Fourth of July
For an early afternoon, Nature Girls was packed. Even the seedier side of society wanted to celebrate their patriotism on the Fourth of July Riley noted as she picked her way through the crowd toward the bar.
“Play this safe. Get in. Get out. Anyone looks at you funny, I want you out of there,” a pissed-off Nick grumbled in her ear.
“Yeah. Yeah. I hear you,” she murmured.
She’d won the argument thanks to Josie and Brian voting on her side. It made sense to have her go back in. She had the best chance of fabricating a reason to get into the office.
Nick had played the grumpy sore loser. He’d put a wire on her and parked the surveillance van—with Church of Scientology graphics on the doors—down the block, ready to burst through the front door at the first sign of trouble. Brian told her they’d originally had fake plumber’s graphics on the van, but they had too many people knocking on the windows with plumbing emergencies. No one bothered a van full of Scientologists.
She spotted Rod behind the bar and snarky Liz yelling at a table of guys who’d already had too much to drink.
Painting on a smile, she pranced up to a stool and plopped down.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Rod demanded, pouring two beers into plastic cups and hurling some cheap tequila in the direction of a row of shot cups. His long white beard was festively tied with three red rubber bands. “Come back to burn the place down?”
“I left my favorite sweatshirt here on my shift,” Riley said, batting her eyes in what she hoped was a look of total innocence. “I think it’s in the office. Do you mind if I go on back and grab it?”
“Where the fuck are my Jack and Cokes, you slow-ass bastard?” Liz demanded, hurling her wet tray down on the service bar.
“You’ll get ’em when you get ’em, asshole.” Rod poured two more drafts and plopped them down in front of two inebriated patrons at the bar.
“Don’t be a dick to me. You take this shit out on Betsy. She’s the one who didn’t show.”
Riley held her breath. Betsy was a no-show? Was it by choice, or had something very, very bad happened to her after the wreck?
“Christ. Ten seconds in the door, and she’s already got them talking about Betsy,” Nick grumbled in her ear.
Suck it, Nick.
“You want your drinks, you pour ’em yourself,” the bartender snarled.
“I fucking will.” Liz ducked under the service bar and popped up on the other side. Yanking a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf, she whirled around to reach for the soda gun and spotted Riley. “What are you sitting your ass down for? Get to fucking work.”
“I’m fired, remember?” Riley pointed out.
“She’s just here to pick up a sweatshirt,” Rod said, grabbing a bottle of Sambuca from under the bar.
“What? You think baldy is gonna walk his no-neck ass out here and volunteer to do actual work?” Liz snapped at the bartender. She turned her attention back to Riley. “You want your sweatshirt? You’re gonna work for it. Take these to those stupid assholes in the cowboy hats, then get the herpes twins’ order.” She slammed three Jack and Cokes down in front of Riley.
“Stick with the plan, Thorn,” Nick warned.
“I thought you said I was a trouble-making moron who didn’t know her ass from her apron,” Riley said, pointedly staring at the drinks.
“You want an apology? ’Cause it comes with a boot to the vagina. You want some tips and your stupid sweatshirt? Then you work.”
“I’ll take the tips,” Riley said cheerfully and grabbed the cups.
“I am going to kill you, Thorn.” Nick’s snarl tickled her ear.
“Relax,” she said under her breath. “This gives me a bigger window to either get in the office or get some gossip.”
“Nope. Definitely killing you,” Nick’s voice snapped.
She worked, taking orders, delivering drinks, trying to scrape years of sticky filth off vacated tables. By three, things had started to slow with the first wave of celebrants either heading off to picnics and parties or to sleep off their cheap drinks. By four, she found herself sitting at a table with Liz, feet propped up on a chair counting her tips.
Yay, surprise money.
“So where’s Deelia and Betsy?” Riley asked, pocketing her wad of cash.
Liz snorted, her attention on fishing balled up cash out of her apron. “Deelia’s hanging with her grandma for a bullshit picnic lunch. She’s in tonight. Betsy’s