Page 43 of Framed

It wasn’t until later, when I saw Winter, that she explained that “Little Vegas” was the area Athena and I had passed on the way in and where Briggs’s hotel was located. I wasted no time, only getting lost once along the way to the job ad board in the middle of the quad. Luckily there was still one rip-off piece hanging from the flier about applying. A distraction and a way to make money. It didn’t sound like a bad idea and killed two birds with one stone.

However, I figured this wasn’t the type of emergency Briggs had in mind when he told me to reserve my burner phone for necessities. So I opted to use the public ones in the library, getting in touch with Ethel, who told me to show up at five p.m.

“You’re late.” The bartender finally looked up and I was greeted by a pair of dark brown eyes. She was covered from head to toe in tattoos and her lips were bright red. She didn’t scream welcoming but didn’t exactly seem unfriendly either. She reminded me of the ladies I met at the center. “Your interview was at five p.m., and it’s quarter past seven.”

I refrained from the urge to defend myself. To tell her that I had to walk nearly six miles to get here and that I would’ve made it on time if it wasn’t for the $5 Friday sale at the thrift store down the street. I also decided against telling her I’d been standing outside in the line for nearly twenty minutes and would’ve been stuck there for longer if I didn’t have to nearly curse the bouncer out before he finally let me in.

I’d never been to a bar before but I thought bouncers were for clubs. And what the hell was up with that line? This was a nice place but there was another bar literally two buildings down.Withouta line.

Winter warned me that it would probably be packed but this wasn’t what I was expecting. I was supposed to be lying low and this bar had way too much foot traffic.Which meant more tips, Scarlett.Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Got stuck in traffic.” The lie slipped through my lips effortlessly. It technically wasn’t a lie—I did get stuck in traffic, just not car traffic. It was more of the human variety.

She pursed her lips as if she wanted to call me out on my lie. I braced for it but instead, her exasperated gaze looked around the bar until she settled on me again. Her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she gave me a thorough once-over. “How old are you?”

Once I finally got to the women’s section of the thrift store, I found a pair of tight black jeans and a black halter tank top with a neckline a little lower than I was used to. Paired with the light makeup Winter forced me to put on before I left, I thought I looked older. At least twenty-three.

“Twenty-one.” At least, I would be in a few weeks.

She pursed her lips again and studied me for a second longer. I felt naked under her gaze like she could see right through me. To my surprise, she doesn’t push that topic further. She had to be really desperate for help. “You were supposed to meet with the boss before his fight but now you’ll have to stay until after.”

Hopefully, it didn’t run into the time I had to get to Tuscaloosa. Since my phone had no GPS capabilities—or any capabilities, for that matter—I had to ask the librarian how to get directions. She pointed me to the computer and told me to ‘Mapquest’ it. At first, I thought she was being funny. I hadn’t heard of it—no surprise there after being locked up—but apparently, it was how our parents got around before GPS was available. It was a pretty neat website and wasn’t too different from Apple or Google Maps.

A wave of nausea racked my body when the page finally computed the mileage between the two places. It was nearly two hundred miles each way, which was roughly estimated to be a three-hour ride from Stapleton to Tuscaloosa. Definitely not within walking distance. I had no way of getting there. It took me nearly two hours just to find a ride here from the prison. I couldn’t risk being recognized and I couldn’t risk anyone in town seeing me. That I knew. I also didn’t know what I was walking into.

That was the main reason I declined Winter’s initial offer to take me.

She walked into my room, saw the printed Mapquest directions splayed across my bed, and asked if I needed a ride. The look on her face, when I told her that I would probably take the bus, was hysterical. She then made it her mission to get me to agree, saying she needed to get her mind off things and a drive normally helped. She went as far as saying she’s always wanted to visit, which I knew was a lie because she pronounced Tuscaloosa wrong.

I was stuck at an impasse. It wasn’t like I was going on a sightseeing trip but I couldn’t necessarily explain why I needed to go to City Hall in a town two hundred miles away—and to Winter’s credit, she didn’t ask. It wasn’t a good idea. I knew that.

But it wasn’t like I had any other options so I reluctantly agreed.

She said she would meet me here around eleven if I hadn’t made it back to our apartment by then.

I figured since it was going to be past midnight, the risk was substantially lower. If my memory served me correctly, the streets were usually empty by eleven p.m. on Friday nights because of the strict curfew put in place by Sheriff Sinclair after Naomi’s death.

What’s the worst that could happen, right?

Realizing I still hadn’t answered the older lady, I tried to recall the last thing she said before I got lost in my myriad of thoughts. “Fight?” I hazarded a glance around the bar. It was mostly various hordes of people dancing and drinking but there was definitely nowhere I could imagine a fight taking place. “I assumed the interview was going to be with you.”

“The boss will explain all of that once you meet him. Can I get ya anything to drink? It’s on the house.” She walked to the edge of the bar and handed a shot glass to a guy in a bright yellow shirt.

He looked up at me and nodded hello. The bar was dimly lit but I could make out his features enough to realize I knew the guy. It was Reid, one of the students in my Constitutional Law course.

I nodded a hello back. We cordially spoke to one another whenever our professor spoke too fast and we needed to compare notes, but I wouldn’t call us friends or even associates for that matter.

I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and weighed my options. I could leave and find another place to work or I could see how things played out here. I allowed my eyes to scan the room once more. It was busy, very busy. So much so that I was impressed with how Ethel was keeping up with all of the orders being shouted her way. She really needed help.

Deciding on the latter, I came to the conclusion that alcohol was more than likely not a good idea, or professional, regardless of the working conditions, so I chose something simple. “Water would be fine, thank you.”

That was when a tall but scrawny guy stumbled up to the bar, bumping into me as he slurred to Ethel, “Another shot of tequila.” He reeked of alcohol and needed a shot of water,nottequila.

I bit the inside of my cheek to refrain from telling the asshole that the word “excuse me” existed. I was here for an interview not to start a fight. I didn’t want to cause any problems.

“Bitch, did you hear me? I said another shot of tequila, now.” The drunk guy pushed his way into the already too-small space between the chairs, his elbow digging into my ribcage.

Pain shot through my body, causing my teeth to bite harder into my cheek. It was so hard, I was sure I drew blood. My irritation grew as his arm dug deeper into my side.You’re here for an interview, Scarlett. He was just drunk. He’d get his drink and be on his way.

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