Page 46 of Wanted Beta

That probably means we need to pump more money into ads.

The flyers seemed like a cheap way to get the word out after we spent so much on the essentials to get this place up and running, but if they’re not pulling in enough customers to cover their cost, we probably need to try something bigger.

It’ll run through a heavy chunk of our savings, more than likely, but if no one knows we exist we’re not going to get any business anyway, and that feels like a slower, more painful death.

“You think a local newspaper ad would help?” I ask.

“Who reads newspapers anymore?” Jack asks.

“I’m pretty sure people still buy newspapers.”

“Yeah, sure, older people do. Most younger people get their news online. That’s probably where we’re going wrong. We don’t have any social media stuff set up.”

“What do you think we need?”

“A website, first off. Accounts on a couple of the bigger sites, probably, too.”

“Why didn’t Gio think of that?”

“He probably did. He wrote a list of stuff he was working on at some point.”

“Right.” I remember that, and I should have asked him about it. I was too busy working on perfecting recipes for the menu.

“He shouldn’t be out for too much longer.”

“If he’s distributing flyers,” I add, knowing it’s doubtful that he’s out doing what he told Jack he would. The second I took his phone away I should have known he’d be heading straight out to the nearest casino.

If Gio wants to gamble, he finds a way to do it.

Handing out flyers is just his cover.

He’s been out for a few hours now.

There’s no way he’s been walking around all that time, trying to look happy about advertising our business in person, face to face.

“If?” Jack asks. “You think he’s doing something else.”

“Forget I said anything. He’ll probably be back soon.”

“Sure. Do you want me to clean those dishes, or …”

“Go hang around up front with Arrow. He’s probably getting lonely out there.”

“Are you coming to The Terrace later?” he asks, making me frown.

“The Terrace?” I ask, trying to remember what he told me about it.

We’ve been into that bar a handful of times since we moved out here, enough to claim a favorite spot in a secluded booth, but I’m not sure what tonight’s occasion is, and I can tell by the look on Jack’s face that it’s important.

“I might have forgotten to remind you. I have a gig. It’s just a short one. They’re letting local bands use their stage for forty-five-minute slots and they might book us for a regular weekly slot if they like us more than the other bands. It’s kind of like an audition, I guess.”

Of course. Now that I’ve been reminded, I know he already told us.

It slipped my mind because I’ve been so preoccupied, and that makes me feel like an ass.

Jack’s music is important to him. This gig is a big deal.

How could I forget something like that?

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