Page 34 of Made in Malice

“Thanks, but I don’t want to put you out. I’ll pick up a lock before my next shift.” I reach in and pull my wallet out of my purse just in case. There isn’t much cash in there, but I want to keep what I have, plus I don’t want to deal with replacing my license or anything. I shove the thing in the back pocket of my jeans on the opposite side of my phone—I’m sure it looks a little strange, but I don’t really care—then I put my bag in the first empty locker.

“I’ll show you how to clock in on the register.” She gestures for me to follow her out of the small back room.

“There she is, how’s it going, darlin’?” Mickey booms through the bar, even though there’s no need for him to be so loud.

“Good, thanks. How are you?”

I creep toward the bar area to hear his response. “Better now that I have another pretty face to look at.” He bounces his gaze between me and Amanda, who smiles good-naturedly at him.

“You’re such a flirt, Mickey.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with making a woman feel good. My wife would agree.” He winks. “She would also feed me to my dogs if I ever did anything but run my mouth, not that I would. That woman was sent to me from the lord himself.” He makes this funny little noise of appreciation that sounds like a hum.

“I was just going to show Nova how to clock in,” Amanda continues as if she’s heard all this before.

“I got it. I need to run a few things by our little star before we get busy anyway.” Mickey shoos Amanda away from the bar, then throws the towel he was using to wipe his hands over his shoulder and heads straight for me.

“Pretty sure Jimmy got you all set up in the computer,” Mickey mumbles as if he’s speaking to himself and then twists the screen of the ordering computer toward us. He hits a little house icon near the bottom left of the screen, then tags the button for the timeclock before walking me through the process. I’m instructed to pick a six-digit number as my login code that will also serve as my employee number for placing orders. I learned Mickey’s last time. He uses 123456, which is almost laughable. I bet everyone in the place knows his number.

The ordering system is easy enough to pick up, but I spend time entering each order while we’re slow to practice while Mickey does all the pouring. Before long, the empty seats begin to fill, and the noise level rachets up until Mickey is shouting orders from across the bar for me to enter. We work well as a team, with me bending to get to the coolers with the bottles and handling most of the drafts, while he pours all the liquor and mixed drinks.

The short apron I tied around my waist is padded with bills and I’m sweating, but the smile on my face is genuine when I approach Mickey to ask if I can run to the bathroom while we have a slight lull.

“Hurry back, darlin’, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a busy one tonight.”

I have to turn sideways a few times to get through the crowd, but I make it to the bathroom quickly. While I’m washing up, I blot a little cold water on my face and neck with the paper towels before pitching them into the trash and pushing back out into the crowd.

I should have been more careful and paid better attention to my surroundings instead of rushing back to the bar. If I did, there’s no way I would have ended up in the middle of somewhat familiar faces.

“Holy shit, look who it is!”

Someone else snickers. “And she’s advertising her services right on her shirt.”

“What kind of discount do we get for multiples? I got a twenty, or make that a ten,” the guy behind me says as he grabs my hip and pulls me back so I can feel him pressed up against my butt. There’s a single second that passes where I’m afraid to act because I’m too worried about losing my job like the old me would have been, but then instinct kicks in, and I throw my elbow back as hard as I can into his surprisingly hard gut and wrench myself away from him.

A hand wraps around my wrist, and I spin to fight that off too, but it’s not one of the guys from school—it’s Jimmy, and he looks even more pissed than usual. Once I realize it’s him, I stop fighting, and he releases me while stepping between me and the group of guys. “Go back to the bar, Nova,” he tells me softly while still eyeing the group.

I hesitate for just a second. I want to tell him not to make a big deal about it, because I’m the one who will have to deal with the fallout at school, but I stop myself. Even if Jimmy offered to buy them a drink, these guys would still treat me like crap the first chance they got, so I turn my back and walk away, knowing I’m going to pay for it later.

The rumble of Jimmy’s voice carries for just a few seconds as I station myself behind the bar. Mickey is eyeing the same direction I just came from, but I don’t know if he saw what happened.

I try to pretend everything is fine and that I wasn’t manhandled and called names by a couple of preppy jerks and ask, “What do you need?”

Mickey focuses his knowing eyes on me for a brief moment, then his gaze shutters before he turns away. “Need a bucket of Coors for Lindsey and a couple of them fruity lemonades for Sarah.”

I get straight to it, scooping a few shovels of ice into one of the dented metal pails before shoving six bottles into the ice to place it down near the end for pickup.

Within five minutes, I notice Jimmy is back at the table I’m starting to think of as his with a few other men. I scan the bar for the guys from school but come up empty, allowing me to relax a little.

“Last call!” Mickey shouts through his hands cupped around his mouth. I glance at the clock, then approach him in confusion.

“It’s not even midnight.”

“Can’t serve alcohol after twelve on Saturdays.” He grins at me and tips his head back to consume a shot of amber liquid.

“Want one?” He offers me the glass.

“No thanks,” I reply with my hands held up. The last thing my kidneys need after barely any water today is liquor.

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