#Rye and Espresso should kiss

[supremeuppityone]

This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo.

Prompt: “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

Please review here.

                         ________________________________________

           It wasn’t the worst heartbreak story Caroline had heard. But it definitely was the worst this season. The angry murder swans were an interesting plot twist though. She wiped down the bar, eyeing the clock before she announced, “Last call, everybody!”

           She turned to the adorable drunk resting his head on the wet rings the bottles and glasses had left behind. Klaus had spent the evening raking his fingers through his dirty blonde curls, double-fisting shots and Ward Eights when he wasn’t berating his ex-fiancé. “So, your ex, this...um...something that sounded like ‘tater tot’, walked down the aisle, stood at the altar with you in front of a church stuffed full of your friends and family, and announced that she’s been banging your brother for months and wants to marry him instead.”

           He squinted up at her, as though slowing piecing together her words. Letting out an unexpectedly boisterous guffaw, he said, “It was Tatia, actually. But tater tot is considerably more appropriate — often greasy, grows disappointingly cold, and an unpleasant aftertaste.” Fishing around in one pocket, he flashed her a devilish smirk that she would’ve found charming if it wasn’t for the bit of drool as he slurred his words, “Elijah’s welcome to her, but he’ll have to make it official without our grandmother’s ring.” He triumphantly slammed a beautiful antique ring on her bar, the neon lights making the diamonds and pearls twinkle.  

           Caroline let out a small gasp as she studied the delicate floral pattern the gemstones made. For some reason, she felt ridiculously pleased that Tatia didn’t get her grubby cheater’s hands on such a lovely piece of jewelry. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but morbid curiosity is winning right now. Did your other brother release the angry murder swans as a distraction just so you could steal back the ring?”

           “A happy accident, love. Kol thrives on chaos and he nipped out to the reception area to let them out of the paddock just to see what would happen. I took advantage of the riot that ensued once the swans started attacking the outlandish lace train of Tatia’s dress and swiped the ring.” His smile was more of a grimace, but at least he chuckled as he said, “I escaped before I saw the worst of it, but I’ve been told that by the time the swans were under control, Tatia was wearing shredded bits of overpriced lace and feathers, and both she and Elijah were smeared in droppings.”  

           Giggling, Caroline squeezed another half-lemon into the shaker, adding the grenadine and topping it off with orange juice before pouring it over what was left of the rye whisky in Klaus’ glass. She tossed in a few cherries and winked as she told him, “My treat.”

           He threw her what should’ve been a smoldering look, but instead his gray eyes seemed to cross slightly as he slurred, “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

           She rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond to his clumsy flirting. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she couldn’t help the way her pulse quickened. If he had this kind of effect on her now, what was he like sober? Nope, she sternly reminded herself; he’s on the gut-wrenching rebound to end all rebounds and you stopped doing one-night stands after Mr. Hair Gel seemed waaaay more into his brother and you snuck out the bathroom window once it got too squicky.

           She kept busy closing out a few more tabs, feeling the need to steamroll past the awkward silence as she cheerfully said, “So, you just hopped on a plane and decided to go on your honeymoon anyway. That’s a level of petty I can support. Mystic Shores is a tiny resort town, but you should find plenty to keep yourself busy. There’s the lighthouse, natural rock bridges, seabird sanctuary...” she trailed off when she saw how his eyes had glazed over. “Plus, lots of white sand beaches you can day drink on while watching the dolphins.”  

           “I knew I picked this place for a reason.” Klaus gulped down the rest of his drink, grimacing as he told her, “Remind me to teach you how to make a proper Ward Eight, love. It’s positively criminal the rubbish rye you’re peddling.”

           She grabbed his empty glass, putting it in the tub under the bar. Snorting, she replied, “Yeah, yeah, just add it to the rest of your complaints about my drinks. Not that it stopped you from slamming them back as fast as I poured them.”

           Klaus smirked, rising unsteadily to his feet. “A bartender should understand proper citrus techniques. Zesting citrus in advance may save time, but it dries out the fragrance and flavor you’d otherwise infuse into your drinks.”

           Normally, having her bartending skills drunkenly criticized would have Caroline covertly charging an ‘asshat tax’ when she closed out the tab, but there was something about Klaus that made her more amused than angry. She’d stealthily admired his cheekbones most of the evening, and when he occasionally stretched, the muscle definition was undeniable. He wore his classic good looks with casual indifference, but a curious melancholy hung over him despite his snarky wit. There was more than just heartbreak below his surface, and she was curious to know more. Nope. Don’t get involved. It’s not your job to fix broken people.

           As he continued to hopelessly fumble with his wallet, she gently pressed her palm to his forearm and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

           It was the first genuine smile he’d given all night, and he lurched forward, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “You radiate light and beauty. I should’ve known you were are an angel, Caroline.” He stumbled out of the bar before she could speak, cheeks flushed at the way his accented voice lovingly caressed her name.

