Double Shots, Donuts, and Dead Dudes

by Harper Lin

  “What about what?” Dave was either oblivious or deliberately acting that way. I wasn’t sure which.

  “That guy. Talking to Don!” I knew it was a long shot, but I was hoping Dave would have some insight.

  Dave looked over again, of course, even though the man was gone. He shrugged. “I told you Don’s here pretty much all the time. Probably just a guy he knows wanted to say hello.”

  It wasn’t the answer I was looking or hoping for, but I finally let Dave go to make me some kind of drink that, hopefully, didn’t have alcohol in it. I wasn’t too confident that he’d remember that part of it after I’d spent so much time asking him questions about Don. He seemed like the type that was easily distracted. So I watched him as he made the drink and was relieved to see he didn’t reach for any of the liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar.

  He brought my drink back and watched for my reaction as I sipped it.

  “Are you sure this doesn’t have alcohol in it?”

  “Not a drop.”

  I sipped it again. “Are you sure?”

  Dave nodded and launched into a detailed explanation of the fruit juices he’d put in it to give the familiar bite of a cocktail. “It’s a little trick I keep up my sleeve for when I need to cut someone off. Or when someone wants to look like they’re drinking without actually drinking. That way if their friends try it, they won’t be suspicious.”

  I nodded, suitably impressed. I could think of a few situations where that would come in handy. Like my current one. “What do you call it?”

  Dave blinked at me then made a move that looked like some sort of twitchy combination of a shrug and a head shake. “Just a virgin cocktail.”

  It seemed like a real missed opportunity, but I wasn’t there to market his drink-making skills for him. “Well, it’s really good in any case.”

  “Thanks!” He was about to walk away again when I stopped him.

  “One more thing.”

  I leaned toward him, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t, so I waved him toward me. That at least made him take half a step closer. It was as good as I was going to get.

  “If a girl wanted to make a bet on a basketball game, where should that girl go?”

  His body became curiously still, and his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. For a few seconds, he was silent. Long enough that I thought maybe he hadn’t actually heard me. But before I could repeat myself, he leaned in, close enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard anymore. “That girl should go to a sportsbook in a place where gambling on sports is legal. Someplace like Vegas.” He eyed me for another second. “But I’d tell anyone thinking about that to be careful. Gambling like that can be dangerous, especially if you try to take it back home with you.”

  Dave apparently wasn’t actually as dumb as he let on. At least not when it came to gambling. Which actually served to make me even more suspicious. He knew something. But as he walked away, I doubted I was ever going to get it out of him.

  I looked at the clock on my phone. It was getting late. The bar was starting to get busier, and Matt’s dinner would probably be breaking up soon.

  I finished my drink, paid my tab—Dave charged for his virgin cocktail like it was a real drink too—and realized I should make a stop at the bathroom before I left. I turned and headed that way. Just before I got to the little hallway, I hesitated. Dark hallways in bars—including ones that led to restrooms—weren’t exactly places I liked to venture alone, just out of a normal sense of self-preservation. And I only remembered seeing men go down that hallway in the time I’d been sitting at the bar. There were just as many women in the bar as men, but the men seemed to use the restroom disproportionately. And, I realized, they stayed down there awhile. A lot longer than it took to just use the restroom. And I’d seen a lot of them stop by Don’s table sometime before they went down there.

  I stepped into the hallway. Ladies’ room first, on my right. The men’s room just past it. And straight down the hall, a door marked Private.

  The Private door opened, and a man walked out. He glanced at me, looking guilty, shut the door, and hurried down the hallway out into the bar. But before the door closed, I caught sight of another hallway just beyond it. And suddenly, I knew I had my lead.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I popped into the ladies’ room first because, well, it had to be taken care of. On my way back out, I opened the door slowly, peering out into the hallway. A man walked into the hallway. I let the door close to just a crack so he didn’t see me. He paused at the men’s room door, glanced around him, then walked past it. He looked around one more time before going through the door marked Private.

