“Yes, sir.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“The Yard closed. New management bought the place and turned it into a vape lounge. I didn’t want to bounce for a vape lounge.”
“That’s fair. Before that, you were at a bookstore?”
“Inkwell Books, over on Howard. I managed theevening events. You know, author readings, open mics, book clubs, those sorts of things, anything to drive traffic into the shop.”
Mark paused.
I could see him doing the same recalculation I was doing, which was trying to reconcile the man sitting across from him with a bookstore events manager. The two data points did not naturally coexist. It was like finding out that a grizzly bear had a side hustle in floral arrangements.
“That’s an unusual combination,” Mark said. “Bookstore and nightclub security.”
“People are people,” Dante said. “Drunk people and book people both need someone to make sure the room stays comfortable. The tools are different, but the job’s the same. You read the room, you manage the energy, and you step in before things go sideways. I’d rather do it at a place like this than at a club where nobody cares if things go sideways because sideways is the business model.”
Mark leaned back in the booth with the expression of a man who had just heard exactly what he wanted to hear and was trying not to show it.
“You’d be working Thursday through Saturday. Thursdays are our adoption event nights, which means animals in the bar. Are you comfortable with cats and dogs?”
“I have a greyhound named Dostoyevsky. Dosty sleeps twenty hours a day and is afraid of plastic bags. We’re very close.”
I dropped the ice scoop.
This man had named his dog Dostoyevsky and was readingAnna Kareninaand had managed a bookstore and could also, based on the dimensions of his arms, tear a phone book in half without breaking a sweat. The combination of these facts was producing a kind of cognitive dissonance that my brain was struggling to resolve. There might’ve been smoke trickling out of my ears, though I didn’t dare turn toward the mirror to check. This was a show, and I wasn’t about to miss a single episode.
Dante looked toward the bar.
Our eyes met.
He gave me a nod that was friendly but not performative. It was the nod of a man who was aware of his surroundings at all times and had clocked me eavesdropping and had chosen to let it slide.
I nodded back and went to find Jacks, because Jacks needed to join in the eavesdropping immediately.
“The bouncer candidate is readingAnna Karenina,” I hissed, cornering Jacks in the stockroom.
“Okay.”
“Not on his phone, a physical copy, Jacks.Apaperback. From the looks of where his sausage thumb is stuck in the pages, he’s two-thirds of the way through.”
“That’s nice.”
“His dog is named Dostoyevsky, Jacks.”
Jacks set down the case of vodka he’d been carrying and looked at me with his quiet, steady attention that always made me feel like I was being gently X-rayed . . . or Xanaxed.
“Is he good?” Jacks asked.
“He told Mark that bouncing and bookstore management are basically the same job. Jacks, the man used the phrase ‘manage the energy’ with a straight face and it didn’t sound corny.”
“So he’s good.”
“He’s spectacular. Mark is going to hire him. I can see it on his face. Mark is doing the thing where he pretends to still be evaluating, but he’s already made up his mind. I actually think he’s kind of crushing on the guy.”
From the kitchen, came Rod’s voice. “I heard that.”
“You were agreathire, Rod. I’m saying Dante is going to be a great hire, too. This is a compliment to both of you.”
