flexed as she reached to set the glass in the overhead rack. Her black T-shirt crept up, exposing a faded tattoo on her side, a skull adorned with a crown of roses. She’d once told Drake it was from her Deadhead youth, but now that she was clean and sober she no longer listened to jam-band hogwash.
“Hasn’t been too windy lately,” Drake said.
“Yeah, just hot. Monsoon season is late this year. City could use a downpour or three. Fortunately, the air conditioner in this place is built like a tank.” She tossed the towel over her shoulder. “Bud?”
He nodded, wondering when she’d cut her hair. These short, spiky styles on women confused him. He liked long hair on women. Long and straight, the simpler the better.
“Hey, Aqua Man.”
He turned, recognized a buddy from high school. Still slim, but his face showed wear. He wore a gray shirt with “Easterman’s Plumbing” on a pocket.
“Hey, Jackson,” Drake said, “how’s it going?”
“Got divorced.” He shrugged. “You?”
“Never been married.”
“Smart. How’s your brother?”
“Fine.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Smart.” Jackson nodded. “Well, take it easy.”
As he left the bar, Sally slid a bottle toward Drake. “Poor guy. Just got divorced.”
“Figured it was still fresh. Thanks, Sally.” He took a swig. The frothy chill soothed his mood a bit.
“Work keeping you busy?” She focused intently on washing another glass.
“Some.”
“See Viva Las Arepas moved?”
The Venezuelan fast-food place had operated out of the kiosk in Dino’s parking lot for several years. When he’d walked past, the place had been dark, its windows boarded, although a few stools remained outside. “Thought it had closed.”
“No, moved to a bigger place in that strip mall down the street. Mr. Arellano’s been driving a shiny new Hyundai, so they must be doing good.”
“They survived.”
“Yeah. Recession didn’t kick their butt. Didn’t kick Dino’s, either.”
He raised his beer. “To Dino’s.”
She picked up her tip glass and clinked it against his bottle. As he took a sip, she pointed to the framed photo over the cash register. “Some TV producer was in here the other day, saw the photo. Told her it was Dino and Benny.”
“Benedict.” Drake bristled at his father’s nickname being tossed around by people who didn’t know him.
“Kristin calls him Benny.”
“Good friends, Benny. Everybody else, Benedict.”
“Anyway, this TV producer was here ’cause they’re thinking of filming a reality TV show at Dino’s.” She read his look. “I know, just what this place needs—more reality. Speaking of which, didja hear the story about one of our regulars...”
Her voice floated over his head as he stared at the faded color photo. Taken in ’85, when Dino still had most of his hair. He stood next to a pool table with Drake’s dad, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, the two of them grinning at the camera. Guys from different generations, but they had a lot in common. Family men who believed in working hard and watching out for the little guy. Both veterans—Dino in World War II, his father in ’Nam—although neither had talked about those days.
Drake had followed the family tradition and joined the military, a career he’d thought would be for life, until 2006, when he’d returned home to help with his dad, who had been diagnosed with ALS. He worked in hotel security for a few years before opening his own one-man P.I. agency.
“...to this day, the wife still doesn’t believe the girl accidentally fell asleep on her husband’s car hood.” Sally pulled in a long breath. “Now that would’ve made a good reality TV show.”
He nodded as though he had been listening.
She offered a small, tight smile. “Good to see you again. Summer must bring in a lot of cases, huh?”
“The usual.” He paused. “Sorry I didn’t call.”
With a nod, she turned her attention to washing.
After a few moments of awkward silence, filled with the pinging of video games and murmured conversations, she straightened and said, “That was a dumb stunt I pulled.”
“No, Sally—”
“Yeah, it was. I mean, how juvenile can a lady get to write her phone number inside a matchbook and hand it to a guy, claiming he dropped it. I mean, a bartender pulling that old trick.”
When she had passed him that matchbook, he had been busy texting a client, had paid little attention. Hadn’t known the phone number was inside until days later, when he’d pulled the matchbook from his pocket. After running a reverse on the number and learning it was Sally’s, he’d been surprised. Both at her feelings about him, and that he hadn’t read the signals.
He blamed his surprise on being preoccupied with other issues. Had a lot of those weighing on his mind these days.
“No need to apologize. I was actually flattered.”
One pencil-thin eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”
“Really. It’s just...I’m not...”
“S’okay. No explanation necessary.” She tugged the towel off her shoulder and began rubbing the same glass she’d just finished drying. Realizing it, she stopped and smiled a little sheepishly. “Gee, hard to guess I’m nervous.”
“Glass still had a spot on it.”
She smiled, a real one this time. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
She placed the glass in the overhead rack. “How’s that brother of yours?”
“Wish I knew.” He took another swig.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He gets a lot of business at Topaz. Nights when I close, that lot over there is packed. Limos lined up with tourists from all over the Strip. Guess that’s why you’re here tonight. Looking for him.”
He nodded.
That’s how they’d met eight months ago, when he’d wandered into Dino’s one night for a beer. He’d learned she had recently been laid off from her floor supervisor job at the Riviera Casino, none too thrilled with her new job slinging drinks.
Because