           Caroline busied herself closing up the bar, barely resisting the urge to glance out the front to see if Klaus had managed to operate his ride app correctly. Not your problem. She waved off a few of the locals who invited her to the dunes to watch the sea turtle nests. They’d be hatching soon, but a bubble bath and some bad reality TV sounded much more appealing at the moment.

           Lost in her thoughts, she nearly stumbled over Klaus as she took the trash to the dumpster. With a gasp, she knelt beside him, realizing he was snoring loudly and his pockets were turned inside out.

           Damn it, Enzo.  

           “Come on, Klaus, wake up,” she hissed, lightly smacking his cheek.

           With a groan of protest, Klaus managed to sit up against the dirty brick wall, mumbling, “Bloody wanker came at me, but I gave him a right show with this,” he cursed, triumphantly waving around a fist.

           She helped him up, muttering under her breath, “Nice work. Although it looks like he still snagged your wallet and ring.” At his crestfallen expression, she hurriedly reassured him, “But don’t worry! I’ll give Enzo a call and we’ll fix it, I promise.”

                        ________________________________________

           When she heard the loud thump followed by an impressive string of cursing, Caroline knew Klaus finally was awake. It was the first time she’d let a drunk stay on her couch who wasn’t a local, but he was far too out of it to be a threat last night. Plus, her bartending over the years had given her an almost infallible bullshit meter. Klaus wasn’t dangerous. Just dangerously sexy. She rolled her eyes at that thought.

           She’d given Enzo an earful last night for not keeping a closer watch on his crew. When he dropped off Klaus’ stuff, he gave Caroline a saucy little wink and teased, “My apologies, gorgeous. I didn’t know my mates rolled your tourist fluff.”

           “Seriously?! It’s not like that — he’s just going through a rough time with his fiancé leaving him at the altar for his brother, and he doesn’t deserve getting his stuff stolen.”

           Enzo whistled, a rare look of sympathy flashing in his dark eyes. “Bollocks. No wonder he went after Jeremy like a man possessed. Gave him one hell of a shiner too — it’s my new wallpaper on my phone.”  

           Klaus stumbled into her kitchen, looking just as adorably rumpled as he did last night. Curse her weakness for complete disasters. He squinted at the sunlight pouring in from her open windows, and winced at the cheerful whirring and hissing of her espresso machine. “Caroline?”

           She blushed to the roots of her hair, ridiculously pleased that he remembered her name. “Good morning, Klaus.” She slid the cup and saucer toward him. “It’s a double shot — I figured you could use it.”

           He blinked, taking a sip as he said gratefully, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

           “You’re welcome. Um, so you probably don’t remember much from last night, but after I found you passed out in the alley, you kept muttering you were staying at a bed and breakfast. Which isn’t helpful when there’s one on almost every corner in this town. So, I let you crash here instead.”

           Klaus gave her a small smile, rubbing his forehead as he muttered, “It’s a sad commentary on my life that I’ve been in the presence of friends and family this past week and the most kindness I’ve been shown has been from a stranger.”

           “We’re not strangers,” Caroline protested with a gentle smile. “We’re just friends who haven’t finished bonding.” As she refilled his cup, she winked, “And when it’s my turn, I’m counting on you to have a very generous pour when I get left at the altar.”

           He suddenly froze, rapidly patting at his pockets, and she quickly said, “Hey, no, it’s okay! I got your stuff back.” She reached into the drawer between them, pulling out his wallet and carefully setting his grandmother’s ring on top of it. “See? I told you I’d fix it.”

           Letting out a sigh of relief, he pocketed his belongings, telling her, “You’re amazing, love. An angel, just as I suspected.” His gaze suddenly turned shrewd as he studied her, “You know the thief.”

           “Yes. I have a friend who runs a crew that robs tourists that look like they can afford it.” At his frown, Caroline felt the absurd need to make Klaus understand. “Work here is seasonal at best for a lot of us, and Enzo kind of redistributes wealth when he can.” She held her breath, waiting for his judgement. He had swans at his almost-wedding, for fuck’s sake. His type was definitely Enzo’s favorite target.

           Klaus let out an unexpected chuckle, telling her, “We should hope your friend never meets Kol. When we were in school, he set up an underground sports betting pool with the faculty and most of the staff.” Shaking his curly head in bemusement, he added, “Kol had teachers giving him passing grades just to pay off their gambling debts.”

           She burst out laughing, wiping away tears as she imagined the crazy shenanigans Enzo and Kol would get into. That’s not going to happen. Klaus is on vacation, remember? His ruined honeymoon. Her smile was overly bright as she started pulling containers from the refrigerator, explaining, “My friend Matt runs the cafe down the road. I wasn’t sure what your go-to hangover food was, so I got you mine — butter biscuits and spicy sausage gravy, vanilla custard French toast, and orange juice.”

