Page 21 of A Touch of Frost
“Eight—and counting.” He didn’t turn away from the view. “Do you have any?”
“Any what?”
“Ink.” I replied.
“One.”
Jesse nodded. “I never realized how vast the ocean was until I was flying over it in something small enough to rattled with a bounce of a hip.”
He sighed but said nothing else to me.
The bar wasn’t really a bar.
Legally, it shouldn’t exist—legally, it didn’t exist.
But if I needed to have a word with a scumbag, I had to crawl through some muck.
Bijelo Polje didn’t hold good memories for me.
Every time I went there, it was as though the walls of the world was closing in on me. The last time I visited, I left a trail of bodies and broken bones behind me and I regret nothing.
All I needed was for people to leave me alone. But each time, it was as though they went out of their way to make my life miserable. I had gotten tired of everyone’s shit, and I made them aware of it—painfully, for them.
I was a strong believer that their kind of stupidity should hurt.
After all that, I’d told myself I wouldn’t come back here.
The reason wasn’t a hard one to figure out. There were a bunch of people there who would most likely try kicking my ass.
I smirked.
I was itching for a fight after the round I went with Mozart.
It seemed I’d been breaking all sorts of promises to myself of late.
The bar with no name stood in the ghetto of Montenegro, in an almost forgotten place. The windows had been boarded up and the entrance I watched was the only way in or out. Sure, it wasn’t good for safety, but when people were addicted, safety didn’t seem to be their first thought.
For our purposes, I didn’t like it either. One way in and out meant it was an inescapable situation for me. As a soldier, I always made sure there was a way out of spaces.
But I was familiar with this place.
I knew blind spots.
I focused on the weight of the gun in the holster at my lower back. It was the easiest place to carry a hidden weapon with my light, leather jacket.
The hiss of Jesse opening a bottle of soda drew me back to the present and the task at hand. He extended a still corked bottle to me and I accepted even though I hadn’t had soda in years. But in the absence of vodka or tequila, the caffeine the cola held would have to do.
I took two swallows, covered the bottle, and set it in the space between the seats.
“There is only one way in.” I told him. “One way out. The windows are boarded up but the glass behind the wood is fragile. If anything, we make our own exit. You get a good grip on one piece and tugged hard enough, it’ll come off. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“If things go south, you get behind me and keep your head down.”
“Frost…”
“Them’s the rules.”
