He didn’t let me finish.
“Have you lost your mind? ”
This wasn’t said in a quiet voice, this was shouted and everyone, cops, bouncers, dancers and waitresses turned to stare.
I opened my mouth to defend myself (as if I had to, I mean, real y, it was my Dad) but didn’t get a word out.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” As if things weren’t bad enough with pissed off, shouting Eddie, Smithie showed up at our tête-à-tête.
“It wasn’t like I asked to wrestle in the hal way with a guy with a knife.” I said to the both of them, pissed off myself now, hands on h*ps and everything.
“You see a knife, you run as fast as you f**kin’ can,” Smithie said.
Now he was repeating himself.
“You run in these shoes,” I told him.
“That’s it. You wear tennis shoes on shift from now on.” My eyes widened and I stared. None of Smithie’s girls wore tennis shoes. The cocktail waitresses were required to have no less than a three-inch heel (I saw Smithie measure once) and the strippers wore sky-high platforms.
“I can’t wear tennis shoes!” I snapped. “Do you know what that’d do to my tips?”
Now both Eddie and Smithie were staring at me like I’d donated my brain to science pre-mortem.
Smithie turned to Eddie. “I’m leavin’ her in your hands.
You f**kin’ deal with her.” And he stalked away. Again.
Eddie dragged a hand through his hair.
“Eddie,” Jimmy Marker was back, “I real y gotta ask her a few questions.”
Eddie flipped his hand out in an annoyed “go ahead” gesture but didn’t leave my side as Detective Marker asked me questions. I told him my story (feeling Eddie get more and more tense as I told it; don’t ask me how I felt this, trust me, I just knew). Detective Marker took notes and asked me if I knew how to get a hold of my Dad— which I didn’t.
He took my number, turned to Eddie and said, “She’s al He took my number, turned to Eddie and said, “She’s al yours.”
Not good.
Before Eddie could do or say anything, I walked quickly to the bar to get my coat, sweater and purse. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away.
I took off my apron, pul ing out my cel and slapped the apron on the top of the bar to begin cashing out.
Smithie was behind the bar, glaring at me.
“Am I fired?” I asked.
Smithie snatched the apron away and said, “You’re a pain in my f**kin’ ass, that’s what you are.” He shoved the apron under the bar and shoved my stuff at me, “I’l cash you out. I’l have your tips ready for you on Friday.” Guess I wasn’t fired.
Then, I noticed, down the bar, Lee was standing and talking to Vance.
Shit and damn.
My night was now complete.
What was Lee doing here?
“Hey Lee,” I cal ed, trying to be cool.
He looked up, his eyes flicked behind me, he grinned broad and he looked back at me.