Page 46 of PortCity Killers

??F I F T E E N??

“Where the hell have you been?”

Chaos. Utter chaos is what I walked into the moment I stepped into the back of PortCity Bar. You would think that we’d been flooded out by the way people were fumbling around.

I looked to Azure, their green and black hair was falling out of its usual spikes and flopping around incessantly as they gathered supplies from the back and dragged them to the bar through the tiny hallway.

“Busy.” I slid my bag under the register, grabbing an extra apron off the hanging rack we left up for emergency uniforms and fastened it tight to my waist.

And wasn’t that an understatement. I’d had exactly enough time to clean up and head back home for a change of uniform before coming in and tackling the mess Collin–and I guess I–had left behind on Friday night.

Since I wasn’t running for my life anymore, cleaning up the mess left at the apartment would be its own bullshit. I would have to deal with it too, but I could hack it later, right?

It’s not like Jaymes was exactly the tidy type and even though I still hadn’t heard from him I would wait until tomorrow before I would go calling in the cavalry. Don had said he would be safe, but how much did I really trust that?

It didn’t stop me from calling him a million and one times, but since his phone wasn’t going straight to voicemail yet, I was optimistic about our chances of him being alive.

“Busy? Too busy to keep your job?”

“Shut up, Az, at least she’s here now.” I sent Laylah a grateful look, which she tried to return, even if in a frazzled package, “Besides, I’m sure she had a reasonable explanation.”

More than reasonable, I would think, but not one I was willing to share. They both knew it, but neither one of them tried to further the conversation. Collin had left things in a right state when he was taken, as Laylah filled me in on.

Sometime shortly after I had mad dashed out on the dinner rush, Collin had been dragged out kicking and screaming, calling me out by name to the thugs running him out.

The creep.

If I had felt bad about plunging a knife into his heart, the guilt I had been pushing away was slipping by the minute.

At every turn tonight there was a new problem: the schedule wasn’t made; Terry stole my tips; Clara couldn't keep to herself; and Azure didn’t have fresh limes. Every problem had a complication, and every complication became a biohazardous minefield to navigate.

Half the staff looked to me to get things done, and the other half told me where to shove it as I passed through them, picking up pieces of the burgeoning apocalypse. I held no title, but I had seniority, and it pissed off more people than it did good.

Laylah was the best of go-betweens, but between my rankled mouth and her frayed nerves, even we were starting to snap at each other.

I was behind the bar, serving out to a new group of ball watchers when a linebacker of a man brought himself between them. Their protests fell on deaf ears as he waded through half drunken, boisterous epithets.

“You Alex?”

Azure turned slightly, having tried all night to coax where I’d been out of me as they tendered out another customer.

I leaned down the bar, ignoring the glares tossed our way, “Who wants to know?”

“Don Giovenni.”

I shrugged, moving to the next customer tapping their fingers, waiting oh so patiently, as I answered, “I’m Alex.”

“Your presence has been requested. I’m here to escort you-”

“Negative, ghost rider,” I held my hand up, shaking my head, “You see this line? Can’t leave.”

“Mr. Giovenni has requested-”

“And I’m politely saying no,” I laughed.

I moved around the bar, pushing my way to where one of the waitresses was waving me over with big, round, desperate eyes. Linebacker followed me, sunglasses on his head, and boots stomping the ground with every step.

“Ma’am, I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but Mr. Giovenni is not a patient man, and I would rather not be on his shit list ‘cause of some wild cat.”

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