Page 138 of Things We Hide from the Light
I wasn’t one to get choked up about a few compliments, but growing up without the mom who’d sprinkled them so liberally through my childhood left a void. A deep one that I was only just beginning to recognize.
It had been a long time since anyone I loved had been proud of me.
I surprised us both by leaning down and brushing a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Mayor.”
She turned bright red. “Go on now. Get that damn snake off my property and get back to work. We’ve got people to serve.”
I threw her a little salute and headed for the car. “Make sure you alibi up before you go on your arson-murder spree.”
“Will do, Chief.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
SHARK WEEK CRAPPY HOUR
Lina
Iwas early for my nondate drinks with Nolan. It was more in an effort to avoid Nash when he and Piper came home from work than any actual enthusiasm. But after a long day of sitting in a car watching a low-level henchman hit the gym, the Chinese buffet, and the strip club, I was actually looking forward to talking shop with the marshal.
The crowd was mostly female in Honky Tonk, and the tables had little signs on them that saidWarning: Shark Week. I smirked. Leave it to Nolan to pick a night when the female bar staff’s menstruation cycles synced.
Knowing the drill, I grabbed an empty two-top and did not attempt to flag down Max, the server, who was busy adjusting the peel-and-stick heating pad on her abdomen with one hand while stuffing a chocolate cupcake into her mouth with the other.
Max would take my order when she was good and ready, and I would get my drink when Silver the bartender was doneshocking the shit out of the burly biker dude’s abs with the mini electrotherapy machine.
It was a new addition to Shark Week’s Crappy Hour. Electrical impulses from the electrodes simulated period pain. Knockemout’s residents weren’t ones to back down from a challenge, and I had to admit, it was pretty entertaining to watch tatted bikers and buff farmer types line up for their turn to try to walk with level 10 period cramps.
It took a hot minute or five, but Max finally ambled over and flopped down in the chair across from me. She had icing on her chin. “Lina.”
“Max.”
“Your eye looks better.”
“Thanks.”
“Heard you got it wrestling two murderers who tried to attack Sloane and Naomi while filming the pilot of a bounty hunter TV show.”
So much for my professional anonymity…and pesky things like the truth.
“Nothing that exciting,” I assured her.
“What’ll it be? Feel like tryin’ a Crappy Hour special? We got half-priced Bloody Marys and a cocktail Silver came up with called Red Death. It tastes like shit and it’ll fuck you up.”
“I think I’ll stick with bourbon.” It was one and done for me until I was sure I’d gotten my stress level under control.
“Suit yourself.” Max sighed and heaved herself to her feet. “I’ll be back after the Midol kicks in.”
She shuffled back to the bar and I used the opportunity to wade through some work emails on my phone until raucous male laughter erupted in the corner.
I’d spent a lot of time in a lot of bars watching people interact. I knew when the vibe wasn’t right. And there was no doubt in my mind something ugly was brewing from thefour men. Their table was littered with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. Their body language was rowdy and borderline aggressive, like sharks deciding whether to attack.
Max arrived at their table and started stacking empties on her tray. One of the men, an older guy with a beer gut and a white, bushy mustache nowhere near as nice as Vernon’s, said something that Max didn’t like. It caused the table to burst into laughter again.
Max tipped her tray, rolling the empties back on to the table, and—with a parting middle finger—stomped back to the bar.
I recognized one of the younger troublemakers as the man who’d stared at me when I was leaving Waylay’s soccer game. “Come on, Maxi Pad, don’t be so sensitive. We’re just teasin’,” he yelled after her.
The foursome put their heads together for what was most likely an off-color joke and busted up laughing again.
