Page 9 of The Thief

He arched his eyebrow. “If I need to leave, do you know how to take orders and work the register? Do you need a step stool?”

Clearly he was trying to push my buttons to see if I could handle his customers. Men—especially the tall ones—loved to make jokes about the fact I was five foot two. But short jokes didn’t bother me, because I had plenty of tall jokes to dish right back.

“Show me how you collect money and where your drinks are, and I’ll handle the rest. Now, do you have an extra apron around here?”

Calvin walked off and pulled one out from beneath the bar. I quickly put on the waist apron and tried not to gloat. Sometimes I had more confidence than common sense, but that’s what it took to get a job. In Breed bars, you didn’t need experience, recommendations, or even a bartending license. All you needed was the mouth of a car salesman.

“What do you want me to call you?” I asked. “Do you have a last name? Mr. Calvin? Boss?”

“If you call me Mr. Calvin, I’ll throw your ass out of here.” He shook his head. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

“Can we start with that?” I pointed at a pair of pants hanging by the entrance. Above it, a sign read: Pants Required.

“Those are for Kevin,” he replied.

“Who’s Kevin?”

Everyone in the bar parroted my question and cackled.

Calvin poured himself a drink. “Kevin’s a horse Shifter who does odd jobs. He doesn’t have a car, so he trots from one job to the next.” Calvin knocked back his drink. “His horse only carries around the tool bag, so that means Kevin works in the nude. Sometimes he tries to sneak in for a beer, but nobody sits in my seats without pants.”

“That name rings a bell,” I said. “Someone in my pack mentioned him.”

“Well, if that jackass shows his face in here, don’t let him sit down until he puts those pants on. I already had to replace a saddle, and these stools aren’t easy to find. They’re vintage.”

“Like the jukebox you’re gonna buy,” I added, realizing it was the perfect segue. “If someone comes in here by themselves and all they hear are pool balls clacking, they’ll have their drink and head out. Music changes a person’s mood and makes them lose track of time. You can customize those things and set the volume. I see a little spot by the back hall where it would fit perfectly.”

“You sure know how to talk your way into getting things.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes. “And I’m the idiot who fell for it.”

I tried not to stare at his deformity, but it seemed rude to avoid looking. I’d seen many types of injuries among immortals. A missing ear wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Archer’s missing arm.

I lowered my voice to above a whisper. “What’s your Breed? I know it’s rude to ask, but if we’re gonna work together, you need to know I’m a Shifter. So don’t do anything that’ll bring my wolf out. What do I need to know about you? Because I heard through the grapevine that you serve your sensory drinks from a bottle. You must be crazy. If word gets out, they’ll rob you for those.”

He stepped away from the bar. “I only keep one bottle on the premises. People know not to fuck with me.”

I’d already ruled out a Sensor as Calvin’s Breed. If that were the case, he would have been spiking the individual drinks with a touch of his finger. It was easier and safer, and the only establishments that purchased spiked bottles were ones that didn’t have Sensor employees. Bootlegging spiked liquor could land him in trouble with the law.

Calvin guided me to the swing doors on the other side of the bar, which were on the same wall as the liquor. He pushed through them. “People around here think I’m a Shifter, and I let ’em. Most of my customers are Shifters, so I don’t talk about my Breed.”

He bypassed the kitchen and ushered me down a narrow hallway to the right.

“I won’t say anything,” I promised him. “Even if this job doesn’t pan out, you have my word. I just need to know what I can expect from you if there’s trouble.”

Entering an office at the back left, Calvin crossed his arms. It wasn’t easy to guess his age, but in human years, the grey hair in varying shades placed him in his fifties or sixties. He looked as though he’d lived a hard life three times over. Despite being on the lean side, he appeared fit.

“I’m a Mage,” he finally said. “Keep it to yourself. It’s not a huge secret, but my Chitah customers might quit coming in if they found out.”

“Not all Chitahs are prejudiced against your kind.”

“Says the wolf.” He leaned against the edge of the open door. “I hear them talking shit. Sometimes a little mystery can make life easier.”

I glanced at a black-and-white photo on the wall. “If you never tell anyone, why are you tellin’ me?”

Calvin walked over to a desk and opened a drawer. “Because I make stupid fucking decisions. Like buying this bar, for instance. I thought it would be easy money because everyone likes to drink. I didn’t think I’d be spending my whole day dealing with peons and jackasses.” He shoved an accounting book into my hands. “I don’t like people who bolster their abilities with empty promises. Look this over. It’s my income and expenses. If you can either make or save me money like you claim, you’re hired. If not, get your ass out.”

* * *

When Calvin handed me that accounting book, he assumed I wouldn’t make good on my promise. While I’d never done accounting, it came to me naturally. Calvin documenting his expenses inside a book instead of computer software revealed his reluctance to change. Older immortals had difficulty adjusting to changing technology. Even though I was born in the era before television, computers didn’t intimidate me.

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