She flips him the bird.
I have to turn away to hide my laugh. This woman is a damn trip.
Once the dust settles, Dove launches back into business mode. “Tidy up, then open the goddamn doors! We have a line around the corner.”
She hops up onto the bar top and reaches behind it. She pulls out a bottle of tequila and steals the cup of cut-up limes out of the fruit tray.
“Make sure the ice keeps coming,” she orders, then hops off and starts away. I spy her escape into a black door, concluding it’s where she appeared from when the DEA came knocking. Or should I say, barging.
I quickly top off the ice bins where the most crowds have gathered. Making sure no one can say I wasn't doing my job.
“Hey, Izzy!” I call my new bartender friend as he pours a line of shots.
“Hey, half a gringo!” he shouts back over the thumping music. As soon as Dove gave the go-ahead to open the doors, the room went dark, the music was turned up, and red and gold strobe lights began to dance all over the walls and ceiling. It was full-on party mode.
“Hand me an ice bucket.”
He pauses. “Now that’s ironic.” He pours the last shot, then places the bottle of tequila back in the speed rack. He picks up a small metal bucket from a stack on the floor. “¿Quieres una botella ahí?”
You want a bottle in there?
He’s being a funny guy.
“Nah, just the bucket and two shot glasses,amigo.”
He obliges with a curious look. “You’re asking to get bit,” he warns.
“Am I that transparent?”
“The desire in your eyes gives too much away. Un lobo sediento.”
A thirsty wolf.
“I’ll work on that.” I wink, scooping up the items.
“Loco.”
Before I trace Dove’s steps, I fill the bucket with ice, then slip into the black door. Behind it is a stairwell, so I climb it. At the top, a door. So I open it. Inside, an ample-sized office with a large window that looks out over the club.
“I saw you coming,” Dove informs me with her back to me. She’s standing in front of that large window, holding the tequila bottle by her side.
“You’ve been stalking me, then?” I come to stand beside her. “I’m flattered.”
“Please.” She flutters her thick, mascara-coated eyelashes.
“It’s okay, you can admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You like me. It’s why you haven’t killed me yet.”
“The night is still young. What do you want?”
“I thought you might need some company. It started out a rough one. And no one likes to drink warm tequila alone.”
“Oh yeah? I’ve never had a problem with it.” She takes a swig from the bottle just to make a point.
Her rebellious streak makes me smile. It’s refreshing. The way she wields a gun isn’t a put off either.
