by Gillian Zane
“I need to know what happened, Brandon,” I sighed.
“There’s a guy,” he said under his breath. “He’s an investigator, they call him a finder. We've used him before, on different cases. I know he’s some kind of supe, but I don’t know what kind exactly. Go through him, don’t do it yourself. And you can’t tell him what you are.”
“Soup?” I asked confused.
“Oh, uh, yeah, supe, short for supernatural. A non-human, you’re a supe now, by the way. They call us angels in the paranormal community, actually, even though we’re not angels. But I guess it’s the best description most can come up with. No one outside of Afterlife can know about the Corporation. You’ll get stripped of your position and thrown into Limbo if you tell anyone about it.”
“Supernatural? Angel?” I gaped at him.
“Yeah, the world gets a lot more complex after you kick the bucket,” he laughed.
“You only become a supernatural after you die?” I asked.
“No, actually. There are all kinds of things, basically anything you’ve heard about, it probably exists.”
“That’s so bizarre, an angel. Wow. I was just calling myself undead, in my head of course.” I laughed.
“No, we’re not undead, we're not even angels, the undead would be the vampires, or the occasional zombie…and real angels don’t bother with the living at all.”
“There are vampires and zombies? Those exist? This guy, this finder guy, he’s not a zombie, is he?” I asked a little too loudly and a man down at the end of the bar looked at us oddly.
“Yes, they do exist, but you’ll probably never know it if you meet one. And no, this guy, he’s not a zombie. Or at least I hope he’s not. The finder, I don’t know what he is, I just know he’s not human.” He quieted down when Bishop and an older man came out from the office at the back of the bar.
“So, who is this guy?” I said quickly.
“I’ll leave you his card in your apartment. Use discretion though. You can’t tell him who you are, your job, nothing, no matter how many questions he asks you. Come up with a good cover story.”
Bishop walked the owner over to us and made introductions.
“Cassidy Hail,” I said as the owner shook my hand.
“Marshall Crow.” He shook my hand weakly, his palms slightly moist and uncomfortable to hold. He was a short man, with an unfortunate thinning hair issue that he didn’t know how to manage. His eyes only strayed to my cleavage once, so I gave him credit for trying. Bishop didn’t even try to cover his obvious breast obsession.
“We’re in a bit of a bind, Cassidy, the girl I hired to work tonight’s shift called in sick on her first day of work, needless to say, she won’t be doing a second shift. You have any experience?”
“A few years. I’ve been working over at the Black Cat, up by the University, for the last year. But, I need something in the city.”
“We don’t do a lot of fancy mixes here, our signatures are premixed and in the jugs there,” he gestured to containers with bright blue liquid in them. “The girls come in and mostly order wine, and your occasional mixed drink. Ladies night on Wednesdays, Dollar Drafts on Fridays. The fanciest mixes are the shots, and if they come up with something off the wall and they can’t tell you what’s in it, then they don’t get it. You think you can handle that?”
“Yeah, sounds easy,” I bluffed.
“It’s forty a shift, and my bartenders usually don’t complain about tips. It’s a straight pool, our shifts usually line up so no math involved, fifty-fifty split. You’re hired. Can you start in an hour?”
“Uh, yeah sure,” I said. Easiest job interview, ever.
“Good, you can spend the hour filling out the employment forms, follow me,” he motioned.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” I said to Brandon.
“Sure, good luck,” he winked and sat down at the bar to finish his beer.
Chapter 8
Welcome to My World
Brandon had thought of everything and I wasn’t going to ask how all this was set up. I had a fake social security number, prior work history, address and everything all at a touch of a finger in my phone. All of it would check-out, or so he reassured me. I assumed it was more “if you will it, it will come” type of hoodoo nonsense.
