Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I look around frantically and watch another waitress. She takes the drinks from the tray one at a time, announcing them and handing them to the people who claims them.
I copy her actions, and I soon have all of the drinks off the tray and on the table. Breathing a sigh of relief, I thank the man as he pushes a ten dollar tip into my hand. I put the money in the tight little pocket in the ass of my skirt and go back for the next tray of drinks.
The next few hours go reasonably smoothly. Granted I make a few mistakes (as) I run left, right and center, but I don’t drop any trays, and most important of all, I manage to resist the urge to tell any of the customers to fuck off, even when they make comments about my body that men their age really should know better than to say to a girl.
Larry keeps popping out of his door to see if everything is running smoothly. A couple of times he catches my eye and nods approvingly.
Finally, the place starts to quiet down as the night wears on. Eventually, I’m the only waitress still working. The other bartenders also have finished their shifts and Grey is the only one behind the bar.
I know it’s too late to have any chance of finding somewhere to stay tonight now. With the money I’ve made from tips I could probably get a room in a half decent bed and breakfast place now, but I know I need to save the money for a down payment somewhere more permanent. I decide to hang around here as late as I can and then I’ll either sleep in that small, locked room or I’ll spend the rest of the night walking the streets. Tomorrow, I’ll try to find somewhere to stay.
My thoughts are interrupted when the entrance door opens and a group of three men enter. They’re all wearing black suits. Two of them hang back slightly from the middle one, letting him lead the way. He is short, but broad with black hair and eyes that are strangely vacant and dead. There is something dangerous and cold about him. One of my tables is waving at me, but I’m so transfixed by this trio I pretend not to notice. Even I can tell these men are not here for a drink.
They give off bad vibes and make me strangely nervous.
These men mean business.
At that moment Larry suddenly appears at the door behind the bar, his face is drained of color, and his eyes dart towards the three men making their way towards the bar. He must have seen them on the surveillance screens on his office wall and rushed out.
“Mr. Sorokin,” I hear him say as he flashes the main guy a smile, but his smile looks sick, and I can see the beads of sweat that have formed on his upper lip. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“Why not? Your payment is late,” Mr. Sorokin explains in a thickly accented, but polite voice.
Greg passes me my drinks tray and, although common sense tells me to move away from the bar area, I can’t help being fascinated as to what’s happening here.
Larry licks his lips. “Um… why don’t you come around to the office? We can talk there.”
“Or we can talk here,” Mr. Sorokin says softly.
“Okay, sure,” Larry says, his palms in a downward placating gesture. “We can talk here. I know the payment is late, and I’m really, really sorry, but you know, sales aren’t what they used to be. Covid, you know? I’ve had to spend a lot to accomodate the new governmental regulations. I’ve even had to give up some of my tables to social distancing rules. But don’t worry, it’s just temporary. I’ll get the money to you as soon as I can, I swear.”
Mr. Sorokin doesn’t say a word. Just looks at Larry with those cold, dead eyes.
Larry tugs desperately at his collar… like it’s choking him. “It’s just temporary,” he gasps nervously.
Then Mr. Sorokin curls his forefinger towards Larry in a beckoning gesture. Larry’s head is shaking as he reluctantly steps forward. It’s like a particularly bad B movie has become real. Lightning fast, Mr. Sorokin grabs the front of Larry’s shirt and pulls him towards him, dragging him halfway over the bar and pressing his deadly calm face close to poor Larry’s sweating, white one.
Jesus! That sure escalated quickly.
I look around me and it seems as if everyone else is too drunk to care or even notice. I try to catch Greg’s eye, but he studiously ignores me. I know I should take my tray of drinks and move on, but I simply can’t drag my attention away from the scene playing out next to me.