He glared at me, obviously not amused.
As my mouth worked much faster than my brain, its sometimes helped me get out of bad situations, but most of the time, I found it just drowned me further in the black waters of trouble.
“Sorry,” I said, squinting at his barrel chest. “I thought your name tag read Rent-a-Cop, but it obviously reads Douchebag. I mean Dougan.”
He glanced at his black shirt, at the spot where I studied a nameplate that didn’t exist. Dakota giggled, the joyous sound of a gun spitting.
“No more trouble from you,” the bouncer said. “And you,” he glanced at Dakota, “time to go.”
“My tab isn’t closed,” she said. “Could Joseph close out for me and bring me my card?” She met my eyes and winked. I wasn’t much for picking up on relational cues, but she made that about as easy as hitting a ball off a tee.
The bouncer looked at me too, obviously annoyed that neither of us had left yet.
“I can do that for her,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “Elizabeth, you hear that?”
Holy flying frittata. Mr. Doucher had pointed his question toward the bartender. My stomach flurried. I glanced at Dakota, and her face lit like a candle at the mention of the name. Had I found her?
The bartender didn’t bat an eye at the bouncer’s potential mistake. “Noted,” she said, shaking a cocktail.
“Holy shit,” Dakota said, standing from her stool. “Holy shit.” She bowed to me one more time, as if she had just performed the greatest stage show in history. “You know where to find me?” she asked, turning to follow the bouncer out of the bar.
“Not at all,” I said as she walked away. I don’t know if she didn’t hear me, or if she decided not to respond, but she disappeared out of the lounge without another word.
After watching Dakota leave, which I could have suffered through a little longer, I turned my attention back to the bartender. I hadn’t really noticed her before hearing the name. She had short—like, buzz-cut short—brunette hair and dark eyes and oval cheeks. Tattoos were scribbled over her exposed arms in mystical shapes. I recognized a few as Nephilim, and I wondered if she had a pact with a Fallen. Hecate? I mused. I was also curious if she had recognized me, old J-dawg Hunter, and had relayed my whereabouts to her Nephil or a few Empousa.
A crowd had gathered to watch the Dakota Clark show. Instead of lingering after her exit, most had taken the opportunity to sidle up to the the bar and flag over Elizabeth for another round.
As closing time drew near and the lounge had emptied, I remained at the bar. Xander still sat at a high table, sipping the same scotch he had ordered when we first arrived. Since he had run out of women to speak to, he drank alone. I wondered how on par this was for a normal night in the life of Xander Shells. I almost felt sorry for him—except I didn’t really care—you know, with Mel being kidnapped and all.
A couple other stragglers remained seated around the bar as the night drew to a close. After mixing a cocktail for one of them, Elizabeth leaned against the counter near the register. Finding a lull in the night, she pulled her phone from her apron and scrolled against the screen.
“Hey,” I said, “could I get another shot of tequila? Two, if you’re up for a drink.”
Elizabeth peered over her phone at me. “You’re talking to me?”
I bit my tongue from barking a smart comment. There wasn’t another bartender behind the counter at the moment, nor did anyone sit within a few chairs of me, so I didn’t know who else I would be inquiring for a drink. Instead of saying that to her, though, I said, “I am.”
“Do you plan to pay for it with your seven dollars? Or are you going to put these drinks on that random girl’s tab?”
“Hey,” I said, raising my arms to ward off her judgment, “she left me in charge of that magical card. You think I’d let an opportunity like that go to waste?”
“I can’t allow that to happen,” Elizabeth said, returning her attention back to the small screen in her hands. “You may return her card to her, as she requested, but I won’t allow you to buy more drinks on it without her permission.”
“Okay,” I said. “How about this. You see that funky-looking guy over there?” I pointed at Xander. “The bald one… looks like he has an elephant tusk shoved up his ass… sitting all alone like a sad, pathetic mess.” These are things I would have said to his face, by the way, so, they’re not that mean.
“You know he can’t hear your insults?”
“I know,” I said. “That’s the worst part about insulting him—he never listens. Don’t worry, I’ll inform him later about my observations.”
Elizabeth sighed. “What about him?”
“If I convinced him to lend me some cash, would you let me buy you a drink?”
“Why did that woman stand on the counter and call for all Elizabeths?”
I sucked on my teeth for a second, practicing the idea of thinking before speaking. “I’m looking for an Elizabeth. It’s a personal matter, completely eliminating all the neutrality of business. Since no other women approached me to claim their thousand-dollar prize, you’re the lucky girl. Except, I don’t have a thousand dollars. But my friend over there, he might have enough cash to buy us each a drink and celebrate my find.”
“I’m your find?”
I shrugged. “Would you prefer to be something else?”
“Yes. I’d prefer to be about anything else that doesn’t sound like I’m an animal you’re hunting or a treasure you’re seeking. Something that doesn’t demean me to a mere object of infatuation.”
I yawned. “Oh, sorry,” I said, nodding awake. “Are you done? I could barely hear anything over