           “You’ve spoiled me, sweetheart. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”

           She did her best not to blush at the intensity of his gaze as he helped her set the table. They ate in companionable silence, listening to the small town slowly come to life on the street below. She waited until Old Man Gilbert’s noisy pontoon boat left the docks for the morning dolphin tour, and once the street was back to a manageable hum, she tentatively said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re planning to do when you get back home, or if you’ve even allowed yourself to think that far ahead, but I wanted to offer you some advice.”

           When he raised an intrigued eyebrow, but didn’t comment, she blurted out, “Go crazy. This is one of those moments where you can change whatever boring, expected path you’d planned out. Invite a little chaos into your life — do something wild and unexpected.”

           The sudden press of Klaus’ lips to hers was just as thrilling as she’d imagined. He had her up against the cabinets with a resounding thud that seemed to fuel their frenzied kisses. The feel of his stubble against her neck was spicy-sweet pain that made her groan. Emboldened by her reaction, he dipped his head lower, running his tongue along her collarbone as he palmed her breast.

           Caroline reached between them, rubbing the outline of his erection with a satisfied hum. It had been far too long since someone made her skin sing. He wanted her. And yesterday he wanted someone else. That thought alone jerked her out of their pleasurable haze. Placing a palm on his chest, she gently pushed him back, her words a bit jumbled as she panted, “That was...I mean...but we shouldn’t...”

           Klaus’ cheeks were flushed as he smirked, “You advised me to do something wild and unexpected, sweetheart.”

           She snorted, “Seriously? That was totally expected.” Her tone grew serious as she told him, “Klaus, you’re going through something huge right now and I’m not looking to be someone’s detour on the way back to their life.”

           “You aren’t a detour — you’re a destination,” he replied. “But you’re probably right — I’ve had a bloody awful time of it. I need to get myself sorted.”

           The determination on his face gave her hope; Klaus would be ok.

                        ________________________________________

           Four months later, Caroline was loading up the pushcart with kegs for that evening’s tasting room event when Enzo strolled into the supply room, wearing his serious brows. She hadn’t seen those since she’d dropped Klaus off at the airport and then sulked on Enzo’s couch for days. He’d argued that she was being stubborn and should go track Klaus down. But she didn’t want to get in the middle of his left-at-the-altar-for-his-brother drama. She refused to be someone’s second choice.

           “For fuck’s sake, what is it,” she asked in exasperation, wiping the sweat at her temples with the bottom of her old t-shirt.

           Frowning, he jerked his head toward the street, telling her, “Looks like some competition has moved in, gorgeous.” At her skeptical expression, he pulled her outside, pointing to a sign that proclaimed ‘A Little Chaos’ was opening soon. It looked like a bar. Right across the street from her bar. Frowning, she quickly made her way over, blinking in disbelief as she came face-to-face with a familiar devilish smirk.

           “Caroline! I was just on my way to see you,” Klaus greeted her, that knowing smile making her blush despite her anger.

           “You’re opening a bar. Across from my bar,” she said flatly, eyeing the exquisite, hand-lettered gold leaf sign that probably cost more than her rent. “A hipster bar,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

           He chuckled as he lightly corrected her, “A speakeasy. I’ll be able to show this town how to make a proper Ward Eight.” With an impish wink, he reminded her, “Someone told me to invite a little chaos into my life. I decided to take her advice.”  

[the-original-b]

Archangel Chapter 10: Underhanded Practice

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 2 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 5,400

Summary: Krueger investigates a lead at a popular lounge, uncovering a plot to bring a new drug market to the Branch’s back yard. 

Warning(s): blood and gore, violence

Krueger blearily opened his eyes in bed and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling fan as he tried to quiet his mind again. After half an hour, he realized trying to return to sleep was an exercise in futility, so he slid out from under the sheets—careful not to disturb Khai curled up next to him—and quietly made his way to his bathroom to wash up before pulling a hoodie on over track pants to run a few laps around his block.

