The skull insignia was probably the only indication that I was in the right place, and as I stared into the eyes of it, a chill ran down my spine. I was a lamb in a den of wolves, with the pack all circling the closer I got. I may not have been able to see anyone, but they could sure as hell see me. I could feel their eyes on me as I kicked at a stone and sent a small cloud of dust up in an attempt to build up the courage to walk inside.
Rather than his attitude, it had been Drew’s kindness that had thoroughly cowed me. As odd as it sounded, it made him all the more foreboding—mainly because I no longer knew what I was up against. He’d been absolutely right at the game. I had pegged him with a stereotype, and never once had I let myself deviate from that image, until he’d surprised me. Didn’t that make me quite the hypocrite?
Hearing a whistle come from the gates at the side of the building, I looked up in surprise. The guy was probablyyounger than I was, but from what I could see of his vest, he was a fully patched member of the club. I wasn’t sure he was gesturing at me until I looked behind, expecting to see one of their scantily clad women sauntering up and found nothing but blacktop and my car.
My feet propelled me forward, and I stopped just outside the gate and offered him the ritualistic smile of greeting that was expected of me. As soon as I got closer, I thought I recognized him from Rusty’s.
“You Ayda?”
“Sure am.”
He opened the gate farther and stepped aside to let me in, his eyes moving up and down the road as I ducked under his arms and turned to peer over his shoulder. There was nothing there, but that didn’t stop his lingering look or the glance up at the camera that I hadn’t noticed.
“How good are you with toilets?” he asked, slamming the gate closed and heading toward a door at the side of the building. The only thing even slightly personal there was a basketball hoop with a net half detached from it. It seemed to me like these boys would have done a bit better with a contact sport, but who was I to cast the first stone of judgment? And on their choice of sport, no less.
“Excuse me?” I asked, rushing to catch up.
“Why, what did you do?”
“No, I mean what were you asking me?”
“Toilets, lady. How are you with them? You ain’t squeamish, right?”
“I live with a teenage boy. I think there are very few things that make me squeamish.”
“Probably a good thing,” he said, his cryptic smirk tellingme a team of teenage boys partying at my house after a Friday night game had nothing on these men and their lack of hygiene. Wasn’t that a pleasant thought?
I followed him in through the door and into the muted light of what appeared to be a bar. The smell of smoke, sickly sweet residue of bourbon and stale beer backed up the theory. Even without the neon signs, I would have known. As much as my curiosity was nagging at the back of my head, I was there to do a job, and the sooner it was done, the sooner I could leave, even if I did have to be back at dawn.
“Okay, I guess I’ll just go ahead and get started then. Where are the cleaning things and the bathrooms? And what do you need me to do after that?”
“The cleaning shit is in the closet by the communal bathroom where you’re probably going to want to start. Have fun. I'm Kenny, and I’ll be in the bar if you have any questions.”
“I have one. Not to be rude, but where's Drew?”
“He's indisposed, sweetheart.”
I had no idea what that meant, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know when I caught the kid’s smirk. I had to remind myself it was none of my business.
“I thought he’d be here, seeing as he told me to be here.”
“I’m sure he’ll find ya if he needs ya. You’re here to do a job, though. Probably best to get it done, yeah?”
“Right. Thanks.”
He pointed me in the right direction before wandering off towards a beautiful redhead who was fondling a bourbon bottle in languid strokes, obviously designed to emulate a hand job. These poor men had absolutely no chance. I was pretty sure if I had a dick, I’d be hard. It was like watchingsoft-core porn on cable. Now was not the time to get horny, however, and I was actually glad that I had the disgusting task of cleaning out the bathrooms to distract me.
To say they were foul would have been a gross understatement. Some thoughtful soul had been kind enough to equip the cleaning closet with rubber gloves that reached to my elbows and a pack of scented facemasks. At first it seemed a little extreme, but then I walked into the communal toilet and gagged, backing out as fast as I could as the smell permeated everything. I had a feeling I was going to need to burn my clothes if I got out of there alive.
It took me an hour to clean the toilets, scrub the sinks, the floor and the mirrors, and though it was probably quite presumptuous of me, I found some acetone to wipe down the cheap stall walls and remove some of the cruder artwork that had been left there. It took another thirty minutes after that to make sure they could eat off any surface in the place.
I’d almost finished when a heavier gentleman in a leather vest walked in and skidded to a halt. His eyes went wide as he backed up, looked up and down the hall, and stepped in again.
“Damn, girl. You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?”
“If you ain’t gonna do it right, it just creates more work when you get sent back to do the job again.”
“Were you in the military?”
