Chapter 5
“Mae West is my spirit animal.”
-Cam
If you want to get over one problem, there’s nothing like getting under another one. I realize I’m paraphrasing here, but it works for me.
There was no way I’d stay home in my nearly-empty condo to lick my wounds when the tequila at Crabby Patty’s was calling my name.
Friday night happy hour at Patty’s is legendary. For fifteen bucks, you get into the bar for all you can drink. No matter what the drink is, it’s free after paying the cover. However, there’s a catch. The first person to break the seal and hit the head? They becomepersona non gratabecause that’s when the all-you-can-drink time comes to an end.
Most people hit this booze buffet thinking they’ll order mixed drinks or beer.Fucking rookies.The professionals know - it’s all about the shots.
I nod to the bartender, a bottle redhead who knows me by name, even though I haven’t been in for months. I call her “Red” because I cannot remember her name. And it doesn’t matter because, in about six months, she’ll get a better job somewhere at a fancy place in Georgetown. A new bartender will take her place here. And I’ll ignore that person’s name, too.
Red is lining up the tequila shots for when Patty hits the buzzer to start Happy Hour.
“Five minutes,” Patty calls out.
Patty is a 70-year-old widow who took her husband’s pension and sunk it into the bar. Giving away alcohol on a Friday night doesn’t sound like good business sense, but Patty once told me she makes more in food and additional drinks once someone breaks the seal. The longest we’ve gone without someone peeing is an hour and fifteen minutes. Most times, though, it’s closer to a half-hour.
Patty is a gambler who places her bets on rookies at happy hour.
“Hey, girl!” Patty greets me.
I give her a side hug. “What’s up, you old broad?”
“Nothing but my blood pressure and the rent,” Patty slaps me on the back. “Haven’t seen you for a while. You been working out of town?”
Patty thinks I am a private investigator. I may or may not have used my sister-in-law’s story as my own.
“Yeah, just wrapped up a case,” I smile. “And in the immortal words of Mae West - ‘Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.’”
Patty howls with laughter then points around the bar. “Well, you have your pick of evils tonight, my dear.”
She slaps my ass then moves toward the big red buzzer next to the door to the restrooms. She hits the buzzer, announcing the start, and everyone starts shouting at once.
Red slides three tequila shots at me, and I down them one after the other.
I’m sitting with my back against the wall, watching shit go down around the U-shaped bar. Washington, D.C. politicos are out of their conservative jackets, their ties loosened, and sleeves rolled up. They all look the same to me. The only difference is the color of their ties.
There are women of all shapes and sizes, mainly in the late 20s to early 30s age range, looking for their next husband.
Seems like a terrible place to find him, but who am I to judge?
I signal to Red, who places another three shots in front of me.
Those, too, go down the hatch quickly.
“I knew I’d find you here,” a ridiculous blond-haired, blue-eyed pain in my ass says from my side.
“No shit,” I roll my eyes. “This is my hangout. I toldyouabout this place.”
Ken Doll waves Red over and orders a light beer. She and I both snicker.
He frowns at her retreating back. “What?”
“Fucking rookie.”
