Bar 49

by T. A. Hardenbrook

  “I fucking hate you sometimes, Greyson.” A huff comes out of those irritated lips, and then the line goes dead. There is no reason to worry about the shops remodel; things are completely under control.

  Sliding into a tight parking spot outside the front of the shop, my mouth drops open in disbelief. Okay, so maybe Cameron was right. The large plate glass front window is shattered into a million pieces decorating the sidewalk in front of the building. Two officers have already blocked off the walkway with the yellow caution tape, causing my stomach to drop right out the seat of my pants. Seconds later two medical personnel roll a gurney with a large sealed black bag out the propped open door. Slamming the truck door closed, I instantly know it isn’t going to be a simple alarm system fix this morning.

  “Greyson,” Officer Bacca says solemnly, lifting the yellow caution tape up for me to climb under.

  “Bacca,” I nod, glancing around at the destruction all around me. Glass littered the pavement along with the inside of the shop. The front door is missing the bottom portion of glass, and the inside of the building does ‘t look like it faired much better. Not to mention, the cops dragging what appears to be a body out of the place.

  “We’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour, finally got hold of Cameron.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I had to switch my number a couple months back due to a stalker.” Rubbing my hands through my hair, I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a couple seconds. Things like this don’t happen to me. My store gets vandalized by punk kids, I get stalkers after taking women out, hell I get a little too drunk some nights and forget where I wake up. But, pulling bodies out of the place I have worked so hard to build up these last few years is not a normal thing. Exhaling, I shake my head at the destruction. “What happened?”

  “As of right now, we don’t have much to go on. What we have pieced together is a little after seven this morning, the bottom glass panel on the door was smashed out, and we believe several people entered the facility.”

  “And one didn’t leave,” I mumble, glancing over at the waiting ambulance while they load the body into the back.

  “I think there was a struggle inside, and what we are piecing together is that one of them ended up going through the front window.” Officer Bacca motioned at the large blood stain mixed amongst the shattered window glass.

  “How in the hell did the alarm not go off? Or where in the hell are the neighbors when this was happening?” My feet immediately start to pace as I clasp my hands behind the back of my head. I have no clue what to even do in this situation. We had a dead body at the shop, a missing front window, and contractors that should be showing up any minute now, to a crime scene. Somehow my easy couple of errands before clocking on at the bar is now completely shot.

  “The alarm was turned off inside the store.”

  “So you’re telling me that someone busted out the front door panel, climbed through the jagged glass shit, turned the alarm system off, and then went through the front window?” There are a whopping three people who know the code to the shop. Cameron, Ayden, and myself are the only ones who can punch that four digit code into that stupid box, and I know Cameron is drunk on a beach somewhere. “Do you have an ID on the body yet?”

  “There was nothing on him when they picked him up, so it’s going to take us a little while for a positive identification.”

  “Just wanting to make sure it isn’t one of my employees,” I mutter, still in absolute shock at the unfolding events. I’ve known Ayden since high school, and can’t see him doing something this stupid. Then again, Officer Bacca said the alarm was turned off from inside the building.

  “I can tell you the deceased is young.”

  Relief washes over me as I stop to glance at the inside of the shop. The little remaining furniture has been ripped to shreds, with stuffing scattered amongst the glass. Things like this don’t happen. I can fix broken windows, paint over their wretched drawings, and replace stupid fucking sofas, but I can’t fix someone going through the front window and dying.

  “Um…………………Greyson?” A voice from the other side of the tape emerges.

  Taking a deep breath, my lips purse as I turn to face the contractors. Explaining this situation isn’t going to be easy. Why in the hell did Cameron decide to take a vacation now?

  “Hey Seth.” Forcing an awkward smile on my face, I duck under the caution tape and extend my hand outward to him. I watch as Seth glances around the scene and hesitates before grasping my hand in return. “So, we have a slight problem with the project.”