When he returned home at the crack of dawn, Khai was already dressed in a dark suit and lavender blouse, pouring her coffee into a to-go cup. They shared a quick kiss before she left, and Krueger returned upstairs to retrieve his P30L to start his day at the shooting range out east.

 ~~~~

Krueger sat at the diner counter later that morning, picking at the remains of his egg white Denver Omelette when the owner Henry Everett brought him a fresh coffee.

“Espresso,” he confirmed, placing it in front of him. “Black with no sugar.”

“Danke, Henry,” Krueger returned. He took the off-white mug by its handle and sipped slowly, savoring the flavor.

Everett leaned over the counter and looked the other man in the eyes. “How are you feeling, Milo?” he asked. “You look unwell.”

Krueger exhaled as he laid the coffee cup back down on the saucer. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he began. “Which of course means Liz hasn’t been sleeping well… a lot on my mind after my last job.”

“Yes, Liz mentioned something like that the other day. Something about a girl in the Rockaways and a den in Patchogue.”

Krueger nodded. “As much as I want to call it an isolated incident, I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s part of something bigger.” He minded his volume as he spoke to Everett. Although the place was his, there were still other parties present that were uninvolved with their shared line of work.

“Would you sleep any better if I said I think you’re right?”

Krueger arched his brow behind the coffee cup.

“Chloe, one of my associates at Pharaohs, might be on to something,” he disclosed. “She thinks somebody may be trying to move some contraband into the Boroughs.”

“Contraband?” Given the nature of their business and the rules set in place by Isaac Hayden, contraband could only mean one thing in this context. “Does Chloe know for sure it’s connected to Patchogue?”

“Nothing concrete yet,” he said, taking Krueger’s plate as a server passed them by. “But she’s got a keen eye for suspicious activity, better than anyone else there.” He carried the plate to a plastic bin by the kitchen and returned to continue. “According to her, the same two individuals would meet at Pharaohs to talk. At the same time each day over the last three days. One of them had a habit of ordering a drink and staring at it until his contact arrived.”

Krueger broke eye contact and slowly sipped his coffee as he considered the information presented. “Could be nothing,” he surmised. “It could be unrelated… or it could be worth looking into,” he concluded, reestablishing eye contact. “I’ll come by Pharaohs tonight. I’m supposed to go out with Liz after she’s done at the Branch today, but I can have her meet me there.”

“I would appreciate that,” Everett said, “thank you. I’ll let Chloe know you’re coming.”

~~~~

A lo-fi hip hop instrumental permeated through the main atrium of the Pharaohs Lounge that evening, providing a relaxed atmosphere in which the patrons enjoyed their hookah and cocktails. They conversed, closed business deals, and flirted in the dim light under the watchful eyes of the Ramesses II, Tutankhamun, Cleopatra, and Hatshepsut immortalized in busts at the four corners of the room.

The bartender, a woman wearing a white button-up shirt that seemed to glow under the spotlight keenly observed the space from behind the bar, and would briefly scan the room between preparing martinis for the servers to bring to the guests.

Krueger walked into the lounge in a black turtle neck sweater, dark washed jeans, and classy casual shoes under his pea coat. He headed straight for the bar and took a seat, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on the counter.

The bartender returned the bottle opener to the rear right pocket of her jeans and crossed her arms on the countertop, leaning forward. “Anybody ever tell you how cool your eyes are?” She got his attention with a rich, dulcet voice.

Krueger turned to meet her gaze. “Danke—er… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned, smirking playfully. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she added, moving to a spot directly across from him, “but I’ve definitely seen you around before.” She reached across the bar to offer him her hand. “Chloe Zaydan,” she introduced herself. She had warm ivory skin, long dark hair parted down the middle, bright brown eyes, and full lips.

Krueger accepted and shook her hand. “Milo Krueger,” he said. “Happy to make your acquaintance. Mr. Everett speaks highly of you.”

“I would hope so, he and I opened this place together.” She took her hand back after their contact lingered for a little. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not staring.” Her shirt’s first three buttons were undone, and a good deal of her skin was visible. “Most of the guys here forget where my eyes are once they start drinking.”

“I haven’t started drinking yet.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” She straightened up, whipping her hair out of her face with a quick shake of her head. “What’s your poison, Milo Krueger?”

“Water for now,” he said, turning in his chair to scan the tables behind him. “I’m working.”

“Uh huh…” Chloe retrieved a water bottle from the refrigerator under the bar and a pint glass from the freezer. “What do you do, exactly?” She cracked the bottle open and poured its contents into the glass before sliding it over to him then resting her hands on the countertop and leaning forward a little.

“I solve problems, currently, for Mr. Everett’s boss. Before that, I shot people for money; Kommando Spezialkräfte, the Bundeswehr, a few private clients, and my own team once.”

“Not going to lie to you,” she admitted, gesturing her head. “All that registered was Commando.”

Krueger turned back to face her and blinked, then took from his water glass. “Special Forces,” he said. “Now I’m in the private sector.”

“You see? Wasn’t that easier?” She flashed him a coquettish smile.

Krueger chuckled to himself as he drank more water. “I suppose… and you, Chloe Zaydan? What do you do?”

Chloe looked up to take a drink order from one of the servers working the floor behind Krueger. She nodded at the server and turned to gather a few of the ingredients from the wall behind her. “Well,” she began, “officially I’m the head bartender here at Pharaohs. I take care of the staff and make sure the staff take care of the patrons.” She took a rocks glass and a cocktail shaker from the drying rack and placed a single large ice cube into the glass, then cracked a second ice cube into the shaker. Then she opened the half-finished bottles of Redemption rye and Domaine de Canton she retrieved from the wall, poured a full measure of the rye into one side of her jigger, and turned it over to add the whiskey into the shaker as she poured the Domaine de Canton into its other side. She turned it over again to pour the liqueur into the shaker as well.

