She turned to the back shelves of alcohol, picked up a bottle and a glass, placed them on the counter, and gestured for me to stand with her.
“What are you doing?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Teaching you how to make a drink.”
In the two hours since Jen had taught me the basics of serving alcohol (between when I performed my waitressing duties), I made five mixed drinks. They obviously weren’t as good as what Xavier and Jen could create, but it was something. Both bartenders were great mentors as they guided me through each drink. Xavier was more of a perfectionist with the cocktails though.
He was showing me how to place the olive and toothpick into the glass when Jen said a disheartened, “Oh, crap.”
I was smiling when I looked up, enjoying the drink-making process too much until I remembered I wasn’t legally supposed to be making them. And Roxy had seen. Hand on her hip as she stood a few feet away, she rolled her eyes and motioned with a single finger for me to go to her.
“Want me to come with you?” Jen said, turning her back to Roxy.
“I should be fine,” I said nervously and walked the length of the bar. Every step only added to my anxiety.
What if she fired me? Would it be so bad if she did? Did she even have the authority to fire me if I was meant to be here because Antonio wanted to keep an eye on me?
I stopped in front of her, trying to keep my posture straight but whatever was left of my confidence made it a struggle.
“If I see you serving alcohol again,” she hissed, “I will fire you. Regardless of what Antonio wants. Got it?”
I nodded.
“Good… You’re wanted downstairs,” she added by way of dismissal as she walked back into the staff room.
I should have been worried about going back down to the basement. Instead, after letting Xavier and Jen know where I was going, I couldn’t get down there fast enough.
I pushed open the heavy, steel door of the basement, scrunching my nose in preparation for the usual smells that overwhelmed my senses when I entered the room. Only the smells never came. Neither did the roar of the crowd as I stepped onto the grated platform at the top of the metal staircase.
The fight pit was nowhere in sight and the basement was completely void of people except for the man waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Slightly hunched and rubbing a hand over his balding head, Joe the fight announcer, looked up at the sound of me coming down the stairs.
“Ah, good you’re here. Tony wanted me to show you something he had installed for you,” he said as he began walking in the direction of the back room. He moved fast for an old man. I found myself almost jogging down the stairs to catch up with him.
“How does it always look so clean?” I asked as I glanced over to the empty space on our right. Not a single drop of blood remained on the wooden floors.
Joe stopped in his tracks and looked at me with suspicion. His aging eyes studied me closely. “Why do you want to know?”
I swallowed hard. “Just curious.”
He watched me a second longer and then continued his brisk walk. “We’ve got cleaners for that stuff. They specialize in Tony’s area of business.”
The kind of cleaners who made the work of a forensic team near impossible. It wasn’t surprising that he would have his own people for that.
I schooled my features to seem a little less fazed or interested and simply nodded slowly before following him into the back room in silence, making sure I walked around one of the many wooden beams that supported the roof. I had witnessed enough drunk gamblers running headfirst into them to learn my lesson about steering clear.
As we entered the back room, passing the boxing ring on our right, the back door to the parking lot swung open and the room was filled with Seb’s echoed belly laugh as he descended the back staircase above the lockers. Dean was behind him, head down but smiling as he shook his head in amusement.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
They were in workout clothes with backpacks slung over their muscular shoulders. Seb was in his usual choice of bright colors (a green muscle tee, white shorts, and red sneakers) and Dean was in his all-black attire. The bruise from Saturday night was the only pop of color he wore. A vibrant shade of deep blue and purple that contrasted with the color of his eyes.
I found myself wanting to draw the moment; Seb clutching his stomach as his laugh slowly subsided; the dimple of Dean’s cheek paired with his easy grin. I wanted to detail every cheery expression on paper before they vanished again.
Dean was the first to notice he and Seb weren’t the only people in the basement. I caught his eye as he glanced across the room, and his broad smile faded to one that was more subdued. He sent me a nod in greeting. Meanwhile, Seb, who jumped the last two stairs on his way down, waved happily to Joe and me as we reached the back of the room, where a brand new, large metal cabinet took up the wall space adjacent to the staircase.
Joe drawled, “You know Tony doesn’t like you being here when there isn’t a fight on.”
Seb smiled at Joe, patting the old man on the shoulder as they passed. “So, pretend you didn’t see us, Joey boy.”
