Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
The bar turned out to be exactly what I’d hoped for. Okay, so the fact that it was trying to look like an English pub was hokey, but the extensive menu made up for the faux Tudor beams glued to the walls, as well as most of the overall cheesiness.
Because it had been a shitty week, and since I’d been subsisting on gross protein bars in my depressing little apartment, I decided to treat myself to a sampler consisting of five different types of fried foods. This culinary masterpiece arrived heaped in a red plastic basket, which was lined in paper printed to look like an old-fashioned British newspaper. It was greasy and terrible for me, and I loved every minute of it.
Since my diet had already gone straight to hell by that point, I decided to wash it down with three vodka martinis with extra olives, soon to be followed by extra regret. There was no doubt I was going to feel like death in the morning, but tonight I was full, satisfied, and a little drunk, so what the hell—instant gratification at its best.
To prove to myself I wasn’t a total lush, I decided against a fourth martini. Instead, I paid my bill, then took a moment to eat the little bits of fried batter that had collected at the bottom of the basket. After that, I daintily dabbed my mouth with a napkin, as if I hadn’t just eaten everything in sight like a rabid wolverine.
All of a sudden, someone grabbed my wrist and slapped a handcuff around it. My reaction time was so slow from the alcohol that by the time I tried to jerk my arm away, it was already a done deal. I assumed I was getting arrested—I’d always figured it was just a matter of time. But why was the cuff lined with fake, red fur?
My breath caught when I looked up into Reno’s eyes, which were glinting with anger. “Hi there, Jack,” he said with a smirk. “Let’s talk.”
6
Adriano
Finally, after two weeks of repeatedly visiting every bar in the city, handing out my wanted posters and talking to what felt like hundreds of people, I got the call I’d been waiting for.
The number on the screen was unfamiliar, and when I answered a man asked, “Is your flyer for real? The one where you say you’re giving two thousand dollars to anyone who can help you find some guy?”
“Absolutely. In fact, if your information pans out, I’ll double the reward.”
“Okay, awesome. My name’s Dewey, and I’m the bartender at a pub called The Queen’s Quarters off Union Square.”
“And you’ve seen the man on my flyer?”
“I’m looking right at him. He’s sitting at the bar.”
I leapt to my feet and exclaimed, “Do anything you can to keep him there! I’m on my way.”
“He’s plowing his way through a mountain of fried food, so he’s not going anywhere for a while,” the man said. “I’ll definitely keep an eye on him, though.”
I sped across town, and when I got to my destination, there was no place to park. Typical. I ended up parking the Cadillac in an alley behind the pub, which seemed like a terrible idea, but what choice did I have? Then I unlocked the glove box and removed a gun, an envelope of cash, and the fuzzy handcuffs before hurrying inside.
And there he was, sitting alone at the end of the bar. Jack looked small and vulnerable, and he was eating crumbs from an empty basket like a goddamn orphan.
All of that started to tug at my heartstrings, but I shoved those feelings aside and focused on my anger. I couldn’t forget what he’d done to me.
As I strode through the pub, I fastened one of the cuffs onto my wrist. I wanted to make sure that little thief had no chance to escape.
When I reached him, I slapped the other cuff around his wrist. There was confusion in his eyes when he turned to me, and I smirked and said, “Hi there, Jack. Let’s talk.” What a satisfying moment, after all that effort to find him over the last two weeks.
It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d tried to make a scene. He did try to pull away, but he quickly realized it was too late. At that point, he relaxed his posture and said, like we were old friends, “Hi, Reno. How’ve you been?” Was he fucking kidding me with that?
A skinny guy behind the bar approached us cautiously, and I turned to him and asked, “Are you Dewey?” When he nodded, I tossed the envelope onto the bar top and told him, “There’s a little over five grand in there. You earned a bonus.”
Dewey quickly pocketed the envelope and said, “Thanks, man.” Then he glanced at my prisoner and asked me, “What’re you going to do with him?”