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I rush towards the door and slip out of my gown before ducking through it. He moved into his bedroom when I left, and I’m glad about that. I wouldn’t want him to see me in this skimpy outfit.
A low sun hangs in the sky while I make my way to the Moonshine Saloon. When I arrive, Ollie’s truck is parked in its usual spot, but many other parking spots are left empty. It’s surprising to see the street so barren. The after-work rush is one of the Saloon’s better times of day. I’ve tailored my shifts to start around them and end with closing to get as many big spenders in my section as possible.
Did I miss a memo?
“Hey, Ollie,” I say as soon as I step through the door. “Any idea what’s going on out there? It’s like a graveyard.”
Oh great, the only people in the Saloon are the same pricks who chased me down the other night. Why did it have to be them out of everyone who could’ve been here? Wait a second. Something doesn’t feel right.
Ollie is behind the bar in his usual spot, but the jukebox isn’t going. The regulars who come by every day for a nightcap before they head home to their empty apartments aren’t sitting around the bar. And these guys aren’t just pervs trying to take advantage of me. They’re part of the Italian mafia.
Oh, shit.
I spin around and grab the door handle, but I don’t get it open before the thin guy Mickey knocked to the ground speaks.
“You can run, little bird, but you’re not going to get very far.”
I open the door to see two more men standing outside it. One is swinging a wallet connected to a chain on his belt in big circles, while the other cracks his neck from side to side.
“How about you have a sit down with us?” His voice is raspy from the crushing blow he suffered to the windpipe. The two men who block the door enter, gesturing that I move toward the table.
“What is this about?” I ask.
“Itwasabout your papa owing us money,” the Italian says. “Then it turned personal.” Mickey. “So, you’re going to have a seat, and we’ll wait for lover boy to show. He has a lot of explaining to do.”
“Who says he’s even coming?”I ask.
The Italians laugh. “He’ll show. He always does.”
The shorter, stockier of the pair stands and pulls a chair out for me. He pats the seat where I’m supposed to sit.
“Ollie?” I turn to him. He shakes his head and wipes beer glasses with his old, stained cloth.
I can’t fight my way out of this one, so I reluctantly join them at the table.
“Cell phone?” The smaller one asks. I take it out of my bra where I stored it for safekeeping.
He eyes the screen before setting it on the table. From what seems like out of nowhere, he brings a hammer down onto it and shatters the glass.
“What the hell was that for?” I shout.
“So’s you can’t call for help,” he says.
And then we wait in horrible silence. I’m scared. Frozen in place with my eyes glued to the door awaiting Mickey’s arrival. It’s not a sure bet that he’s coming tonight, it never is, but the Italian men seem confident he’ll show.
Chapter 11
Brianna
“Can I get you, gentlemen, something to drink?” Ollie asks from behind the bar. He’s sticking to his usual pre-shift routine of cleaning glasses and wiping down the counter as if we’re about to open once this is all said and done. But the Moonshine Saloon is far past its expiry date for the evening. He’s probably just as scared as I am, so who could blame him? He’s got a wife and kids waiting for him at home. Why would he try and risk his life over someone else?
The tall, thin man keeping me captive turns his head to Ollie lazily. He inspects the drinks on the top shelf, mulls over his decision, and says, “Water.”
Ollie brings a pitcher of ice-cold water and five glasses. Before he returns to the bar, he pats me on the back, the same way a father might his daughter had she been struggling with something difficult. It isn’t much, but it gives me a sense of hope that things might work out. Why? I don’t know. But Ollie has that wizened sense about him as if he’s peered into some mystic oracles looking glass and seen the future. Or maybe my brain wants to latch onto anything that can get me away from my current predicament.
The mobster fills the five glasses, handing one over to each of his men. He leaves the fifth in front of me.
“Go on. Have some,” he says.