  I waited until the door closed behind him then stepped out of the ladies’ room. I glanced around then, satisfied no one was coming, went down the hallway. Outside the Private door, I stopped to listen. It was quiet. As quietly as I could, I turned the door’s handle. I peeked in. The hallway on the other side of the door was empty. I looked behind me one more time then slipped through the door, easing it back closed.

  The hallway was dark, the only light coming from underneath the door at the other end. I crept toward that door, shuffling my feet since I couldn’t see the floor in front of me. I ran my hand along the wall, too, because it seemed like the thing to do. Halfway down, I felt a doorframe and made a mental note of it, just in case. I kept going until I got to the end. Voices came from the other side of the door. I got my ear as close as I could without actually pressing it against the door.

  “—Celtics by forty,” a man’s voice said.

  “By forty? You’re a brave man.” This voice had a strong Boston accent.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” The first voice didn’t sound as confident as his words made him out to be.

  “They ain’t been playing so good. You sure you wanna go so big?”

  “They’re turning around. I want Celtics by forty.”

  “You still owe him from last time,” the accent said. I realized he wasn’t the bookie but one of the bookie’s goons.

  “I know, but I got a good feeling about this one.”

  “You had a good feeling about the last one too.”

  “I know! I know. But this is different!”

  “And whaddaya gonna do if you’re wrong again?” the Bostonian goon asked.

  “I’ll pay up. I swear!”

  There was a pause before Boston Goon—as I’d already begun to think of him—spoke up again. His voice was more quiet this time, and I had to strain to hear it. “You got the money to pay, and you haven’t done it yet?” There was a menacing quality to his tone that sent a chill running down my back.

  “N—no, I—I don’t have it,” the first voice said.

  “But you just said you were gonna pay him back. How you gonna do that if you don’t have the money? Are you lying to me, Kevin?”

  “N—n—no,” Kevin stammered. “I—I mean I’ll—I’ll borrow it. F—from my friend.”

  “From your friend? What friend is this, Kevin? Is it Mark? Or Terry? Or Julio?”

  There was a long pause, and I thought I could hear Kevin’s heart pounding all the way from the other side of the door, but it was probably just mine. I wasn’t even party to this conversation, and it was making me anxious, although it could also have been the fear of getting caught eavesdropping.

  When Kevin’s voice came again, it was quieter. “How do you know my friends’ names?”

  “We know everything, Kevin. We know your friends. We know your family. We know your wife, Shauna. We know that girl you go see sometimes up in Provincetown too. Yeah, we know that. We know all about that. Shauna doesn’t though, does she? Be a real shame if she found out somehow.”

  “Don’t tell Shauna. Please, don’t tell Shauna! I’ll pay up! I swear! I’ll pay! I’ll get you the money! Just, please, please, don’t tell Shauna!”

  “I dunno—it seems like you have a real problem keeping your promises. We know that, but I think maybe Shauna should k
now too. I think—”

  “Enough.” It was a new voice. An authoritative voice. Lower and gruffer than either of the other two. It had to be the boss. “Take his bet.”

  “But Caleb—”

  Caleb? The boss’s name was Caleb? Not that I knew much about the illegal betting industry, but Caleb didn’t sound much like a scary bookie name to me.

  “But nothing,” the bookie—Caleb apparently, though I had trouble believing that was his name—said. “Take his bet.”

  There was some low grumbling and shuffling as, presumably, Boston Goon took Kevin’s bet.

  “Now get out,” Boston Goon said.

  I darted back down the hallway, feeling for the door I’d noticed on the way in. I grabbed the handle just as the door behind me opened. With no time to hesitate, I opened it and ducked inside, wedging myself between the door and… whatever was inside. I held perfectly still in the darkness of the closet, waiting to hear Kevin’s footsteps pass and the doors on either end of the hallway click closed. Instead, I heard Caleb the Bookie’s voice again.

