Page 10 of The Thief

After finishing my assessment, I left notes on his desk and began working tables. Customers were genuinely tickled that someone was coming to their tables and checking on them—something Calvin never did. In fact, it made them order more drinks. And I’d already received big tips.

I set a tray of empty glasses on the bar. “Why don’t you have food on the menu?”

“I can’t cook.” Calvin removed the glasses and cleaned them in the sink behind the bar. He’d shown me earlier how to wash them but cut the demonstration short when I asked why he didn’t use a dishwasher.

“But you have a full kitchen back there,” I reminded him.

“It came with the place. A kitchen doesn’t make me a cook. I once tried selling microwaved food, but all I heard was bitching and moaning.”

I tapped my fingernails on the counter, eager to hear his thoughts on my findings. “Did you have time to look over my notes?”

His loveless eyes flicked up. Calvin was a cantankerous man who insulted his customers with wild abandon, but he wasn’t dumb. I gathered that running all aspects of a business had inundated him, which was understandable.

“You mean the notes with every damn thing you want me to spend money on?” He scowled. “I don’t see how buying Shifter-brewed beer is going to save me money. I’ve seen their quotes, and it’s higher than what I pay for the commercial stuff.”

“You sell Budweiser. Imported beer can stay on the menu, but people can get a Bud at the grocery store. Will Shifter beer cost you more up front? Yes. But that’s why you charge more. People expect to pay a premium for Shifter beer. If you think these fellas won’t pay, you’re underestimating them.” I spun on my heel and raised my voice. “Who wants Shifter-brewed beer on the menu?”

The whoops and cheers were deafening.

“And do you know why they want Shifter beer?” I asked Calvin. “Because most of them are Shifters. It’s a pride thing. Not only does it taste a thousand times better than the human stuff, but we like supporting our own. It means the money stays in the Breed community. That’s why they’re not going to human bars. Do you think anyone’s going to Dragonfly’s for their beer? That place focuses on cocktails, and that’s fine. They’re not our competition. Dump the human beer for Shifter brewed. Locate a brewery in the area. If you’re not sure who to trust, find out who they sell to and talk to those people. You can probably work with them to get a discount. I’m not sure how that works, but you still need to change a few more things to make it worth coming here.”

He continued avoiding eye contact. “And what changes are those? More that’ll cost me?”

“You gotta spend money to make money,” I informed him. “Get a jukebox, and buy a few neon lights to dress it up in here. And hire a cook. You don’t have to offer a big menu or serve food all day. Create a four-hour lunch window and offer beer at discounted prices during those hours. They’ll come for beer but smell that savory food cooking. Draw in the families during the day. They can’t take their kids to a place like Dragonfly’s, and there’s nowhere else to go around here.” I took a deliberate look around the establishment. “Look at all the empty seats, Calvin. This can be more than just a place where people get wasted.”

He finished drying the last glass. “Yep. I’m going to regret this. I don’t suppose you know anyone who can cook?”

Only one person came to mind, but offering his name without his permission wasn’t considerate. Bear cooked all the meals for the pack, and that often required hours of preparation. On top of that, he was doing manual labor outdoors. Bear worked the equivalent of two full-time jobs. Was it fair to ask him to work a third without getting his opinion?

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised Calvin. “Please think about ditching human beer, and stop selling yourself short. This place could generate a substantial profit if you’re willing to take a few chances.”

“I don’t see how a few fucking onion rings are going to matter,” he grumbled. “I’ve eaten the food at that other place. It’s good.”

“Ain’t it, though? Their steak was delicious. But if this works out, I know someone who cooks even better. He can make anything from beef enchiladas to seafood, but where he really shines is Southern food. Barbecue ribs, slow-cooked pot roast, chicken and dumplings, and a homemade macaroni that’s to die for.”

“Fuck me. You’re a regular Mary Poppins, flying in on your umbrella to fix all my troubles.” He wagged his finger at me. “If your ideas wind up costing me, you’re working here for free until you’ve cleared your debt. That means I’ll garnish your tips along with your wages. I’ll talk to your Packmaster about it, but that’s the deal. This is my ass on the line—my money.” He threw his rag in the sink. “I’m not gonna get a wink of sleep tonight. Goddammit!”

“Watch that potty mouth of yours. There are ladies present. You can’t talk that way if women and children come in.”

He turned around and stalked off. “Fuck me.”

I strutted over to the four men playing pool. “How are you gentlemen doing over here? Can I refill that pitcher for you?”

One of them offered a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to take his shit.”

“Who? Calvin? He’s as harmless as a toothless gator. I had a belligerent granddaddy like him,” I said, collecting the empty pitcher.

“Is he really gonna sell Shifter beer?” the man asked. “Most of the breweries have exclusive contracts. I should know. I’ve got an uncle who works at one.”

Putting my arm around him, I said, “You might be my new best friend.”

Chapter 3

After working a full shift at the Rabbit Lounge, I headed home on my Vespa around midafternoon. Still energized, I finished laying the wood floor in the library. We had so many unfinished rooms that needed walls painted, floors laid, socket covers installed, and one still waiting for ceiling-fan installation. Most of the rooms had drywall except the library, which had wood shelving. Tak had initially wanted everything wood, but Melody and Hope talked him out of it, pointing out that drywall was easier to paint and hang things on.

The wood sliding doors, which separated the game room and library, opened, and Tak walked in. “You did a great job in here,” he said, admiring the floor.

I dusted off my hands and stood. “Am I late for supper? I lost track of time.”

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