Page 42 of Bastard Bartender

“That’s weird,” I comment as I point toward the ceiling at where the music is coming from.

Richard nods. He almost looks like he wants to sing again but halts. I, too, can feel the moment has passed.

He raises a hand and calls over to the bartender. Since Nic is the closest, he nods toward us. A fresh cocktail is placed in front of me, and a Yuengling is given to Richard.

“I drink Heineken.”

Nic grimaces at Richard’s comment. “That one’s on the house.”

Richard lifts the green bottle and shrugs, clearly liking the free beer over his drink of choice. As he lifts it and takes a swig, Nic has a look of satisfaction on his face.

I narrow my eyes at him and ask him to cut it out.

His hands rise, as if to ask, What did I do?

He knows damn well he’s being a prick.

“My drink is on the house too,” I declare and make a cheers motion to Nic and then to Richard, who clinks glasses with me and resumes our conversation.

I’m telling Richard how I’ve always wanted to go to the East Coast when the song plays again for the third time.

“I think the computer’s broken. Probably a misconfiguration in the data space,” Richard says.

I nod and then shake my head. “No. It’s one of those TouchTunes machines that you select the music from your iPhone. The machine’s by the pool table. I bet someone’s being a jerk and pranking the place.”

“I’m sure the manager can override it.”

“Yeah.” I gnaw on my lip for a moment as I desperately wish the song would go away. It was fun the first time, but now, it’s getting on my nerves.

“You were saying you want to travel out east?”

I blink at his question and then shake off my mental irritation. I explain, “Yes. There’s a job opportunity in New York actually. I’d apply, but it’s a long shot, and I doubt my partner, Tom, would be happy if I left. We have a really good thing going at work right now.”

“The A-team?”

“Damn right. Kicking ass and taking names!” I lift my drink to salute to that when the fucking song comes on … again.

The couple next to us grumbles as another guy nearby complains about the goddamn song playing again. A few people are taking their cell phones out and opening their TouchTunes apps to pay any amount of money to play anything other than this one.

Of course, the only person in the bar who doesn’t seem to be fazed by the R&B song is Nic. I tilt my head at him, seeing his rather relaxed attitude as he makes drinks and bullshits with patrons. When he leaves his space from behind the bar and starts walking toward the back of the lounge, I rise from my seat.

“Excuse me. I have something I have to take care of.” I walk toward the back. My arms are swaying as my feet stomp.

When I get to the swinging door that leads to a back room, I stand with my arms folded and a sneer on my face. Nic walks out the door, carrying a case of Tito’s.

“What’s your game?” I accuse him, making him nearly jump out of his skin from being accosted in a dark hallway.

“Just getting vodka,” he answers like I’m crazy for asking.

“I meant, about the song. It’s you playing this, isn’t it? You rigged the machine!”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re not denying it.”

He grins. “No, I’m not denying it.”

My arms flail in the air in aggravation. “What is wrong with you?”