Page 41 of Strike It Witch

“The place opens at ten. What do you do at nine?”

“Receive deliveries and packages for the boss, wipe down any tables the staff might’ve missed the night before, check the bathrooms, that sort of thing. Mostly I drink coffee and read the paper.” She winked. “See what I mean? Pity shift.”

It sounded nice. After I got Gladys squared away, maybe Ronan would hire me to work those hours. Like Gladys, I wasn’t above taking a pity shift.

“Where is he?”

“Ronan? He went to talk to Alpha again.” She made a face. “He should be in a real good mood when he gets back.”

One of the patrons—there were ten of us—asked Gladys to turn up the radio. She did, and AC/DC’s “T.N.T” poured through the crackly speakers. Gladys made the rock n’ roll salute at the guy and sang along.

I set my bag o’ tacos and drink on the bar. Tacky to bring a drink into a bar, but I doubted Ronan would care. I drew the line at eating in front of everyone, though. I’d wait until Ronan arrived before digging in.

I texted the number Sexton had entered into my phone with his weird finger power yesterday.

No idea what you meant by Vita.

His reply was immediate:Think about it.

Great. He had no intention of cluing me in. I moved onto the next subject.Job accepted. Timeline?

Within two weeks.

Pay?

We haggled a little over the pay, landing on a fair percentage, with a bonus if I found it in the next three days. His lamp wouldn’t be easy to locate, but it would be far less dangerous to handle than the book Floyd Pallás had asked for.

Gladys rock n’ rolled over to me again. Patted my arm. “Thanks for what you’re trying to do, Betty. Even if it doesn’t work out, I want you to know I appreciate it.” She smiled, andI noticed she was wearing the same shade of red lipstick Mom used to wear. More scarlet than my dark cherry shade.

In that moment, I missed my mom so much it was an actual ache. Mom had taught me to choose a lipstick color based on my skin tone, not how pretty the color was—an interesting lesson for an eight-year-old playing dress up. When I was older, she’d taught me to wear good quality cosmetics—onesnottested on animals by the company or the country where they were sold.

I took a sip of jamaica to chase the emotion from my voice. “Are you going to poker night?”

“Yep. Ida’s picking me up. She’s excited about those new glasses you got her.” Gladys leaned in. “If I brought you a pair of mine, could you maybe spell them for me, too? My night vision ain’t what it used to be.”

“You bet,” I said.

“Do you take payments?” she asked.

“From you, I only take payment in life tips.”

“You got yourself a deal.” She patted my arm again. “Hell, I’ll even throw in some wine snacks.”

“Perfect.”

The door whooshed open, and Ronan strode in. He was sweating, his face was beet red, and I would’ve wagered his eyes were glowing behind his black shades.

“Life tip number one,” Gladys said. “Don’t let a guy who looks like that in a T-shirt get away from you.”

“Nice visit?” I asked Ronan, pretending not to hear her.

“Office.” He strode across the bar and down the short hallway. A door slammed open, and a chair made a squeaky sound of protest.

“Yeesh.” Gladys made a face. “It must’ve been bad. You’d better go talk to him.”

“Not sure I want to now,” I said.

“It’ll be fine. You look real pretty with that flower in your hair. That’ll cheer him up.”

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