“It’s thankless work,” she continued as she retrieved pomegranate juice and sour mix from the refrigerator below the bar, “but if I don’t do it, nobody else will.” She poured a half measure of the juice into the shaker along with one and a half measures of sour mix, then covered the container up and shook it vigorously. Once satisfied she tapped the shaker on the bar top to open it and strained the contents over the ice cube in the rocks glass. Finally, she rubbed a thin strip of lemon peel over the rim of the glass and placed it into the finished cocktail before sliding it across the bar to the server with a wink. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it too, so, bonus.”

Krueger nodded. “And unofficially?” he queried.

“I’m Number Two here,” she said plainly. She turned briefly to place jigger and cocktail shaker into the sink to run them under hot water. “Kind of like a general manager but with more authority.” She gave the instruments a quick but thorough clean with a sudsy sponge before rinsing them and returning them to the drying rack. “Some days I have to have our guests escorted from the building, and on the worst of those days I have to be in the room with Henry when Mr. Hayden has a word with those guests.” She turned back around to reestablish eye contact as she dried her hands. “So I guess I solve problems too.”

“Then I take it you know why I’m here this evening.” He lowered his volume.

“Yes, sir,” Chloe said, matching his tone and leaning in a little. “I suspected somebody here is looking to either buy or sell drugs. I know how big a no-no that is with Henry’s boss, so I brought it to his attention. Then I’m guessing Henry called you up to help with that..?”

“That isn’t exactly how it went, but yes… The suspected party,” Krueger said, “is he the younger man seated at the table on my five o-clock?”

Chloe peered over his right shoulder to identify the person in question. “Yep, that’s him,” she confirmed. “Nervous Nelly’s been staring at his ginger ale for the better part of the last hour.”

“And his contact?”

“Should be here any second now…” Chloe broke eye contact to scan the room one more time. She straightened up and reached for a mop towel behind her when she spotted him. “Yep,” she confirmed, wiping the bar in front of her. “There he is.” She wiped more of the surface down as she discreetly scanned Nervous Nelly’s contact and relayed her observations to Krueger so he wouldn’t have to blow his cover. “Backpack slung over one shoulder, other hand hooked into his pocket… he just sat down across from Nervous Nelly, and put the backpack on the floor next to him.”

“How good are you at lip reading?”

“Not very…” Chloe returned the mop towel to its hook behind her and turned back around to line a dozen shot glasses up in front of her. “Newcomer’s relaxed enough, laid back in his chair” she continued as she took a bottle of Blue Nectar silver tequila and uncorked it. “His friend on the other hand…” she poured an equal measure into each of the glasses and set the bottle aside as she arranged them on a platter for one of her servers.

“Jiggling knee?” Krueger theorized as he took from his water glass.

“That, rubbing the back of his neck, wringing his hands; basically the picture next to what you’d find in the dictionary if you looked up ‘nervous behavior.’ Plus he keeps looking back this way.” She retrieved the tequila bottle once more and poured one last shot into a glass to send with the server to give to the newcomer, then re-corked the bottle and returned it to the shelf behind her.  

“He doesn’t suspect you,” Krueger assured her. “It’s much more likely he can’t take his eyes off you, a beautiful woman serving drinks behind the bar at a lounge in Bayside.”

Chloe smiled and looked away from him, chuckling to herself. “You know, that’s dangerous, flirting with the pretty girl at the bar,” she returned, smirking wryly at him.

“I’m just stating facts, Chloe” he added in jest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “How you interpret those facts is up to you. Besides,” he continued, “danger is nothing new in my line of work.”

She laughed to herself and shook her head, grinning. “Well, you’re cute,” she admitted, “so I’ll let it slide… just this once.” She broke eye contact with Krueger to watch the man with the backpack and his contact again. “Backpack guy just downed his shot… looks like he enjoyed it.”

“And his friend?”

“Still hasn’t touched his soda… Hold on,” she said. “He just looked over both his shoulders. Looks like he’s reaching into his pocket for something.” Even in the dim light she could see what it was. “An envelope,” she said to him. “He’s handing it over under the table… other guy’s peeling it open, looking inside… he seems satisfied with it.

“Money?”

“Probably,” she continued. “No, definitely. He just slid the backpack over with his foot.”

“Fair trade,” Krueger commented.

“Looks like he’s verifying the purchase…” Chloe watched in silence as the nervous buyer—as discreetly as he could—opened the backpack’s zipper a few inches and reach one hand inside. He seemed to struggle with whatever was inside, then pulled his hand back out and looked over his left shoulder as he brought his fingertips to his mouth. “Taste test,” she finally commented. “Gotta be.”

Krueger nodded. “Then you were right to suspect them. Good instincts.”

“Thanks.” She took her eyes away from them to look at Krueger again. “What happens now?”

“We deliver the buyer to Mr. Everett.”

“Not the seller?”

