Page 98 of Wicked Pickle

The heat rises off the asphalt as we trudge toward the metal door.

Here goes nothing.

The first thing I notice when we step inside is how quiet it is. The music is muted. The few customers are scattered, almost no one sitting with anyone else.

Jake’s behind the bar in his black Leaky Skull shirt. Marietta and I exchange a glance as we approach the bar.

Jake turns and sees us, his eyebrows lifting. I note he’s careful not to look at Marietta’s chest.

He raises a hand in greeting. “Hey, you two.”

We don’t sit at the stools, instead leaning on the bar.

“Where’s Diesel?” I ask.

“Not here,” Jake says.

My stomach sinks. “Is he coming?”

Jake wipes down the counter with a rag. “All I know is I got a message to get here early to prep.”

“Is Merrick here?” Marietta asks.

Jake shakes his head. “Just me and Jose so far. Vicki will be here soon, along with Mike, the other bartender.”

I don’t know him. “Who is Mike?”

“We bring him in a couple times a week when Merrick and Diesel do supply runs or have to take off for something.”

Maybe we’re getting somewhere. “Did they do that? Take off?”

His cheeks pink up. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Who texted you?” Marietta asks. “Merrick or Diesel?”

“Vicki.”

The cocktail waitress. “When?”

“About two hours ago.”

“Who wrote her?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Can you ask her?”

Jake grimaces.

“Well?” I lean hard over the bar.

“She’ll be here eventually. You’ll have to ask her.”

Marietta shakes her head. “He’s scared of her.”

I sit on a stool, and Marietta slides onto the one next to me to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. We can wait on Vicki.”

Jake shoves the towel under the bar. “Can I get you two anything?”

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