Page 19 of Art of the Hunt
“It’s okay,” she called out and waved at her shirt. “It’s from a baby.”
As a single entity, the crowd took a step backward.
Alrighty then.
Clearing her throat, she plastered a smile on her lips and made her way toward the bar. She needed to get to the restroom, into a stall, so she could pull these bloodstains from her shirt and people would stop staring at her. Or at least change the way they stared at her. She liked the “So you wanna get laid?” version better.
The bodies parted like the Red Sea, giving Artemis a clear path. The bouncer at the door, a burly guy with dreads, a leather vest, and tattoo sleeves on both arms, nodded without moving from his stool as she passed.
As it was dark in the bar, the bloodstains weren’t quite as obvious. Still, she hurried through the room, determined to fix her appearance. Nike, who always looked perfect even though she basically lived in lounge clothes, had obviously rubbed off on her if she was this worried about what she looked like to other people.
She made it to the short hall outside the restrooms, where she was stopped by a barrel-shaped, bald guy who stood in front of the door to the ladies’ room, arms crossed over his wide chest.
“Can’t go in there,” he said.
She glanced at the door. “Why not?”
“It’s closed.”
“The bathroom? Is that even legal?”
“What do you mean?”
Artemis waved at the bar, where a tender doled out drinks to various patrons. “I didn’t think an establishment like this could be open without functioning restrooms. Or is the men’s room working and we’re all supposed to use it? And if that’s the case, why didn’t you just say so?”
The guy blinked rapidly, like he was trying really hard to process what she was saying. He finally grunted and said, “Just the ladies’ is closed right now.”
Artemis threw up her hands and turned to the left. “Oh for the love of—”
She paused, narrowing her eyes while studying the closed door. Her Spidey senses were suddenly tingling. Something was off. And whatever wasn’t right was happening behind that closed door.
She shifted her gaze to the guy guarding the door. He focused on the floor like the scuffed surface was doing circus tricks.
“What’s going on in there?” she asked, pointing at the slab of wood behind him.
“Nothin’. Toilet’s broken.”
“You don’t look like you work here. How come you’re guarding the door? How come there isn’t one of those triangle-shaped signs sitting out here, letting us know it’s closed? How come I don’t hear any noises, like someone is working on the pipes? And why don’t you just leave the door open so we all know why the restroom isn’t working?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions, lady.”
“You sure don’t answer a lot of questions.”
He grunted again.
“Get out of my way.”
He didn’t move.
She stepped closer and pointed at her shirt. “Do you see this blood? Do you want to know how it got there?”
He shook his head so violently his cheeks fluttered.
“Get out of my way.”
He shuffled to the side, and Artemis pushed on the door and stepped over the threshold, letting it swing shut behind her.
There were two men and a woman inside. The guys were young, barely twenty-one if Artemis had to guess, and unsurprisingly wearing leather with their tattoos and piercings. The woman was probably their age too. She wore a bikini top and a pair of cutoff shorts, scuffed cowboy boots, and she looked nervous as hell.
