CHAPTER 14, EXCERPT 3
Tables and chairs were stacked around the perimeter of the long narrow room, creating a decent sized dance floor. It was nearly empty now, only a few stragglers lingering, and recorded music was coming through the house system, “Let it Bleed,” sounding tinny. The oval bar was set close to the back wall about halfway down the room, and Martha was standing at the waitress station wearing a tight fitting white T-shirt and blue jeans. She had tiny freckles on her cheekbones. Frank thought she definitely qualified as a cute young thing. Which, strangely enough, was a rarity among Bay City waitresses.
Frank watched Martha zip off into the thirsty throng and felt a little sorry for her, Frank being very familiar with the grief that liquored-up cretins and snippy bitches dumped on waitresses. He and Waverly walked through the smoke and the distracting sparkles of the mirror ball to the waitress station. Frank stood there feeling the impatience and frustration twisting up his gut while Waverly ambled off toward the men’s room.
With Waverly off for his maintenance toot, Frank waited for Martha to return. Few minutes and she was back, breathless and hurried, snapping off drink orders to one of the two yahoos working the bar, The Cottage embossed on the breast of the yahoo’s yellow polo shirt. Frank waited, his gut grinding. He watched Martha take a big breath, extend her lower lip and blow a wayward hunk of black hair off her forehead, her face seemingly saying, Don’t bother me, I’m busy. Frank pushed on anyway. “Are you Martha?” he said, leaning toward her.
Angling her head to the side, she gave him a narrow-eyed stare. Frank smiled as nice as he could. “Yes I am,” she said. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Frank, Martha. And that curly-haired fellow there…” Pointing at Waverly who, back from the men’s room, was standing behind Martha now, “His name is Keith.”
She turned to look. “Oh yeah,” she said, “I’ve seen him around.” She smiled. Waverly’s cuteness was a reliable icebreaker, although Frank thought Keith looked like shit tonight. And then the bartender was putting the glasses and bottles on Martha’s circular tray and her harried look was back. “But I’m real busy, guys, as you can probably see. I don’t really have time to chat.”
Waverly slid onto the stool, nodding to Frank and Martha.
“Being a former bartender,” Frank said, “I understand, believe me. I hate to bother you, but we’re here on a matter of great importance.” Martha’s eyebrows went up as she grasped the drink tray. “I was wondering if Dory was working tonight,” Frank continued. “She just might be able to help me with some very pressing problems.”
Martha shot an anxious glance over her shoulder toward the bartender and then looked back at Frank. “You guys cops?” she said, a little sneer forming on her cute mouth.
Frank snorted. “Do we look like cops, Martha? Really?”
“You never can tell in this town,” she said. “But I really gotta move here, guys. Dory should be in about one. She works another job on Fridays then comes in here to help close. And now I gotta go. Really.”
And she did, back into the jungle of booze hounds. Frank watched her slap some big lout’s hand off her ass and then stand there while the asshole put it back on her again. She shoved it off again, snapping some angry words at the guy.
“Whattaya drinkin’, Frank?” Waverly said.
Frank turned his gaze to the clock on the wall. Twelve-thirty. Dory wouldn’t be here until one. Long time to wait without a drink. Moran always called it a cocktail, even if it was just straight booze in a glass. Long time to wait without a cocktail. “Shot of Bushmills should do me. And a glass of water.”
“Shot of Bushmills, a water and a Bacardi orange juice,” Waverly said to the skinny, beak-nosed tender in a yellow polo shirt.
Frank settled in.
(End of Chapter 14)
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