Tiffany had mentioned that if it’s to do our job, we can make anything happen. Anything. But, only to complete the job. Nothing else. I hadn’t practiced a lot with what I could do, or what I couldn’t. And my own disinterest was rather out of character for me. If you would have given me magic in life, I would have been on a mission to learn the ins and outs of my power. Superhero Cassie in no time. But this, it just seemed, well, like a job, or a punishment. So, I wasn’t that excited about it. Not to mention the lingering unease about my life before this and the reason I only had impressions of how I used to be, but no real memories. I couldn’t even conjure up a face to go with the vague mirage that was my mother.
Should I be missing someone? Should I be missing my life?
“Amaretto sour,” a girl at the bar called and waved a twenty in my direction and I hurried over to fill her order. Her other friend pushed past her and ordered a White Zinfandel. They didn’t leave a tip. They immediately began talking about another girl across the bar. They made no move to hide their nasty comments. The girl they were ripping to shreds was talking to an older man in a suit and tie; they both looked like they had just gotten off work.
The negative energy around the girls buzzed and drew my attention.
This was where I got a bit freaked out about my job. I could feel their sins. It washed over me, drew my attention to them and demanded attention. My palms itched, my fingers jerked as if to force me into action.
The energy swirled around them, energy I was a part of, that called to me. It pooled near them, darkening everything they touched or came into contact with. The two girls sharpened while the air around them faded to black. Everything about them took over my senses, even their cheap perfume became overpowering. I could hear every word they said, even though the music was at a high volume and the bar was getting crowded.
“She’s such a skank. She’s only hitting on Bryan so she can get promoted. I’m posting this shit, her boyfriend follows me,” the girl laughed, it was a cruel titter. She pulled her phone out and pretended like she was taking a selfie.
I looked over at the girl they were talking about. There was nothing drawing my attention to her, she was doing nothing wrong. She was having a conversation with a co-worker. Her energy was placid, nothing negative about her. If she was cheating on her boyfriend, she would be just as dark as these girls.
It was time to test out my skills. I concentrated on the girl with her phone out. She held the phone up, putting her arm around her cohort as if they were posing for a picture, instead she was snapping pictures of the girl across the bar. A man passing jostled her and the phone flew from her grasp into the full drink she had just ordered on the table in front of her.
Boom. Karma delivered. I wondered if she had insurance on her phone. I concentrated on the phone, making it absorb every ounce of that wine. The phone was dead.
“Oh my God! Look what you did!” The girl turned around yelling at the man, who mumbled a quick apology and made a hasty retreat to the men’s bathroom.
“Look what he did!” She came back to the bar brandishing her wine glass with the phone still in it. “Give me another drink and y’all should totally pay for my new phone.” She cocked her head with that look, that aggressive look mean girls master so well. They must have a special training course to give that look. Try and defy me, it said.
I shook my head and pointed to a few signs that were nailed on the wall:
The Bar is Not Responsible For Lost or Stolen Personal Items, It’s Your Shit, Watch Over It.
Drink Responsibly, We Aren’t Your Babysitter
If you spill it, we won’t refill it. Unless you’re a chick and you spill it down your shirt and aren’t
wearing a bra.
I thought they were funny signs, Marshall had laughed over them when he said those were the bar rules. The girl obviously did not have a sense of humor.
“This place is a shit hole,” she cursed and yanked her phone out of her wine, shaking it off in my direction.
She walked off in a huff with her friend trailing behind her, the negative energy still buzzed around them and they were walking straight for the girl they were targeting. Typical shit rolling downhill. I concentrated again and the second girl’s heel broke. She fell into her friend, still wielding the wine that the phone had been in. They both tumbled to the ground, wine and phones and shoes went everywhere. The man in the suit and the girl next to him stared in horror at the hot mess that was now sprawled on the floor in front of them.
“Damn,” Bishop said, trying to hold back a laugh. “Talk about bad karma.”
“You’re not lying.” I covered my mouth to hold back the laugh.
“Wonder what they did to get that kind of repercussion?” He played along with his original assessment that was a little too close to home.