“No, the seller is just a vector, probably one of a dozen,” he surmised. “A means to an end; at those quantities it’s the buyer looking to create the market here. He’s the one to make an example of.” Krueger stood up from the bar stool and straightened out his coat. “Thank you for the water.” He turned to head to the back of the atrium, toward the stairs to Everett’s office.

Chloe watched him leave, and when he was no longer in her sight she walked over to the wall-mounted phone at the far side of the bar area, picked it up out of its cradle and dialed a three digit extension. “Table six,” she said into the receiver. “Two and a backpack.” Then she hung the phone up and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, watching the two suspects at their table while three large security guards in black t-shirts and pants wove through the atrium tables and between servers to apprehend them.

The seller, facing the direction they came from, spotted them immediately—he quickly but calmly stood up to make his getaway. The buyer wasn’t so lucky; he was scooped up and lifted clear above the floor in a matter of seconds by one of the guards while the second secured the backpack. The third broke off in pursuit of the seller while the other two took the buyer out of the lounge via the rear exit, away from the other guests who looked on in confusion, but quickly returned to their business after it was done.

Chloe uncrossed her arms and took her place at the bar again, accepting an empty crystal tumbler from one of the servers.

“What was that about?” the server asked her?

“They broke the rules,” she plainly told him. “This one was Blanton’s, right?” she asked, gesturing the empty glass in her hand.

“Uh, yeah. Blanton’s. On the Rocks.”

 ~~

Each of the two security guards cupped one the buyer’s arms as they hauled him into Everett’s office, his feet dragging on the floor behind him. They placed him into an old chair facing the desk as the third security guard laid the confiscated backpack on Everett’s desktop.

The buyer looked up from his lap at the man seated across from him, wincing between pained breaths as he tried his best to nurse his beaten sides and stomach from his seat.

Everett slowly stood up from his chair and took a few measured steps around his desk to approach the buyer. He towered over the other man, glaring at him from behind the frames of his glasses. “Do you understand why you’re here?” he asked the buyer.

The buyer nodded guiltily. “Yeah,” he spat out.

“Explain to me why I had my staff make an example of you in front of my other guests,” Everett ordered. He removed his glasses one-handed and placed them in the front pocket of his jacket.

“I—I bought drugs,” he stammered.

“Louder.”

“I bought drugs..! I was going to sell them... corner the market,” he admitted, shrinking into himself.

Everett took a slow step toward him, invading his personal space now. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “You have one advocate in this room.” He gestured Krueger seated quietly to the right. “This conversation was his idea. We have a strict set of rules in place here, and a clearly established set of consequences for those who break them. When I heard the extent to which you and your associate were planning violate those rules…” Everett blinked slowly. “Suffice it to say if it weren’t for the respect and admiration I have for that man and his opinion, I would have handled this differently.”

The buyer sheepishly looked to his left at Krueger.

“Don’t look at him,” Everett growled. “You look at me..!”

He snapped to attention, looking up at Everett again towering over him.

“You will leave this place,” Everett declared. “You will leave behind what you have purchased. And he won’t be able to deliver you from what will happen if I or my associates catch you here again.” Everett’s glare bored into the other, smaller man for all of five seconds in total silence before he finally turned back around toward his seat behind the desk. “This exchange is over.”

The buyer swallowed hard before he looked to his left at Krueger one last time. Then he slowly stood back up and staggered out of the room, abandoning his prize to walk away with his life.

Krueger shot Everett a glance before standing up to follow the buyer out of the office and intercept him on the stairs down to the main floor.

He placed his hand on the buyer’s shoulder to turn him around, then shoved him against the wall once he had his attention. With his other hand he drew and opened a folding knife then pressed its point against the buyer’s waist, just above the belt. “I’m going to ask you two simple questions,” he said. “And I want simple answers…”

The buyer, terrified, nodded in silent compliance.

“Are those Dragon Tears in the other room—?”

“Yeah.” His answer was immediate.

“Who’s your seller?”

“I don’t know him.”

Krueger’s eyes narrowed. He brought the blade up from waist-level and rested its flat side against the buyer’s cheek. “Not a simple answer.”

“I don’t know him, I swear..! I was set up with him.”

Krueger blinked, pulling the knife away. “Who set you up? Who is it that’s looking to corner the market on the Dragon Tears here in New York?”

“Peter Cross,” he blurted out. Despair washed over him immediately after he gave Krueger the name.

Krueger blinked, then after three seconds of silence he released the buyer. He’d seen that expression before—the hopelessness that grows and takes over when a man realizes he just signed his own death warrant. He folded the knife one-handed and slid it back into his pocket. “Go,” he finally said. He stood to the side and let the buyer pass. He wasn’t certain from the distance between them, but he could swear the buyer was crying by the time he made it off the stairs.

He returned to Everett’s office to share what he was told. “He wasn’t acting alone,” he began. “He and the seller were proxies for someone named Peter Cross.”

Everett laced his fingers together atop the desk as he sat back down. “Did he say whether Cross was behind the den in Patchogue as well?”

