Soulless The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,23
was doing, what he was suggesting. Any other day, it might not have found its mark. After all, my boyfriend was mature, responsible, secure in his job, and if he went to the bar with his college buddies, he did it on his time off (and usually when I was training.) I’d never felt left behind, not really, because I was too busy doing other things. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and lit up the display. Still nothing. “Fine.” I looked back up at him. “One drink.”
“Attagirl.” He shot a look at Kat. “This’ll be fun. The three of us, on our first assignment, blowing off steam, hanging out at the bar.” He draped a thick arm around Kat and drew her close, giving her a peck on the cheek. “It’s kinda like...” He thought about it for a minute.
“Being grown-ups?” I offered it sarcastically, but it only widened his smile.
“Five minutes.” He turned and his hand fell to grab Kat’s, and they walked toward their door. “We’ll head down together.”
I nodded and slid the card key into my door and turned the handle. When I walked inside, I flipped the switch and waited for the lights to come on. The carpet was a deep maroon and it was a simple setup – two beds, desk, dresser and TV.
I threw my bag on the dresser and retreated to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror at myself. I looked older, mostly because of the suit, but also because I had my hair back in a ponytail. I held up a gloved hand and heard the leather stretch as I clenched a fist and then relaxed it. Grown-up indeed. I pulled the glove off and started to splash water on my face to help me wake up, but then remembered that it would probably destroy the careful amount of makeup I had applied earlier, before I left the Directorate. I rarely wore the stuff, but in this case it seemed important for the role I was playing.
I looked again at myself in the mirror and wondered what I was thinking. We were on a serious assignment, the first chance we had to prove ourselves, and we were going to a bar at midnight to have some drinks even though we weren’t anywhere close to done with our assignment. I sighed and looked at the faceplate on my phone again. The LED indicator that let me know when I had messages or missed calls wasn’t blinking. Screw it. Screw him. We’d been working our asses off for months, Kat was going to stay sober, and Scott and I would just have one or two and call it a night. An energy drink or coffee tomorrow and we’d be ready to keep going.
I tried to remember that reasoning as we walked in the doors to the bar. The light was orange in the room, with flatscreen TVs suspended from the ceiling around the bar itself. Tables were set up to the left and right of the bar area, with a small dance floor in the far corner. Music was playing, a modern pop tune, but not a soul was dancing. I scanned the room as we walked in and the place was only slightly packed, which surprised me given it was Saturday night.
We made our way to the bar, Scott leading us, his grin reaching an infectious stage. He bellied up and Kat sat next to him. I took the seat on the other side of him, mostly because he was more likely to talk than Kat. She was always tired and quiet after healing someone.
The bartender made his way over to us, a guy in his forties that had more than a few extra pounds. He had long brown hair in a ponytail and was happy enough after he checked our IDs. “Whaddya want?” he asked in an accent that was as far from midwestern as I could imagine.
Scott looked over to me first and I shrugged, so he turned to Kat. “Just water for me,” she said. “Designated driver.”
“What’s good here?” I picked up the mixed drinks menu that he had proffered and thumbed through it.
“Honestly? I got some strengths; I make a pretty good Whiskey Sour, Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail, Dirty Martini...my Fuzzy Navel is the stuff of local legend—”
“You don’t need to show us that,” Scott said.
The bartender smiled and his face split into jowls. “I also make a pretty good Cherry Bomb.”