Flynn eased up to the bar and watched Claude hawkishly. He pinched his beard as if contemplating something. “What do you and that lovely man spend so much time talking about?”
I wiped down the bar with a rag. “Give it up. He’s out of your league.”
“Says the competition.” Flynn slid onto the stool and adjusted his orange glasses. “Nobody’s out of my league, princess. I just have to figure out how to get on the team. How much do you think he makes a night in tips?”
I sighed. “Is money all you care about?”
“Yes,” Simone answered for him while taking care of a woman in red latex.
Flynn tucked his cheek against his fist and leaned to one side. “My Creator was a blacksmith who made the equivalent of a dollar a day. He wanted cheap help, so he made me. I slaved my fingers to the bone, and all I got was a bed and a free meal.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“I was so wrapped up in the whole immortality thing that I didn’t care. He said I couldn’t leave until he taught me all the magic stuff, and he never did. He kept putting it off so he could keep me around and make more money for himself.” Flynn turned his gaze away. “Manky bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
“Maybe you should play the lottery.”
“I would, but I haven’t got any luck. So, Robin White, tell me about yourself. Are you from around here?”
“Born and raised.”
He stroked his bottom lip. “Did your Creator teach you all those moves?”
“Nope. Learned them on the streets.” I tossed the rag into a bin. “When you meet the right people, you learn what you can.”
“Is this what you wanted to be when you grew up? A bartender?”
“Hell no.”
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I stopped counting at twenty-five. Does it matter?”
His eyes skated down. “Your breasts are heaving.”
“So is that gentleman at table five. Better clean up.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Bollocks.”
After Flynn swaggered off, I signaled to Simone that I was taking my break. I wanted to call John Crawford and see what I could shake out of that tree. Men ogled me as I made my way through the room. Some bowed, others leered. The cloth around my head made me look like a superhero, but I sure as hell didn’t feel like one. After working my ass off all night, I was having regrets about choosing the leather corset. It felt like my body was in a vise and I might burst free at any moment.
As I reached the door, a handler came out and held it open for me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking note of her mask. Maybe she had a day job and working in a club like this would get her in trouble.
When I entered the break room, my reflection in the long mirror above the sinks looked like a stranger. The stools were tucked in beneath the counter, and someone had left behind a tube of lipstick. I passed the lockers on the left and headed toward the bathroom door. Instead of going in, I stopped in the alcove on the right and looked at three empty chairs and a telephone. Then I swung the bathroom door open and went inside. Unlike the customer restroom, we had six private stalls and urinals with dividers. I bent over to make sure I had the place to myself.
When I didn’t see any feet beneath the stalls, I ducked into the alcove and plopped into a chair facing the dressing room so I could peer around the privacy wall and keep an eye on the main door. The rotary phone was something I’d seen in old movies, so I had no trouble dialing. It wasn’t uncommon for Breed establishments to have rotary phones, jukeboxes, cigarette machines, and other obsolete relics from the past.
“This is Crawford,” the man answered.
“Hi. It’s Robin. You gave me this number.”
“Robin…”
“I tend bar at the White Owl. Black hair, brown eyes, got in a fight last night.”
“Ah, yes. Robin. Did you consider my offer?”
“Uh, yeah. But what’s the offer for?”
“I don’t do business over the phone. When is a good time we can meet?”
“I get off at three.”
He chuckled. “Yowzer. I sleep, you know.”
“How about noon tomorrow?”
“That works. Why don’t we meet at Ruby’s Diner. Do you know where that is?”