Page 65 of Badd Love
He returned a few minutes later, stripping off rubber gloves. "Clean and empty."
"Thanks. I just…" I scanned the bar again, uneasiness making me queasy. "Make sure the cooks don't leave the back door open tonight. I have a funny feeling."
"Maybe you just have to fart," he suggested, grinning.
I snorted. "'If it was me, Donkey, you'd be dead."
"Shrek! I love that movie!" He trotted for the kitchen, quoting the scene where Donkey talks about everybody liking parfaits.
Still, the feeling persisted, and I was getting freaked out by it. I'd experienced enough bullshit in my life to know better than to doubt this feeling. I tried telling myself I was safe in the bar, but with the recent spate of nightmares, panic attacks, and flashbacks, it was a hard sell to my poor, battered psyche.
Iris, Ash, Lola, Bettina, and CallyAnne finished their side-work, tipped out Connor, and left. Sharon was gone, dropping off the night deposit on her way home; most of the cooks were gone, too, as was Al, the dishwasher, leaving Saleh, Connor, and me to finish closing up.
I checked my phone—1:55 am. Saleh was a stickler for the rules, and never shut the doors before two, and if someone were to come in right now and want a drink, we'd serve him. He'd just have to chug it before the clock hit two.
I just had to kill the last five minutes.
I did so at the bar, watching talking heads debate some sportsball thing or other.
"'Scuse me. I know you're about to close. Any chance I can get a quick shot?"
That voice.
My entire body clenched instantly. Bile hit my teeth. My lungs seized.
No.
No.
No.
It washim.
Danny Cohen.
There was no question—I didn't need see his face to know. I knew that voice; I heard it in my nightmares.
Alicia, the bartender, met my eyes, questioning me silently. I couldn't respond, couldn't blink, couldn't breathe.
"Hey, sweetheart—" Boston accent: 'ey, sweeth-AHHH-t."I'm talkin' to you."T-AHHHH-kin' to ya.
Yeah, he hasn't changed.
I was frozen in terror, horror, and an incandescent rage so potent I was almost more scared of that and what I'd do because of it than I was of Danny.
“We're closed, sir," Alicia said, recognizing my paralysis and moving toward Danny. "Sorry. Come back tomorrow, and we'll give you a free draft on the house."
It's a strange feeling, being frozen in terror yet so full of rage that I could explode all at the same time. I felt him move, scented him: a douche-bro amount of Axe body spray layered over the stale, ashy stench of cigarettes and the skunky aroma of cannabis.
"What'sa matter, sweetheart. Cat got your tongue?"Whassa mattah.
He was too close. Way, way, way too close. My hands closed around a silverware roll from the stack in front of me and tightened.
"Hey, man," Alicia said loudly, knowing Saleh had excellent hearing and left the office door open so he could hear what was happening out here. "I said we're closed. Time to go, okay?"
He ignored her. Sidled closer to me. Did he recognize me? I can't imagine he could; it's been a long time, after all.
"Got a nice ass on ya, don't ya, sweetheart? How's about you let me get a little bit o' that cake, huh, baby?” His tone was wheedling, sickening.