  “Kevin. Make no mistake. After this, you will pay me.” He didn’t even need to add what would happen if Kevin didn’t pay. It was clear even to me that the consequences would be dire if he didn’t.

  “I will. I will.” Kevin’s voice was shaky. He also knew without being told that there would be consequences he didn’t want to suffer for not paying again.

  Kevin’s footsteps passed by outside the door, which I was pressed against in fear of going any farther into whatever room I was in. The door at one end of the hall closed then the other. I finally took a breath. I hadn’t been caught.

  It was completely black in there. I held my hand up in front of my face and couldn’t see it. I reached for the door handle to escape and froze. One of the doors had opened again. I listened, straining to figure out which one it was. After what seemed like an eternity, during which I wondered if I’d somehow been discovered, I heard footsteps approaching from my right. The direction of the bar. I was a little relieved, knowing that Caleb the Bookie and Boston Goon weren’t coming to get me.

  The footsteps proceeded down the hall then stopped. There was a knock.

  “Whaddaya want?” Boston Goon’s voice came loud and clear, even in my little hiding spot.

  “Uh, I, uh, I want to place a bet?” The male voice was uncertain but loud. Not a veteran, like Kevin.

  “We don’t take no bets here!”

  “Oh, um, uh—oh! Banana boat! The guy said to say banana boat!”

  Banana boat?

  The door opened. “Get in here, you moron, and stop yelling about making bets.”

  That’s when it clicked. Banana boat was the password. I had the password. I could get into the back room with Caleb the Bookie and Boston Goon if I wanted to. But I wasn’t sure that I wanted to.

  What I was sure I wanted to do was figure out what kind of a room I was in and if there was another way out that didn’t involve sneaking past potentially dangerous gambling kingpins and their flunkies.

  I ran my hands along the sides of the doorframe, looking for a light switch. I didn’t find one, so I turned around to feel for a pull cord. Something touched my hair. A bug! Or a bat! But how could a bat get in there? They were tiny and got into small spaces all the time, didn’t they? I swatted at whatever it was and realized with relief that it was just the pull string for the light. My hand closed around it, and I began to pull before I realized something. From the entrance to the hallway, I’d been able to see the light under the door from the room Caleb the Bookie and Boston Goon were in. If I turned the light on in here, anyone coming into the hallway from either end would be able to see it. And then they’d find me. So despite the fact that I couldn’t see a thing, I had to keep the light turned off.

  I slid my foot around, trying to determine how big the space was and what else was in it with me. I knew from my exploration for the light switch that it was a narrow room, maybe a closet, but I didn’t know how far back it went.

  My shin banged up against something, and I froze. Surely that was loud enough that it could be heard down the hall. But when there were no other sounds, I figured I was in the clear and bent down to see what I’d crashed into. A mop bucket. I waved my hands around some more, staying low, trying to see if there was anything else I could trip over. I felt some shelves to my right and then nothing. I worked my way carefully past the mop bucket and felt around further. Just some brooms and some more shelves. No door. No way out.

  I made my way back to the front of the closet. I was ready to go. I’d heard enough and seen enough to know that Eduardo had been right about the gambling ring and that it probably wasn’t a good idea to confront these men on my own.

  At the door, I realized there were voices coming down the hall. I stopped. No way was I risking coming out now. The voices weren’t loud, and I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but I thought I heard one of them say “Pablo.”

  I leaned forward. I braced my hands against the doorframe and pressed my ear to the door. At which point I found out I hadn’t latched it all the way. And that I wasn’t pushing hard enough against the doorframe to support myself.

  The door swung open, sending me flying out into the hallway. My attempts to catch myself only served to land me flat on my back. Where I stared straight up into the faces of two men I presumed to be Caleb the Bookie and Boston Goon.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I blinked up into the faces of the bookie and his goon as they stared incredulously down at me.

  “Can we help you?” Caleb the Bookie asked, his voice even more authoritative up close.