  “I can see that.” Seth scratches the top of his head, and then places his hands on either side of his hips.

  “So, sometime early this morning, the shop was vandalized, and unfortunately someone lost their life in the process.” I motion with my chin to the mess of the sidewalk.

  “Wow. I don’t know what to really say?”

  “Well, I’m guessing this is going to extend the project a little.” I chuckle uncomfortably. The shop is now a crime scene, and who knows when they would let us back into it. It totally blows that someone died out front here, but this is going to cost me a fortune.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Greyson.” Seth shakes his head in dismay. I doubt this man has a clue on what to do now either.

  “How about I give you a call in a couple days, and we can go from there.” Shrugging my shoulders, I pull my phone out of my pocket to call Mark at the bar. There is no way I’m going to be able to clock on this afternoon for my shift. Fuck, I don’t even have a clue what my next move for the day is now either.

  “That works,” Seth replies without hesitation. “I’ll just place the work order on hold for a moment, and you can let me know when we can pick things back up.”

  “Thanks, Seth. I’m really sorry to be doing this to you right now.”

  “Completely understandable, and unfortunately out of your control right now. Just give me a jingle when you know something.” Seth tosses out a half wave and quickly turns back to his truck parked across the street a ways.

  “Do you need anything of me right now, Officer Bacca?”

  “No, Greyson. The crime scene analysts will be here for the next couple hours. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you.”

  Nodding my head, I head back for the truck while punching in the number for the bar. Of all things to fucking happen when Cameron leaves town, this was the very last I have ever expected to happen. My biggest worry was that she told the contractors to paint the waiting area pink and purple, not having someone dead on the sidewalk.

  “Bar 49, this is Jessica.”

  “Hey Jess, it’s Greyson. Is Mark available?” I ramble into the phone. Leaning up against the door of the truck, the back of my head touches the window. I guess I can technically work, since I’m not immediately needed. But, I’m taking this as a sign to take the rest of the afternoon off.

  “One second, Greyson. I think he is back in the stock room.”

  “Thanks.” Jessica places me on hold, as I continue to tap my head into the thick glass window.

  “Hey, Greyson,” Mark’s voice comes over the line.

  “So, I’m not coming in this afternoon, Mark.”

  “I need you, Greyson. We haven’t hired anther bar tender yet, and I’m already running short staffed.”

  “Mark, it’s just not going to happen.” I pause, letting out a massive sigh. “The store was broken into last night, and regrettably someone died.”

  “What do you mean, Greyson?” Marks voice is laced with tension.

  “Yeah, well I don’t know too much at the moment. But, someone broke in, then ended up going throw the front window and died out on the sidewalk.”

  “It’s not someone we know, right?”

  “Well, it’s not Cameron or Ayden. Other than that, I have no clue. The coroner had already picked up the body by the time I got there.”

  “Shit, Greyson. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?” Mark�
��s tension immediately turns into sadness, as I sit wordless on the other end of the line.

  “Um…...well……I just can’t come in. I’m sorry to do that to you so last moment, but, yeah.” Grabbing the door handle, I yank it open and climb into the truck. The light outside catches the glass shards on the concrete and sends a blinding ray directly through the window. Closing my eyes quickly, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel.

  “I’ll figure it out, Greyson. I’m serious about helping with anything you need, Son. Call me tomorrow and we can talk about the rest of the week’s schedule.”

  “Thanks,” my voice hiccups, instantly seizing everything left inside my distraught body.

  “Call me, Greyson,” Mark’s voice utters once again before I end the call. The feeling of dread consumes my body while watching the police scatter around the shop. Turning the key on the ignition, I toss the truck into reverse and steer in the direction of the beach. The only thing that could calm my nerves right now is a cold beer and the waves crashing up on the beach. Sadly, I doubt even that will be able to take the edge off of something like this happening.

