Page 37 of Spies Like Us

“I bet.” He leers at me, and I feel dirty.

“It’s good to see the young generation working hard to better themselves,” the pastor announces piously.

“I’m trying to earn as much money as I can for college,” I tell him as I put their order into my tablet. “So was it just the one pitcher of beer?” I ask, looking around at the four men.

“I’ll have a scotch, neat,” Ted says, his eyes cold as he answers me. I thought James’s stare was cold, but his is practically warm compared to his brother’s serial killer countenance.

“Okay, great, they won’t be long,” I tell them and head back to the bar, passing Matthew on the way.

“James, Ted, Mr. Marshall, and Father Sweeny are in booth ten, and they asked for you to join them,” I tell him, but before I can continue, he grabs my arm.

“Once you finish their order, why don’t you take a break?” He’s looking at me intently, and I know what’s about to happen.

“Oh, yeah, that would be great.” I smile brightly, and he releases me.

“Take Anders with you. He looks like he could use a little break too. He seems a little uptight, if you know what I mean,” he suggests, nodding to my teammate. “The new kid and Keith will be fine on their own.”

I hear what he’s saying, and my smile drops before I nod. “Yeah, okay, um… sure.” I make myself sound a little reluctant.

“Come on, Mac. Sam told me you are interested in making some extra money. I may have an opening for Friday night’s private party, but I have to know how badly you want it. Looking after your fellow staff members is part of being a team player.”

“Yeah, okay, Matthew. I’ll make sure Anders is taken care of.” I paste the smile back on my face and continue to pick up my drinks. Anders is busy pouring Ted’s scotch, so I sidle close and lean in, pressing my breasts against his arm.

“Matthew is watching us,” I warn him before saying, “Meet me in the storeroom?” A slow, sleazy smile crosses his lips.

“Sure can,” he replies, putting the scotch on my tray. Miller, who is standing next to him and pouring the beer for my order, looks between us, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows what Anders has been asked to do. I wonder how long it will be until he’s tasked with doing something to prove his loyalty.

Miller places the pitcher on the tray and adds four glasses to it. Without another word, I lift it up and head in the direction of their booth. I weave around the outside of the dance floor. There’s less people compared to last night, so I’m not too worried about getting bumped and spilling things.

When I arrive at the booth, Matthew has joined them. I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t at the end of the bar anymore. I slide their drinks onto the table, putting the pitcher and glasses in the middle and setting Ted’s scotch in front of him.

“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, but they all shake their heads.

“Take that break, Mac,” Matthew says, a hint of steel in his voice. “Carla can serve us if we need anything.”

“Carla’s here?” Mr. Marshall’s eyebrows jump, and he looks around the room enthusiastically. Now that they mention it, I realize Carla disappeared ten minutes ago and hasn’t reappeared yet. Maybe she’s on a break.

“Yes, but I think she’s taking a break.”

“I’d like to see her. She’s my favorite server, apart from you of course, Mac.” Mr. Marshall winks, and I internally think about putting a bullet in his head. His brain matter would look so pretty splattered across the leather booth behind him.

“Tell her to get her ass on the floor if you see her,” Matthew snaps. Gone is the affable bar owner, and in his place is a predator. “I don’t pay her to slack off.”

“Ah, okay, yeah. She’s probably just in the bathroom. She wasn’t looking so great before.” I make up an excuse on the spot. “You wouldn’t want a town-wide case of the stomach flu if she gives it to our customers. That wouldn’t be good for the club. We might get investigated by the health department,” I say, intentionally sounding like an airhead.

Matthew blanches. “Ah, no, that wouldn’t be good. Fine, tell her to go home. I don’t need her making all our customers sick.”

“Nobody wants the health department poking around,” Father Sweeny chimes in, nodding sagely. Asshole.

I wave goodbye and pass the bar, dropping my tray before heading out back. I pass the bathrooms and get to the staff room, where I find Carla huddled on the ratty sofa. She’s shaking like a leaf and has tears running down her face.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask her, and she shakes her head, unable to pretend that she’s fine.

“No. There’s someone out there I don’t want to see.” She looks at me, her eyes imploring me not to make her go back out there.

“It’s okay. I told Matthew you had the stomach flu. He said to go home. If you slip out the side door and into the alley, you won’t even have to cross the club.”

“Oh God.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Thank you.”

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