  I did the only thing I could think of—acted like I was drunk out of my mind. “Where’sa bathroom?” I slurred the words together. I flailed mock-helplessly on the floor until they each extended a hand to help me up. I pulled a little extra hard then stumbled around before leaning hard against the wall. “I thought that wasa bathroom, but iss not. Where’sa bathroom?”

  “Help her,” Caleb the Bookie said, gesturing at Boston Goon. “And tell Dave to call her a cab.”

  Boston Goon grabbed one of my arms—rather harshly—and slung it over his shoulders. He wrapped his arm around me and half-carried, half-dragged me toward the door that led to the bathroom. He somehow managed to open it without dropping me—I might have helped him a little there—then continued his carry-drag down toward the bathroom as I did my best to drag my feet, stumble, and throw my weight toward the walls as much as possible.

  “I’s just tryna finda bathroom,” I muttered to myself for his benefit.

  He finally got me to the ladies’ room and pushed the door open then started leading me inside.

  I felt a wave of panic. He didn’t plan to watch me, did he? There was no way I was going to let that happen. I clapped a hand to my mouth. “I think I’ma throw up!”

  Boston Goon let go of me like I was a hot poker, fresh out of the fire, and I threw myself into the closest stall, slamming the door behind me. Now I just had to figure out how to sound like I was throwing up. I made a gagging noise a couple of times before I heard the bathroom door close.

  Praying that he was gone, I peeked under the stall. No feet. I was in the clear.

  I waited a few minutes, flushed the toilet a couple of times for good measure, and washed my hands. At the bathroom door, I hesitated. What if Boston Goon was still out there?

  I relaxed my features into what I hoped was near drunkenness and tugged on the door. Nobody out there.

  Still being careful, I faux-stumbled my way out into the hall. Dave was standing at the bar, looking at me.

  “You okay there, Fran?” he shouted.

  “I’m fine.” I waved my hand weakly in front of my face. I was all too aware of the fact that Dave knew exactly what I’d had to drink and how much. He’d also spoken to me before I headed off on my fact-finding mission and knew I hadn’t been falling-down drunk then.

  Dave came around. “Are you sure? W
hat’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine!” I repeated the gesture, now trying to act drunk but not too drunk. I wanted to still be convincing if Boston Goon or Caleb the Bookie was nearby but not raise any red flags for Dave. I wasn’t sure how involved he might be in the whole gambling thing. If Dave’s loyalties lay with Caleb, I didn’t want him tipping the bookie off that maybe I wasn’t as drunk as I seemed.

  “I called Sammy to come get you. You shouldn’t be on your own like this.”

  “I told you—I’m fine.” I waved my hand again, for consistency’s sake.

  Dave shook his head. “If I’d known you were such a lightweight, I would have gone easier on those martinis.”

  I almost spoke up for myself, but my cover was more important. Besides, I wasn’t in college anymore. Using how much I could drink before getting falling-down drunk as something to brag about didn’t seem very mature.

  Dave guided me toward an empty stool at the bar but then veered off toward an empty booth. “Don’t want you falling down and cracking your head open.”

  Again, I wanted to protest but kept my mouth shut. I let myself be settled down in the booth and tried to look drunk. Dave brought over a glass of water and bowl of pretzels, presumably to absorb the alcohol. I muttered a thank you and ate them obediently.

  One advantage to playing drunk was that I could get away with staring as much as I wanted. And lucky for me, Don was right in my line of vision. So I watched him, with my best vacant expression on my face, and munched on my pretzels. I secretly hoped that Sammy would take a while to show up to get me, but at the same time, Cape Bay was tiny, and it was Sammy. If Dave called her to say that I was drunk in the bar and she needed to come get me, she’d drop everything in a heartbeat and be there as quick as she could. It didn’t matter what she was doing—she could be just finishing up a romantic dinner with her boyfriend, in the checkout lane at the grocery store, in the last five minutes of a movie where the twist comes right at the end—she’d stop what she was doing and come help me. It was just the kind of person she was.