  Chapter 13

  Charlie

  This town is starting to grow on me. The small little shops lining either side of Main street, the older crowd that frequents their normal lunch venues every day, the sense of peace when all the college students are either too hung over to get out of bed or the rare occurrence they actually attend their scheduled classes. This is a totally different lifestyle then what I’m used to, but I’m finally starting to relax a little and accept what this new life can offer. Once again, nothing will ever erase the pain of losing my mother, and no matter how much I sulk she isn’t coming back. But coming here gives me new perspective on life, a change for the better.

  “Hey, Uncle Mark?” I call out, bracing myself in the doorway. Uncle Mark holds up a finger as I notice him looking a little distressed on the phone.

  “I’ll figure it out, Greyson. I’m serious about helping with anything you need, Son. Call me tomorrow and we can talk about the rest of the week’s schedule.” The frown on his face deepens as my insides start to tighten. Greyson just left the bar a little while ago. What happened between then and now that has my uncle looking so worried?

  “Call me, Greyson.” Uncle Mark sets the phone back down on the cradle and rubs his face vigorously with his hands. “Shit,” he grumbles, leaning all the way back in his desk chair.

  “Everything okay?” I ask meekly, knowing the answer to my question obviously wasn’t going to be good.

  “There was an accident at Greyson’s shop.”

  “Greyson’s shop?”

  “His tattoo parlor. Someone broke in early this morning then apparently never left.” Uncle Mark yanks the phone up to his ear and starts pounding his fingers on the dial pad.

  “He owns a tattoo shop?” I mutter as confusion wanders through my brain. I know he has another job outside of the bar, since Uncle Mark says he only helps out here when needed. But, I figured it was maybe a restaurant server, maybe another bartending gig. I guess I really never gave it much thought when he left this place. If we are going to attempt this friendship thing, I really needed to start being a better friend and actually getting to know the man.

  “Chase? I know this is totally last minute and all, but is there any chance you can come in and work a shift this afternoon?”

  I feel really uncomfortable lurking in the doorway, but I don’t think leaving and ducking out after Uncle Mark divulged information like that to me only seconds earlier would be a good idea either.

  “Thanks, Chase. I completely owe you oneA.” Uncle Mark’s frown lessens while hanging the phone up again.

  “So, you’re saying someone died in his shop?”

  “I guess so,” Uncle Mark shrugs. He shuffles some paperwork around his desk quickly and then jumps to his feet. “I need to go check the delivery scheduled for this afternoon.” He offers me a tight smile, then steps around my position in the doorway.

  “Okay,” I mutter, unsure of what I should say next. When tough times happen, either I fumble my words and make the situation worse than it started, or I run. Since there are no words to be said with my uncle disappearing down the hallway, my next option is run. Grabbing my keys from my pocket, I jog out to my car. I had already ran this morning, but since everything seems to be going down the rabbit hole, I might as well let my mind run free and my legs burn once again. Nothing I can say or do will help the situation, so I might as well get away from it all.

  Switching up my routine, I decide to run down the sidewalks next to the beach. My knees are already a little sore from pounding myself into the sand this morning, and staying up on the sidewalk might be a welcomed change. I can still see the waves come up along the sand, and since school has yet to let out the sidewalks are relatively empty. The few people wandering about are easy to move around, leaving me virtually the whole thing to myself. Just me, my Nikes, the warmth of the afternoon sun, and a little Katy Perry blaring through my headphones.

  The first three miles or so are easy; keeping a steady pace while the blood pumped through my veins. Running has that amazing calming effect. The moment my feet start to take off, all worries seem to disappear. It isn’t until mile four that I start to get winded. Slowly my pace started to drop, and my feet feel heavier to pick up off the pavement. Finally I come to a halt, resting my hands on my worn knees in a desperate attempt to catch my breath. Apparently running this morning, and then pushing it this afternoon is more than my body can handle. Somehow I manage to climb down the small grass embankment and stumble upon the beach; flopping my tired ass down and closing my eyes to the blaring sunshine.

