Risky Whiskey

by Lucy Lakestone

  “Awesome banners,” Luke said. “And they’ll look good at the Junction Box when we get home.”

  “No way that’s happening!” Neil said to our chuckles.

  “Embrace your fame,” Luke said.

  “Ha!” Neil shook his head, but he was smiling. Now that the walking inferno of Mark Fairman had left the room, I felt Neil’s pull again. And did I mention he looked positively lickable in his tux?

  What the hell? I had enough hormones flowing tonight to power a nuclear submarine.

  The four banners dictated our menu for the evening: two classics, a Sazerac and a Surburban; and two variations on classics, a Sour Cherry Old Fashioned and a Black Manhattan with a bittersweet amaro instead of vermouth. Needless to say, we had a lot of garnish-building to do with lemon peels, orange peels and cherries. I was glad I had my sparkly fake glasses on to keep the juice out of my eyes.

  As I worked, my mind raced, going over the last few days. Something Alastair had said came back to me. The night he delivered Nicki’s boomerangs, he’d been drinking at La Bonne Vie with Mark Fairman …

  A bellow yanked me from my reverie.

  “The Bohemia Bartenders, as I live and breathe!”

  We looked up to see Travis, grinning and flushed, already a drink or two in, I guessed. He wore a black suit, skinny tie and a white shirt and might have escaped from Reservoir Dogs. A glamorous blonde in a sparkling, clingy, dangerously short white dress was draped on his arm, sloe-eyed and smiling like the cat who ate the canary.

  Raquel Tocks.

  27

  Travis and Raquel, together in the flesh. She had a fancy camera slung over her shoulder and took a moment to take shots of us and Alastair’s team.

  She and Travis were followed by a couple of those big guys who always seemed to be treading on her shadow. They wore black suits and looked like extras from The Godfather. And while we were at the movies, sartorially speaking, Dash might have walked out of Rick’s Café Americain with his white dinner jacket and the straw hat he wore on our expedition to Chapeau Brothers.

  Dash awkwardly slid between the goons and approached Bohemia’s counter, looking nervous. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Just about.” Neil smiled. “Can I make you something?”

  Dash visibly relaxed at his confidence. “The Black Manhattan sounds perfect. I’m a rye guy.”

  “And I’m a bourbon guy. Or vodka!” Travis laughed and elbowed Dash, who scowled.

  “I’m definitely a vodka girl,” Raquel Tocks said, sliding over to the Fairyland display, tugging Travis along with her. “I’ll have one of those.” She pointed to a photo of a virulently red cocktail, and Alastair bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile and started making it. “You boys want anything?” Raquel asked over her shoulder.

  One goon shook his head. The other said, “I wouldn’t say no to a snort.”

  A snort? What decade was he from again? He sounded like a character from an old movie. Familiar. I couldn’t quite remember which.

  “Two of those,” Raquel told Alastair. “Travis, honey?”

  “I’m going with bourbon. Make me something, would you, Pepper?” Travis called over to me. He shot me one of his magnetic roguish smiles, and I couldn’t help returning it, even if he was in the company of the scary porcelain doll.

  “Coming right up.” I got to work on the Sour Cherry Old Fashioned.

  “Interesting placement,” murmured Dash, looking over at the Fairyland display as Neil and I worked.

  “What do you mean?” Neil asked.

  Dash shrugged. “Maybe Mark Fairman was anticipating I’d say yes to his offer and requested we be side by side in here.”

  My eyes snapped up to his. “Fairyland was the distillery that wanted to partner with you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Neil and I exchanged a look as the jazz band started up out in the hall. More guests were filtering in. I finished making Travis’s drink, topping it with a twist of lemon and a brandy-soaked cherry, and held it out for him.

  Travis held it up to the light. “That’s a beautiful thing.” He took a sip and hooked his free arm around Raquel. “And it’s a beautiful night! Come on, baby. Let’s check out the band.”

  The drinking goon shotgunned his red cocktail. “Girl drink,” he muttered, then raked me with a predatory gaze. “I’ll prolly be back for a shot later.”

