance when it hit the edge, tipped over and spilled out across the floor. My wallet, lipstick, bracelet and a bunch of loose change went everywhere.

“Fuck this fucking day!” I snarled, kicking off my shoes and stomping toward the kitchen.

I grabbed an open wine bottle, uncorked the top and started drinking straight out of the bottle. I rolled my eyes sideways, glancing at the clean wineglass on my counter waiting for this exact moment and decided the glass was going to have to wait for another, less shitty day.

Then I heard a sound that I was expecting. A sound that usually got my motor running and let loose the inner exhibitionist in me. Well not today! Today the ever so slight creak in my living room floorboard set off my she-devil. I was having a bad fucking day and I was done playing nice, ignorant Nola. I took one more long gulp of wine and set the bottle down on the counter. I swiped at my mouth with my shoulder and inched my hand toward the knife rack, running my fingers along each of my very sharp knives. I settled on the butcher. It was an obvious choice and I was in a mood to do some damage.

Yanking the knife from the wooden block, I turned. Narrowing my eyes at the empty room, I said, “You aren’t getting a show tonight, you sick motherfucker. Touch me and you’re going to lose a few fingers.”