Page 74 of Mike

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Joe looked around the packed bar and sighed. It was going to be a long shift, and she was so over this assignment.

Not only had Lester, her dick-head DEA boss, not responded with info and ID on the two perps she’d now profiled for him, but he was ignoring her calls for a strategy to see this operation to an end. He’d basically left her flapping in the breeze, so screw him. Since he hadn’t had Joe’s back on taking down this fentanyl/xylazine ring, she’d made a decision. She no longer felt obligated to play by his rules.

During a break in her and Mike’s sexual escapades the other night, she’d shared a lot with him, due to Lester’s apathy.

A lot. Including access to her surveillance apps.

Just in case.

What could Lester do? Fire her? Fine. She was so over him and his douchebag ways. He’d made her job a misery. It was past time to find another gig. But one thing was certain. It wouldn’t be serving cocktails and beer in a bar. Props to those who could handle this job night after night. It wasn’t her idea of fun.

Joe gazed around the room and thanked God she wasn’t the only server on the schedule tonight. Because it meant she didn’t have to cover Melanie and Cameron’s table where they sat smooching in the corner. She rolled her eyes. They were putting on the PDA, most likely for her benefit, letting her know they weren’t in the least bit affected by the fact that she and Mike were seeing each other.

Joe called bullshit. She’d seen the jealousy and haughty disdain in Mel’s eyes when she’d sniffed her perfect button nose over her ex-husband dating a server. Which meant Joe couldn’t wait until this op was over, so she could “out” herself as a DEA agent and let bitchy little Mellie know that Mike was actually punching at his own weight class. For once.

On a positive note, Benji and Chuck were present in Joe’s section tonight, and they’d chosen to sit at a four-top, which—please baby Jesus—meant they might be expecting company? Hell, yes. She’d be all over it if Mr. Nugget made an appearance. His vehicle would be bagged and tagged the first time she had a free moment.

And speaking of the unethical devils, the seated pair beckoned her over for the seventh time in a little under an hour.

“Two more, here,” Chuck ordered. His words weren’t slurred, but he was looking a little flushed with the amount of alcohol he’d already consumed. And Joe hadn’t missed, that in his semi-inebriated state, he’d been eyeballing her with some kind of dickish gleam in his eyes.

Nothing new there. Joe had been fighting off a lot of alcohol-motivated, roaming-patron-hands tonight, which sweetly—thank you Mike—didn’t include the bartender’s. Wendel had been on his best behavior for the entire evening, and had even attempted a few friendly quips as he filled her orders.

Freaky.

Just as she was getting ready to ask her boss if she could take a break, Joe looked toward the door that was just opening, and did an internal fist pump. A lucky horseshoe had finally fallen into her lap. Mr. Nugget himself had walked in, accompanied by a big goon of a guy. The pair joined Benji and Chuck.

Joe wasted no time, but went right to their table. She laid out two new cocktail napkins and gave them her brightest smile. “What can I get y’all tonight?”

Mr. Nugget’s cold eyes turned toward her. “Water.” He clipped the single word.

The goon didn’t even speak. He just shook his head.

“Okay, hon,” she said agreeably. “Any more for you two?” she asked Benji and Chuck.

“No.”

It was Mr. Nugget who spoke, but her two patrons who’d been tossing frosties back like near-beer, didn’t argue at being cut off.

Joe went to the bar and poured a large glass of water, snagged a couple baskets of pretzels, then brought them back to the suspects’ table. “Here you are,” she said with a smile. “If y’all need anything else, my name is Elle.”

That chore taken care of; Joe went back to the bar.

“It’s break time for me,” she informed Wendel, taking out and waving around a cigarette.

“Don’t be too long,” he advised her. “It looks like everyone’s settling in and orders will be piling up.”

It was the exact time of night where beer and money flowed as people got buzzed and became comfortable.

“I’ll only be two shakes, boss,” she replied happily, and he gave her an agreeable nod.

Joe liked this new side of Wendel; not being a dick. If Joe had known that bringing in a boyfriend would be the solution to her boss’s hand problems, she would have conjured a man way sooner. Not that anybody would beat Mike in the bad-ass department, and Wendel had been smart to see that.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Joe reached into her apron and palmed the tracker she’d put there. She didn’t have to light her cigarette for show, since there was no one around, while her gaze wandered the full parking lot. She noted that two of the lot-lights in the rear were currently out—which she’d tell Wendel—but she was still able to identify the sedan that Mr. Nugget had previously been driving, parked in a dark, back corner.

Yes. She’d been afraid the man might have brought different wheels tonight, but he hadn’t disappointed.

---