  “How can you possibly be sleeping in the sand?” a familiar voice booms overtop of me.

  Shielding my eyes from the sun, I pry them open and stare directly into Greyson’s worn down face. He looks like absolute crap. The morning’s activities surly have taken their toll on him today, and everything from his appearance and posture screams he is on the verge of a breaking point.

  “I didn’t realize I fell asleep,” I mutter. Brushing the sand off of my forearms, I shake my hair back and forth quickly to discard of the remaining sand. Greyson offers his hand out to mine, and without giving it too much thought I reach out and take it.

  “So, how are you doing?” Instantly my insides cringe at the stupid comment coming out of my mouth. How in the hell do I think he is doing? The man just had someone die in his shop; I doubt it was a very rocking day for him.

  “Eh, been better,” he replies, focusing his direction back out into the water.

  Every single time I have been around this man he has this ‘I’m walking on sunshine’ kind of attitude. There is no wrong side to his bed, and no one ever dared to piss in his Wheaties. Now, seeing him stand next to me, shoulders slumped, eyes glazed over, and a vibe that makes anyone shudder with despair, sheds a whole new light on his personality. Of course he wouldn’t be the normal Greyson I’ve gotten to know the last couple of days. But, I didn’t expect this. This Greyson reminds me of myself. Lost and broken.

  “Yeah, someone dying is never a good thing. Actually, it really sucks. Kind of like a big black hole that rapes your insides and doesn’t let the hold it has upon you shift for even the slightest chance of gaining your footing once again,” I ramble. Instantly, my mouth snaps shut as my eyes grow huge. Seriously, situations like this I can’t deal with.

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Greyson’s gaze is still fixated on the calm ocean waves. Everything about this man makes me want to wrap my arms up around his waist and squeeze till he smiles. I normally hate physical contact. But, instances like this where he seems so broken and hurt, I will gladly take one for the team. Studies have shown that physical touch helps sooth the savaged soul, and after my mother’s funeral, everyone and their dog wanted to give me a hug. It never really affected me, but then again I’m pretty much broken to a point of no repair. Greyson still has a chance.<
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  “Want to get a coffee?” I ask meekly, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. Everyone always tried to meet me for coffee or feed me after my mother’s death, so naturally it is the first thing that pops up in this damaged head of mine.

  “I’m not really thirsty,” Greyson shrugs. Tossing me a halfhearted smile, he shoves his hands into the front of his pants and lets out a soft sigh.

  “You might not be, but I am. And, since I don’t have my wallet on me, you get to buy. Let’s go, Greyson.” I force the courage I have seemed to muster up and hook my arm through his, tugging his large body up to the concrete stairs.

  “Isn’t that convenient.”

  “Well, you are always trying to feed me.” I laugh. Normally, our rolls in this situation are switched, and Greyson is the one trying to get me to spend time with him. Maybe there is hope for me after all. “Well, I’m thirsty, and now probably hungry. I’m thinking waffles.”

  “Taking advantage of a guy when he is feeling down I see.” Greyson laughs lightly.

  “Maybe. But in all seriousness, I’m really getting hungry. Does anyone serve breakfast all day around here?”

  “I can’t believe you have a waffle maker.” Sitting on the bar stool in Greyson’s kitchen, I smile as he shrugs his shoulders while pouring batter into the appliance. Just like the living room, his kitchen carries the dark artist kind of theme. The walls are a deep blood red with a grey shimmering back splash over the black granite counters. Stainless-steel appliances are conveniently placed through the small square area, leaving it with a larger open feeling. “Not to mention, you keep this place ridiculously clean. Are you sure you aren’t some secret serial killer that leaves no trace of evidence?”

  “Nope, just like a clean house. And, I have someone that comes and does the dirty work once a week.” Greyson walks over to a cupboard and pulls two tall glasses out. Setting them on the counter, he then opens the fridge. “Milk or orange juice?”