“They didn’t tip,” I said with a shrug.
“I guess they deserve what they got then.” He patted me on the shoulder and walked back to his side of the bar. I watched as the two girls shakily got to their feet. They weren’t hurt, just really embarrassed. It took them awhile to realize that the second girl’s skirt had ripped in the back and she was literally showing her ass to the entire bar. They started to scream like a pack of school kids and hurried out of the bar, the negative energy around them now dissipated. Karma delivered.
My first night as a bartender was going well. I hadn't even broken a sweat.
My confidence was sky high after that. I did that. I delivered a dose of reality to those girls and it wasn’t even a scheduled karma case. Impromptu karma was encouraged, unless it was another operative’s case and those you could tell by the color of their energy. The energy that surrounded the person gave back a portion of the operative’s energy too. Right now, Bishop’s negative energy had a dusty blue tint to it, if you looked closely. It was the color of my energy. An operative would know he had an active case on him. Those girls had been a freebie. And exactly what I had wanted to manifest had occurred. I was getting the hang of this karma thing.
After the incident, the bar filled up. The DJ started his shift and things began to get pumping. Bishop had given me the basics of where everything was kept, but it was still hard to get used to when you had ten people staring at you looking for their drinks. I hope he thought my routine stumbling was me getting used to a new layout and not gross inexperience. I didn't need him running to Marshall and getting me fired.
As I got into a routine, I realized that I knew what was in each drink that the patrons ordered. I didn’t have to stop them once and ask what was in a drink, the ingredients popped into my head. Once I knew where everything was kept, I got into a rhythm and found I was actually enjoying myself.
The guys at the bar flirted shamelessly, the DJ had great taste in music and I liked the fast paced intensity of the environment. What I didn’t like was the constant swirl of negative energy around Bishop. I knew he was up to no good the entire time he was behind the bar. It took me a few hours to discover what was causing his energy to darken as the night went on.
Bishop and I worked a large bar that took up the entire east wall of the building. He took the far end and I took the side closest to the front door, our paths only overlapping as we got to the center of the bar. In that center was a large bin, with a handwritten sign taped to the side of it that read TIPS. When you got a cash tip, you rang the bell and threw the cash into the bin. At the end of our shift we would split the tips in half. Bishop had cashed out the bin right before I got on shift, so anything from the moment I stepped behind that bar was ours to split.
Bishop didn’t seem to feel that way though. I watched as he faked throwing in his tip and tagged the bell, his other hand slipping into his pocket and depositing the cash. It was hard to notice, and I missed it at first, but I knew what to look for now. The cupped hand, the quick look back at me, a few seconds wait, then the hand slipping into his pocket.
He wasn’t just stealing from the bar, he was also stealing from his fellow bartenders. That was nasty. He probably didn’t agree with pooling tips, especially with a newbie like me who wasn’t going to hustle as much as him, or rack up as much in tips. Maybe that was how he justified his theft. Didn’t matter, it was still wrong. Once I noticed it, and caught on to how he did it, I thought I was catching it every time. But the buzzing awareness of more negative energy building up would hit me again and again. I assumed it was stealing, maybe he was doing it a different way. I couldn’t be certain though, all I knew was he was up to no good.
When he went on break, he disappeared in the back and I watched as a leggy blonde weaved tipsily after him. They both came out about ten minutes later with sly grins on their faces and mussed hair. Bishop’s aura was darker than ever.
This guy was a winner. With a capital WIN. His winner status was reinforced when his pregnant girlfriend picked him up at closing. It had been a long night, but we still had to restock, wipe down the bar and make sure the cleaning crew was let in.
His girlfriend came in through the back and waddled to the bar, motioning with a lazy hand wave for Bishop to get her a water. He grabbed a bottled water from the cooler and set it down in front her. She didn’t even play like she was going to pay for it.