“No, but I don’t believe in coincidence.” Krueger rested his hands in his coat pockets. “Whoever Peter Cross is, all we can be sure of is that he wants that heroin here for a reason. But until we have more information I feel the best thing to do is to stay vigilant… I’ll run his name by Brandon Desmoulins, see what he can dig up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Everett agreed. He gestured the backpack full of Dragon Tears. “I’ll get this to Isaac in the morning and let him know you’re investigating Cross. He’ll want confer with us once we have some useful information.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you again for your help Milo,” Everett said, his expression softening again. “Have some fun on your way out,” he said. “On the house.”

 ~~

Krueger washed his hands in the bathroom. After shutting the faucet off he ran his still-wet fingers through his hair and over his face, then dried his hands and face with paper towels from the dispenser. He inspected his reflection one last time before leaving the restroom to return to his place at the bar.

He reached into his inside coat pocket for his cell phone, but paused as he recognized Khai in his seat chatting with Chloe. He got their attention with a little wave. “I was about to call you,” he said to her. “I just finished and was going to ask you to meet me here.”

“Who says I’m here for you?” Khai jested. “I came to see my best friend.”

Krueger paused for a moment, then chuckled to himself. “Of course you two know each other,” he said.

“Yep,” Chloe added. “Sorry about not being up front with that, but I wanted to test you. Liz said so much about you I had to be sure.” She flashed him a smile. “You passed, by the way.”

“Well,” Krueger said as he reclaimed his seat at the bar next to Khai, “if it makes no difference to you I think I’ll have that drink now, Chloe.”

“You bet,” she said, wiping the rim of a square rocks glass dry and placing it in front of him. She looked over at Khai. “What does he like?” she asked her, nodding her head in Krueger’s direction.

“The Old Fashioned at Tillman’s,” she said.

Chloe nodded in approval. “Ah,” she noted. “A man of taste..! Extra credit.” She went into the freezer to retrieve a single large ice cube with an orange peel frozen inside of it and placed it into Krueger’s empty glass. She turned over her shoulder to survey her options for whiskey, lingering on a Woodford Reserve but ultimately selecting a Four Roses Single Barrel over it. She poured enough bourbon into the glass to cover the ice, then reached to her left for a bottle of turbinado syrup to add a pre-determined amount of the sweetener to the whiskey. Then she retrieved a bottle of angostura bitters from underneath the bar and added a few dashes to the mixture, then added a few drops of orange bitters to it as well. Finally she stirred the cocktail in the glass with a bar spoon and, when mixed to her satisfaction she skewered a single cocktail cherry with a stainless steel pick and placed it into the glass beside the ice. “It’s not a perfect recreation,” Chloe noted as she slid the glass toward Krueger, “but it’s close.”

“Liz trusts your judgement,” he said to her, smirking. “That means you get a pass from me.”

“Danke,” she said, returning his expression. She turned her attention to her friend. “And you?”

“Surprise me,” Khai said.

Chloe broke eye contact while she considered Khai’s tastes and preferences. She knew what to make her—she ducked below the bar to retrieve a bottle of ginger beer from the refrigerator and placed it on the countertop when she surfaced again. Krueger and Khai looked on in intrigue as she picked a bottle of premium vodka and a honey liqueur off the shelf behind her and placed them on the counter next to the ginger beer. She turned around one last time to get another rocks glass and cocktail shaker from the drying rack and then got to work. Into her shaker she cracked some ice, then poured an equal measure of vodka and the honey liqueur. She cut a lime in half and squeezed its juice to the shaker, then closed and shook it to combine the ingredients. When she was satisfied she tapped the shaker on the counter’s edge to open it, then set it aside as she reached into the rear pocket of her jeans for her bottle opener to uncap the ginger beer. Finally, she topped the open cocktail shaker with a strainer and poured its contents into the rocks glass one-handed while she poured in the ginger beer with her other hand to nearly fill the glass.

“That your take on a Moscow Mule?” Khai asked.

“Been workshopping this one,” Chloe returned, rubbing a lime wedge on the rim of the glass and garnishing the finished product with it. “And no,” she jested. “Henry never got us copper mugs.”

“Eh, details.” Khai brought the experimental cocktail to her lips and sampled it, then paused, analyzing the flavors at play on her tongue. Her eyes lit up as she raised her brow. “Whoa, that’s good. Wait, hold on..!” She took more from the glass and when she finally pulled it away from her mouth she examined it in her hand. “Okay, that’s actually delicious..! It deserves a spot on the menu for sure..!”

