Page 121 of Crow
“Nope.” He tipped his head toward the college boys at two of the pool tables. “They tipping you good?”
“Not bad.”
“Let me know if any of them stiffs you or starts shit up with you, okay?”
A smile spread across her lips. “Okay. You and Muerto are always looking out for the other girls and me. I want you to know we appreciate it.”
He gave her a chin lift, then scanned the computer screen and started to fill drink orders.
“Sorry, I’m late. Raven had a showing at a gallery in Durango. The traffic was a bitch,” Muerto said as he stepped behind the bar.
“No worries. How was the show?” Crow asked while placing beer bottles and shots on Brandy’s tray.
“Great. She sold three pieces, and some lady commissioned a painting from her. Raven’s stoked as fuck.”
“I bet she is.”
“Tell her I said congratulations.” Brandy picked up the full tray, balanced it in one hand, then marched across the floor.
“Do you want a break? Zach just got here.”
Crow finished drying the last glass and straightened his back. “Yeah, I’ll be out back smoking a joint if you need me.”
Even though it was the end of May, there was a nip in the air. Crow leaned back against the brick wall, lit up a spliff, and inhaled deeply. As was his habit, he scanned the area for Jim; it’d been over a week since he’d last seen him.
Then, in the quiet of the evening, he heard a whimper coming from one of the doorways across the alley. Tossing the joint on the ground, he slowly walked toward the sound and saw a bundle of rags moving in a building’s archway. With senses on high alert, Crow approached and noticed a leg, white as alabaster, sticking out from underneath the tattered clothes.
“Jim?”
The person immediately broke into a coughing fit.
“Hey, buddy,” Crow said, crouching down. “You need to sit up.”
Two bleary blue eyes on a dirt-streaked face stared at him. The man struggled to push himself up from the ground, and Crow quickly helped him. The stench of cheap whiskey from the man’s breath washed over him, and he took a step backward.
“Are you Jim’s friend?” the man asked as he scratched a scab on his left cheek.
“Yeah. Have you seen him?”
“No, not in a while. Jim said you help him out sometimes.”
“I do. You look like you need something to eat.”
“And to drink.”
“Lemme get you something to eat.”
“And drink.”
Crow smiled. “I’ll get you a sandwich at the market. Are you good with roast beef or ham?”
“Yeah, and do they have beer?”
“I’ll see. I’ll be back soon.”
Crow hurried away, but by the time he returned, the man was gone, leaving only an empty bottle of Highlands Whiskey Red. He picked it up and tossed it into a nearby dumpster, then walked back into the pool hall.
“Here’s a roast beef sandwich,” he said, throwing the paper bag at Zach.