  “Great.” I raised an eyebrow at the guy, but my sarcasm was all bravado. He kind of creeped me out.

  “Dude, you have that tripod?” the goon said to Alastair.

  “Here.” Alastair, mumbling something about not being a bloody bellboy, pulled a long black bag from behind the counter and handed it to the goon.

  Neil elbowed me as the group left the room, trailed by fifth-wheel Dash. “Play nice.”

  I shot him a look and elbowed him back, only in slow motion, so I got to lean against his deliciously clad body. “Are you sure you want to play nice?”

  He coughed and stepped away, putting a few inches between us.

  I shrugged inwardly. “Anyway, it’s pointless being nice to a guy like that.”

  “Maybe he’s OK.” Neil was making drinks and taking orders from guests even as he talked to me. All of us were. Multitasking was a bartender thing.

  “He’s not.” Mix. Ice. Stir.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t explain it—” And then I dropped my cocktail spoon.

  Neil looked at me sharply. He took the drink I’d been making, garnished it and handed it to a guest, then pulled me back from the fray at the counter.

  I barely noticed.

  “Pepper? Are you OK?”

  “It was him!”

  “What do you mean, it was him?”

  “The statue guy. The voice. It was him!”

  “Are you sure?” Neil looked around, but no one was paying attention to us. Everyone was serving or drinking.

  “I—I’m pretty sure. I mean, he looks different. Really different.”

  “Not being bronze and all.”

  “Yeah, that.” I looked through the glass wall of the cafe at the crowd out in the hall, but I couldn’t see the Tocks crew or the Reynoldses. “Maybe I need to hear him again. But—” I started shaking.

  “Pepper?” Neil spoke more softly this time, laying a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “Are you going to be OK?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will be OK.” Oh, hell, I hope I’m OK.

  “You need to stay close. Have someone with you at all times tonight, do you hear me? If it’s him, we need to keep you safe.”

  “It’s probably not him,” I croaked.

  “You can’t take that chance.”

  “If it’s him, then Raquel Tocks is our problem,” I whispered. “Or could it be Alastair? He was holding that bag for him. And what about Dash?”

  “Travis won’t let anything happen to Dash tonight. And there are hundreds of people here anyway. We’ll have to deal with it later. Are you OK to work?”

  “Yes, damn it. Sorry,” I said, throwing back my shoulders and getting ahold of myself as he raised his eyebrows. “We have a job to do. Let’s do it, OK?”

  He searched my eyes. “All right.” He gave my shoulder one more squeeze, a shot of warmth and courage, and then we dove back into the rush, making cocktails.

  Melody gave me a curious look. “Later,” I mouthed.

  She nodded. “I’m hoping we get a break so I can check out the band. My guy is playing.”

  “We’ll take breaks in shifts once the first wave dies down a little,” Neil said. “And they want us to shut down before the fireworks anyway.”

  It took a while for the first wave to crest and ebb. There were a lot of happy people who wanted to try every cocktail available to them. Which meant there were a lot of drunk people in fairly short order as they sampled bars at the outdoor booths and the stations set up throughout the terminal building.

  The work prevented me from thinking too much, but I couldn’
t help but wonder why Raquel Tocks would sic her beast onto me or Dash. To scare us, I assumed. Him. To get him to give up his business so she could turn the building into condos? She must be planning on some crazy swanky condos to make all this nastiness worthwhile. Why was Travis with her, anyway? She had to be the light-haired woman he’d taken to his room last night. Hard for a playboy to resist, I supposed, given she looked like the cover of Vanity Fair. All she needed was a nude photo shoot with Annie Leibovitz.

  Ugh. That was a thought I didn’t need cluttering up my brain.

  Finally, the traffic slowed to the point where we had a brief lull. “Who needs a break?” Neil asked.

  “Me,” Luke and Melody said at once. She elbowed me, and I echoed, “Me, too.” I wanted to get a look around, see where the goon had gone, maybe get him to talk again so I could be sure.