“I’ll put that into the suggestion box,” Chloe said. “You know, as soon as we get one of those,” she joked. She raised the unfinished ginger beer bottle above the countertop and brought it to Krueger’s and Khai’s cocktails. “To friends..!” she said.

 ~~~~

Peter Cross pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, seated opposite the other man at a small square table. The other seated person, visibly terrified, tried desperately to control his breathing under a third man in the room with them, clad in dark tactical gear and concealing his face with a Kevlar mask. The masked man was dead silent, his hands resting on the shoulders of the man seated opposite Cross.

“You’re not making a ton of sense, Davey,” Cross said. “So what I need you to do is take a breath—right now, breathe in through your nose,” he gestured breathing deep from his seat to the man seated opposite him in the dark room. “And slowly let it out through your mouth.” He guided the other man through the exercise. “Are we feeling better now?”

Davey, frantic and barely intelligible just a minute ago, took a moment to collect himself. “Yeah,” he lied, briefly looking Cross in the eye again averting his gaze again.

“Good,” Cross’s guided him with honeyed tones. “Now… Start again, from the beginning.”

“I talked to your contact,” he began. “We met up at Pharaohs, every day for the past week, just like you said.”

“He mentioned that. He had to get a feel for you.”

“We talk,” Davey continued. “Until finally, I made the buy today. Just like you said.”

Cross nodded behind his interlaced fingers.

“But then security comes out of nowhere, and before I know it I’m getting the hell kicked out of me in the alley behind Pharaohs…” He tensed up as the masked man’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “Then they bring me back in, sit me down in front of the boss. He tells me I would have been dead if not for his friend.”

“Describe his friend.”

Davey shrugged under the masked man’s hands. “Average height. White guy, brown hair, gray beard—late forties, probably. Had blue eyes… or were they green? Maybe one of each, I don’t remember.”

“Heterochromia,” Cross surmised.

“Hete-what?”

“Differently-colored… go on.”

“They kept the product and cut me loose,” Davey continued. Then his head hung as he recalled what happened next. “Then the boss’s friend pulls me aside, asked me who my supplier was.”

“What did he sound like?”

“Not super deep, average I guess… I thought I heard an accent when he spoke.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Huh?” The masked man adjusted his grip on Davey’s shoulders again, placing them centimeters closer to his neck.

“You said he asked you who your supplier was. What did you say?”

“I told him I didn’t know.”

“Then why’d you mention you gave him my name, earlier?”

“I thought he was gonna kill me if I didn’t give him something..! I didn’t think about what I was saying, I…” he began to tear up under the masked man’s hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross,” Davey entreated. “I’m so, so sorry..!”

“I know you are,” Cross offered, leaning forward in his seat a little. “I do, and I accept your apology… but,” he continued, standing slowly, “it’s not my acceptance you want today, it’s the Viper’s.” He looked up at the masked man standing behind Davey. “Viper, do you accept his apology?”

The Viper said nothing; he loosened his grip on Davey’s shoulders, and even let go completely with his right hand.

Cross shrugged, looking back down at Davey. “Looks like he accepts your apology too,” he said. He turned around and headed toward the door with his hands in his coat pockets.

Davey took a deep breath to calm himself, relieved, just before the Viper retrieved a knife from his belt and ran its blade across his neck, severing his right carotid artery.

The Viper moved his left hand from Davey’s shoulder to under his chin to pull his head back while his right hand held Davey’s arm in place to prevent him from covering his wound and stopping the gushing. He ignored Davey’s muffled gurgles as blood spurted from the gaping neck wound all over the floor and table in front of him.

“However,” Cross said as he paused in his tracks and slowly turned over his shoulder to face Davey again, “I and the Viper can not afford failure, and we do not tolerate it.”

Davey tried to stand as he struggled, eventually freeing his left hand to try and peel the Viper’s away, but his efforts were thwarted by the larger man’s strength—the Viper pulled his head back further and pressed down with his other hand to keep Davey in place.

“We’re at the cusp of something huge,” Cross continued. “Bigger than anything we’ve ever accomplished, and those who would want to stop us are some powerful people. So until we set ourselves up with people powerful enough to destroy them, we have to stay off of their radar.”

Davey’s movements became more sluggish, and his left hand eventually fell from the Viper’s as life escaped him.

“Discretion, my friend,” he concluded. “That’s how we win here.”

Davey finally went limp in the Viper’s arms, and he let the man fall forward onto the table and slide onto the floor to his left. His blood leaked out from the wound as he hit the floor; the Viper, looking down at his victim, didn’t move when the growing puddle reached his boots. The only sounds in the room with them for six whole seconds was the dripping of Davey’s blood off the table onto the floor, and the Viper’s muffled breathing.

Cross exhaled, quickly scanning himself for Davey’s blood before looking back up to address his associate again. “Did you have to make such a mess?” he asked.

The Viper slowly turned his head upward away from Davey’s corpse to look at Cross again, peering through the eye holes of his face shield to meet his gaze.

“Of course you did,” he added sotto voce. “Clean this up,” he continued audibly. “After you’re done here find my seller and take care of him. Then cancel whatever other plans you have for the week.” He turned back around and headed for the door. “If I’m right about what about to happen, we’re gonna need you around to deal with Archangel.”

(Masterlist | Peter Cross | the Viper | Chapter 11)