Page 27 of Four Cards Exposed

What is it about me that makes her think I wouldn’t be willing to sleep with someone?

Is it so obvious that I’m not okay?

“What does everyone do during the day?” Susan asked, changing the topic. “We don’t have to go in till four.”

Pia balanced another forkful of egg on her fork. “Whatever you want. Sometimes, I head over to see my little girl. Then at four you head to the bar to work, except on the nights when we’re needed on the ship.”

“How often does that happen?”

Pia shrugged. “It’s not a regular thing. One of Sean’s men tells us, usually that same morning. The money’s better on the ship, but some of the girls don’t have the sea legs for it. Looks like you were okay last night, though.”

Susan nodded.

“Wait till you see a storm. Those are the nights that really test your stomach.”

“We go out even if there’s a storm?”

Pia nodded. Her fork scraped along the edge of the now-empty plate. “Once they’ve decided to go out, we go out no matter what. Even if only a quarter of the guests turn up or less.” Pia shrugged, walking over to the sink. She washed the plate quickly, then dried her hands on her top. “Again, best not to ask too many questions. I’m off to take a shower. I’ll see you later.”

Susan handed Pia her notebook. “Thanks for sharing your drawings. You’re a real artist.”

Pia took the notebook so silently, Susan feared for a moment she might have offended the other woman. Then she smiled. “Thank you,” she said, speaking under her breath.

9

* * *

Susan

Throughout the next week, Susan worked at the bar every night. She wasn’t offered any days off, nor did she ask for any. She modeled her behavior on that of the other waitresses—none of them were asking for days off, either.

Do as Milena would do.

She wondered what Milena would have thought of this job—would it have been a chance to turn her life around? Or just provided her with easier access to the drugs that ended up costing Milena her life?

She hadn’t seen many drugs, which was surprising. Some of the waitresses drank heavily, and this seemed to be allowed as long as it didn’t interfere with their work. But nobody seemed to be taking anything else, at least not in public. Whatever was happening to those drugs, it was happening out of sight.

Most of the time, Susan was assigned to bring drinks and food to patrons. Once in a while, she was asked to get behind the bar for a few minutes while one of the other waitresses took a break. She’d learned to pour a mean beer, and cherished those moments and the brief barrier the bar provided.

No such luck tonight. It was ten p.m. and she felt like she’d already walked ten miles, moving between the bar and the tables. The only table she was really interested in was the one that hadn’t ordered a single drink. Guerrero had been sitting in that corner booth all evening with Mendoza, Moore, and one of Moore’s men.

She saw the way their heads came together and knew they were up to something. But she had clear instructions never to approach that booth unless they signaled for drinks, and so far, they hadn’t.

Her feet were killing her. She took a moment to stare at the offending heels—she’d like to see Moore walking around in those all night.

Moore didn’t insist on a uniform for the waitresses, but he’d made it clear, when she’d first arrived, what type of clothes were considered acceptable and which weren’t. As such, she was wearing a pair of jean shorts she normally would have saved for the beach, and four-inch heels she normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in. Most of the women were wearing something similar.

Susan plastered a fake smile on her face and carried a fourth round of drinks to a group of men sitting at a round table. They were getting louder and louder, their comments more obnoxious, and Susan wished she could stop serving them.

“Hey,” she said, warning them as she approached. “Careful. I’ve got your drinks.”

“Come here, baby, I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

One man reached out, but instead of grabbing a drink, grabbed on to Susan’s hip instead, a punishing grip that had her hissing out in a combination of pain and surprise.

Susan had been trained in self-defense. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself turning towards the owner of the bruising hand, making her own hand into a half-fist and driving it into his throat before stepping away.

That’s not what Milena would do.