  Neil held me back a moment as Melody grabbed her small purse and she and Luke moved toward the door. “Be careful. Come right back.”

  This wasn’t Cool Neil. He was as intense as I’d ever seen him.

  I swallowed, trying not to think about all the things it would be much more pleasant to think about, like having one more try at getting through his wall of ice.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised, grabbing my bag.

  Melody was waiting for me at the door, and we headed out into the busy hall, echoing with voices and jazz.

  “Where’d Luke go?” I asked.

  “Restroom,” she said. “Which I want to do, too, and then go check out the band real quick.”

  “We can’t be gone long.”

  “We won’t,” she said as we made our way across the thronged floor. “So what was all that about back there?”

  “Which part?”

  “Well, Mark Fairman was obviously about to eat you up. I mean what were you and Neil whispering about?”

  “You know how I was attacked the other night? I thought I might have seen the guy who did it.”

  “The statue guy is here?” she exclaimed.

  “Shhh!” I looked around but didn’t see the Tocks entourage. “I’m not sure. I was so freaked by the attack, maybe I’m hallucinating things.”

  “Trust your feminine intuition,” Melody said as we entered the restroom.

  A few minutes later, we touched up our lipsticks at the sinks. As she adjusted her flapper headband in the mirror, she turned her blue eyes on me. “Speaking of intuition, mine is telling me something else is going on.”

  I tucked my lipstick in my bag. “What?”

  “What’s really up with you and Neil?”

  I caught the slight pinking of my cheeks in my reflection in the mirror. “Nothing.”

  “Really? Nothing?”

  I quirked my mouth at her reflection. “Not for lack of trying.”

  She made a moue as she regarded her gorgeous self in the mirror. “Good. He needs to get laid.”

  I burst out laughing. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  We reentered the hall and made our way to the band. Melody got as close as she could to the trombonist, who winked at her as they wrapped up their song.

  “We’re going to take a pause for a worthy cause,” the saxophonist who led the group said. “We’ll be right back.”

  “Excuse me,” Melody murmured and headed up to the stage to intercept her trombone-playing Romeo.

  I looked around, fighting the jitters, then noticed the tuba player.

  “It’s you! The bard of the Hotel Lebeau!”

  “I like that,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling, his deep brown skin glowing in the soft light of the hall. “Maybe I’ll steal it.”

  “I didn’t know you were in a real band. I mean, between the cab driving and playing on the street.”

  “Aw, you know. If it’s not one gig, then it’s another. It’s the Gig Economy. I make apps, too. Do you need an app? How about a piece of furniture? I make awesome tables. Or bars! I can make you a bar. I’ll do pretty much anything.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and shoved it in my hand. “Hell, the other night I moved a bunch of liquor for one of you convention people. He came right out to me on the street and asked if I wanted to earn some money. It paid better than the tuba.”

  I blinked at him. “Liquor? What kind of liquor?”

  “The boxes said whiskey.”

  “When was this?”

  “Ah, uh, Wednesday. No, Tuesday afternoon. Had to move the stuff out of a suite and down to the front, but he didn’t want it to go through the hotel. I had to take the freight elevator and then cart it around the building to the front with the dolly. Seemed kind of stupid to me.”

  “Do you remember the name of the whiskey? On the box?”

  He eyed me closely. “What’s it to you?”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “Please. It would help me so much if I could know this one thing. And—and I’ll tip you really well when I hear you playing outside the hotel. Please.”

  His laugh was more musical than his tuba. “You don’t have to tip me. You want to know so bad, I’ll tell you. It said ‘Bohemia’ on the side of the boxes. I remember because I got to thinking about a story I read once about a scandal in Bohemia, and—”

  “So you took these boxes of whiskey to the front of the hotel?”

  “Yeah. And the bellboys had me put them in a storage room, and the guy paid me a hundred bucks.”

  “What did this guy look like?”

  “Oh, I saw him earlier tonight. He was kind of rough looking. White guy. How about I tell you if I see him again?”

  “He’s here? Was he with a blonde?”