“This is Angela, Angela, this is the new girl, Cassidy.” His girlfriend gave me a tight lipped smile. She looked me up and down, taking in my height and dress and her smile faded. She glanced at Bishop uncomfortably and tried to stifle a yawn.
“Hey,” she said bored.
“You need a ride, Cassidy?” Bishop surprised me with the offer and I tried to ignore his girlfriend’s scowl.
“Actually yeah.” Brandon had left me stranded here without a ride. I checked my phone, the closest access point wasn’t far. I could have walked it, but it was late. “It’s not far.”
“I want to get home, Bish, I’m tired,” Angela whined.
“I’m not letting the new girl walk home at this time of night. My mom taught me to be a gentleman.” He smiled at me and his girlfriend’s scowl deepened.
“Gentleman, sure, that’s it,” she scoffed.
“Enough, Angela,” he silenced her with a glare and she pursed her lips and breathed out a slow breath. Normally this would be the time I would back down, I could take a hint. But, I needed to get close to Bishop. I wasn’t going to back down.
“Thanks, Bishop,” I said with a grateful smile, pretending like I was clueless about his girlfriend’s attitude.
Bishop locked up the bar and I followed the couple to a well-worn SUV parked at the curb. Bishop got behind the wheel and I gave him the address to the closest crossover.
It was strange how the apartment doors worked. They could be anywhere, and they all crossed over into the complex’s lobby. It was like folding a piece of paper and poking a hole through it. When you spread out the paper the hole was in different points throughout the paper, but when you folded them back they all lined up. Our complex was like that and it could be accessed at numerous points throughout the city. The closest point was only a few blocks away. We made the trip in a few short minutes.
“You live here?” Bishop asked incredulously as we pulled up in front of a posh condominium complex. I realized it was a little over my pay grade.
“Staying with a friend until I get my own place,” I said to cover up the luxury of the place.
“Nice,” Angela said leaning over and looking up at the twenty story, modern monstrosity. "Your friend's got a lot of money? Maybe you should invite us up, love to see what it looks like inside."
"Uh, I'm sure they're sleeping. She’s married. And I'm crashing on the sofa, maybe next time," I stammered. "Thanks for the ride." I scrambled over the seat and out onto the side
walk before they could ask more questions, or insist on coming up.
“You did good tonight, Cassidy,” Bishop said with a grin and I tried to return his friendly smile, but it was a little strained thinking about the two hundred sitting in my purse that would probably have been a lot more if he hadn’t been skimming. I had worked my ass off and he got half of my take, I should get half of his.
“Thanks, Bishop. Nice meeting you, Angela.” I nodded and turned toward the complex. When I put my hand on the door I felt the world around me shimmer. It knew it was me, it knew where I was supposed to be.
I stepped into the lobby of the condo complex and noticed a door that was brighter and drew my attention. It should have been access to the stairs, but when I opened the door I was in my own complex.
I went from dim marble to bright daylight. Birds were chirping and it was the middle of summer. The exact opposite of what was happening in the living world. I should be disoriented, but I felt rejuvenated the moment I stepped back into Afterlife. Irony. I felt more alive in the world of the dead.
“Cassie! Congrats on your solo case.” A curvy brunette in a skimpy bikini came bounding my way. Fallon. She was a cute thing with the beautiful bronze skin of Latin heritage. She had been nice to me since I came to the complex. She was always helpful and quick to share some tips, along with gossip. It was obvious she was intent on befriending me, which I was not opposed to. Her bubbly personality and quick wit were winning me over.
“Thanks, Fallon.”
“Tyler is grilling the fish he caught today. He actually got to go fishing on a job. Can you believe that? Something about a charter guy breaking into fishing camps and renting them.”
“No thanks, Fallon. It sounds yummy.” It didn’t, I wasn’t a huge fan of fish. “But, I’ve been working a crowded bar all night; I think I need some downtime.”
“Alright, Cassie, no biggie.” She did a squinty smile that made her seem even more likable and bounded off in the other direction.