and nodded. ‘Drinking age is twenty-one,’ he said. ‘In case you’re a foreign student. No, we don’t care if it’s sixteen in your home country. Five bucks cover.’
He held out his hand.
‘I just need to go in and talk to somebody.’
‘Really? Never heard that one before, cutie. Five bucks or get out of line.’ Because there were people queued up behind her now, she realised; they were all older than she was. Claire fumbled in her wallet, pulled out a five dollar bill, and passed it over, and he reached down and grabbed a bright neon-green armband out of a box, and snugged it tight on her wrist. ‘Water, soft drinks, tea, coffee. Got it?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Go on with you.’
‘I – I’m looking for Pete. Or Jesse.’
That got her an entirely different look, one of surprise; the bouncer leant forward a little and studied her again. ‘Not a good time,’ he said. ‘It’s busy in there. Jesse’s up to her neck in bottle caps and booze, and Pete needs to keep an eye on everything inside. He doesn’t need distracting.’
‘I have a message for him,’ Claire said. It sounded as if Pete would be easier to get to than Jesse, anyway. ‘Where do I find him?’
‘Beats me. Good luck finding him. Next!’
She had no real option but to push forward into the crowded room, where she was instantly lost in the roar of conversation, clinking bottles and glasses, the sharp smell of spilt beer and sweat and old wood. The glare of the TV screens washed over her, and turned everyone in the darkened room odd colours, with twisted and distorted faces. If she knew anyone here, she probably wouldn’t recognise them. Bodies crowded hot against her and surged forward as a runner sprinted forward on the TV; the roar that washed over her was deafening.
I’m never going to find them, she thought in despair, and then she caught sight of Jesse’s red hair on the far side of the bar, which was on the far side of the room. It was just a flash, but definitely her – not just the hair, but the pale skin and the self-assured smile.
Finding Pete in this mob looked like a lost cause, but at least Jesse was stationary. Claire swam against the tide, heading for the bar, and then ran into a solid knot of young men and women all waiting three or four deep for their own turn. Claire felt suffocated; she was too short and too thin to make her own space against a horde of people who were either drinking, impatient to be drinking or drunk.
‘Hey,’ a voice next to her said, and Claire saw a tall young man standing close by, leaning in. ‘You need to order something? Let me be your hero.’
‘If you want to be my hero, tell the red-headed bartender that Claire needs to see her out back,’ Claire said. ‘Please?’
He grinned. He was a good-looking guy, cocky and confident of his ability to get anything he wanted. ‘As long as you promise to have a drink with me later.’
‘I’m not your type,’ she said, and gave him a mysterious smile. He raised his eyebrows, looked over the sea of heads and focused on Jesse, then back on Claire.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Right. Sorry. Well, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t help out with a hot bartender hook-up? Gotcha covered. You sure I can’t bring you back a drink or anything?’
‘I’m sure,’ Claire said. She’d been to enough parties in Morganville to know that she shouldn’t let strangers get her drinks, ever. ‘Thanks.’
‘Brian,’ he said. ‘Brian Taylor. Of the Boston Taylors.’ He said that last in a funny drawling accent, and – as much as possible, in the crush – gave her an old-fashioned from-the-waist bow. He didn’t do it very well, when measured up against Myrnin and his old-school elegance, but she gave him points for effort. ‘And you are …?’
‘Claire Danvers, of the nobody in particular,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Brian. I appreciate it.’
‘No worries. Go on. I’ll have her meet you out there.’
He pressed forward toward the bar, and Claire let the current of people sweep her back the other way. Something bad must have happened on the screen, because there was a collective groan, followed by violent shouting and gesturing, and she had to duck to avoid getting either a beer in the face, or an elbow in the head.
In the process of ducking, she caught sight of someone