Read Online Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge by Paul Krueger - Free Book Online Page A

begin my training? Do you start with, like, types of drinks or do you just try to figure out a personalcombat style or—”
    “Whoa, there,” said Bucket, who, being closest, was the one she’d chosen to barrage with questions. “First of all, Zane’s your boss, not me. Secondly of all, Zane, who is your boss, is—”
    Bailey followed Bucket’s gaze to Zane, who was speaking animatedly and frowning.
    “—busy. But I’m sure he’ll have an elaborate training regimen already planned. You know Zane.”
    “Yeah,” Bailey said softly, her excitement fizzling as she watched Zane slowly shrink back and fold his arms. Whatever conversation he was having didn’t seem particularly warm and fuzzy.
    “It’s fine,” Bucket said cheerfully. “I mean, probably. Garrett runs a tight ship, you know?”
    “Old guard,” Mona said from Bucket’s right. She lit a cigarette. “They don’t like being told no.”
    Bailey frowned; she was hardly old, but
no
wasn’t exactly her favorite word either.
    “It’s probably because Halloween’s coming up.” Bucket said.
    “And Garrett won’t let Zane trick or treat?” Bailey said. Bucket laughed.
    Mona didn’t follow suit. “All Soul’s Night is one of the worst of the year for tremens activity,” she said, exhaling smoke. “It’s not just a holiday for children.”
    “Children, or ladies dressed as sexy robots or sexy vampires or sexy Statues of Liberty,” Bucket said and then frowned. “Anyway, yeah. Costumed revelers drinking, plus extra creepy-crawlies out and about”—he pronounced it
aboat
—“means that we bartenders have extra monster mashing to do. Gotta plan our—”
    “Hey,” Zane said, pushing past them toward the front doors. “Sorry. Let’s get a table.”
    “Table?” Bailey said. “Don’t we have to train in a, you know, bar?”
    “We’re not training you today.”
    “Why not? I thought the best way to hit the ground was running.” A little jig of excitement coursed through her. She was doing something, finally.
    “Have you ever actually tried hitting the ground running?” said Bucket. “Great way to break your ankle. And down here I don’t have access to my sweet-ass health care.”
    Bailey frowned. “ ‘Down here?’ ”
    Zane sighed. Bucket grinned.
    “All right, let’s just get it over with,” Zane said. “As Bucket loves to remind us, he’s—”
    “I am a proud son of the great nation of Canada!” Bucket trumpeted, pointing a proud finger in the air. Bailey got the impression this was something he did rather often.
    Zane hung his head. Mona looked unimpressed.
    “Ensurer of health care!” Bucket continued. “Guardian of the Great White North!”
    “Bagger of milk,” Zane said, a smile returning at last.
    Bucket lost a little of his composure. “Okay, why do Yanks get so caught up on this bagged milk thing?”
    “In a weird country full of weird things,” said Zane, “it’s the weirdest thing.”
    “
Tch
,” said Bucket. “It’s no different from bagged water.”
    Bailey blinked. “There’s bagged water?”
    “There’s nothing the Canadians won’t bag,” said Zane, “which we can discuss more inside.”
    Despite its Roman-inspired name, the decor of Nero’s Griddle was all American. The seats were squashy booths. The floor was a giant chessboard of vinyl tiles, and neon signs hanging in the windows advertised TAS-TEE DO-NUTS . The only thing that stuck out was the jukebox: instead of playing pleasant, harmonic rock ’n’ roll from the mid-twentieth century, it pumped angry gravel-voiced deathmetal into the air like smog.
    “What’s the deal?” Bailey said, pointing to the jukebox as she sat down.
    “Nero’s daughter runs the place now,” Zane said. He took a seat next to Mona, leaving Bailey to sit with Bucket.
    Bailey grimaced. “And she thinks that music is adding to the ambience?”
    Mona looked up, as if she could see clouds of jagged notes floating around her head. “Ironic