“I’m having whiskey,” Carrera said.
Karen looked down her nose at Slash. “Get me a whiskey too.”
“Got it,” Slash said.
He and Karen moved to the corner at a two-person high top.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“I’m an open book,” she replied. “Ask me anything.”
“What do you do when you’re not here?”
“I’m here all the time so, sleep, I guess.”
“What did you do before you worked here?”
“I was in law enforcement,” she replied.
“That’s interesting.”
“Yeah, and I got fired, which still pisses me off.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened?”
Slash brought over their whiskeys.
“She’s the reason I got fired,” Karen grumbled.
“What time does your shift end?” Carrera asked Slash.
“I’m just filling in, so I’m available whenever you are, Mr. Anus.”
“What did you call him?” Karen snapped.
“Amos,” Slash replied. “Isn’t his name Claude Amos?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Carrera replied.
“You said anus,” Karen insisted, her beady eyes drilling into Slash.
Carrera lifted his glass. “I look forward to getting to know you, Karen.”
Karen’s smug expression had him stealing a glance at Slash, who bit back a smile.
“Lemme know when you want to take advantage of that free use, Mr. Anus.”
As Slash returned to the bar, Karen shouted, “There! I heard it again!”
“Karen, relax,” Carrera said. “It’s all good, baby.”
He fought the bile that surfaced. Hisbabywas twenty feet away, and she was chatting it up with a dancer who’d swung by the bar for a drink. If anyone could ask about Greg, without sounding like she was pumping them for information, it was her.
“Drink up,” Carrera said before swallowing down the whiskey.
The booze was okay, but it wasn’t a Santini Whisky.
Karen took a sip, then another. “I never drink at work. This is such a treat for me, Mr. Amos.”