  “Yeah, he was. Pretty thing. But not my type.” He shook his head. “Cold.”

  28

  Oh, crap. It was the guy. I was right about the voice. The statue guy had hired the tuba player to move Bohemia’s whiskey! It didn’t arrive late at the hotel. It was there the whole time—being doctored. Poisoned!

  “Thank you. Thank you!” I gave him a swift hug. “I’ve got to get back to our bar. I’m working in there in case you think of anything else.” I pointed to the cafe. “Thank you so much.”

  “Glad to help. You come visit me again at our next intermission, OK? And let me know if you want an app.” He winked, and I smiled, wondering if I’d been a little too thankful, and then I popped his card in my bag and booked it back to our pop-up bar.

  Melody and Luke were already back behind the counter, but there wasn’t much traffic. Barclay and Neil were missing, presumably taking a break.

  “Find a new friend?” Melody asked.

  I shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.” I didn’t want to tell them what I’d learned, not yet. I wanted Neil to be here at least. And I wanted to warn Dash, even if he was surrounded by people. We needed to figure out how to get the evidence we needed to nail the guy, too. Maybe the hotel had surveillance cameras that would show the goon hiring the tuba player to move the whiskey.

  By the time Neil and Barclay got back, we were in the middle of another rush, and there was no time to talk for the next hour. I couldn’t see a clock anywhere, and my phone was tucked away. I tapped Barclay’s wrist, and he held up his sexy retro watch when he saw my intent.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, and we exchanged a smile. He gave good smiles.

  Neil shot me another funny look, and I returned a “What?” expression. I needed to talk to him, damn it, even if he didn’t know it.

  The late hour meant the fireworks would start soon, and we’d have to shut down. Then I could fill in Neil, and we could go find Dash together.

  “Bloody hell!” Alastair’s curse—which followed the crash of breaking glass—carried over the buzz of the crowd in our small space. All heads swiveled to him in his giant furry hat. He was clutching one hand, and blood oozed between his fingers. It matched their costumes nicely.

  “The garnishes!” one of his model-worthy minions screeched, pushing him back so he wouldn’t drip into the tray of olives and carefully cut fruit that represented hours of w
ork.

  Leave it to Neil to leap into action. He was there in a flash, wrapping Alastair’s bleeding hand in a towel.

  “What happened?” Neil asked.

  “I tapped the bloody glass with the shaker and it just blew apart,” said Alastair, now ghastly pale and wavering.

  “Don’t faint on me, man. Let’s get you to the medics.”

  “I’ll be fine with a little gin.”

  “Too bad you only have vodka tonight,” I noted.

  Alastair bared his teeth at me as Neil, who’d shed his jacket and top hat while we were working, tugged him out from behind the counter.

  “It’s time to wrap up anyway.” Neil tossed us instructions as he manhandled Alastair out of the room. “Close it down. Fireworks start in fifteen minutes.”

  “Shoot,” I muttered. If Neil wasn’t back in time, I would have to find Dash on my own.

  “Any idea where Dash and company went?” I asked my colleagues as we served the last few drinks, broke down, cleaned up and stowed our supplies for pickup after the show.

  “Neil and I ran into them when we were out there earlier,” Barclay said. “Raquel said she got special permission to watch the fireworks from the observation deck so she could take pictures, so that’s where they were going. I guess she’s a shutterbug.”

  “And a sponsor,” I noted. So special permission probably wasn’t a big deal for her. “Where’s the observation deck?”

  No one knew. I was going to have to find it myself. As we finished and the others nabbed the cocktails they’d made for themselves, I grabbed my bag and slung it over my head, cross-body, so it wouldn’t get in my way.

  “If you see Neil, tell him I went to find Dash, OK?” I told Melody.

  “Neil will be disappointed,” she teased.

  “It’s not like that!” I said. Dash wasn’t my type. Hell, Neil wasn’t, either, but there was something about his steady state that drew my chaotic nature. “Anyway, tell him, will you?”

  “I’ll make a point of finding him and telling him,” Melody reassured me. “I wonder if the band is playing?”