Danger Close by James Sumner (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

front. A quick nod to the bartender caught his attention. He had thick, gray hair and skin like worn leather.

He stopped in front of Collins. “What’s your poison, son?”

“Two fingers of Bushmills, if ya have it,” replied Collins.

The barman raised his eyebrow. “You overshot your landing for the goddamn Four Seasons by about five miles. Care to try again?”

Collins sighed. “Jack Daniels?”

The bartender snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “There you go.”

He walked away, then returned a moment later with a tumbler. He set it down heavily in front of Collins.

Collins stared at the faint stain on one side of the rim, then looked up at the bartender. “Can I… ah… can I get a clean one there, buddy?”

The bartender stared back at him blankly. “Seriously, son, you need me to draw you a map?”

Collins rolled his eyes. “Just… pour, would ya?”

The bartender filled the glass about a quarter full with whiskey. “You want a little umbrella with that? Maybe a sparkler or something?”

“You could try using a little less sarcasm in the next one, eh?”

“You got it, Princess,” the bartender said as he walked away to serve another customer.

Collins turned the glass in his hand to move the stain away from his mouth, then took a grateful sip. He didn’t look around, try to make eye contact with anyone, or engage in small talk. He knew how to work crowds like this. He simply needed to bide his time.

Ten minutes passed. He had finished his drink quietly, content with listening to the sounds of the world around him. He signaled for another with a shake of his empty glass, then placed it down in front of him, ready for the next one.

As the bartender began pouring, Collins took his chance.

“Hey, buddy—anyone in here I could speak to about some work?” he asked.

The bartender glanced at him as he put the whiskey bottle back behind the bar. “What kinda work?”

Collins smiled. He picked up his new drink. “The kind ya can only find in a place like this.”

“Do we look like the unemployment line to you, boy?”

“Do I look like I’m new to this, old man?”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then the bartender looked away.

“Enjoy your drink,” he said.

Collins watched him walk away out of the corner of his eye. He noticed the subtle nod toward an area of the bar over his left shoulder. He took a sip of his drink.

There it is.

He waited patiently. A few minutes ticked by. Then a man appeared beside him, on his left. The new arrival leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the bar, staring ahead as if deciding which drink to order from the shelf of spirits behind it.

“What are you drinking, friend?” asked the guy.

Collins glanced sideways at him. The man had a thick, styled beard and dark eyes. He wore a baseball cap with the Yankees logo stitched to the front, which was faded and yellowed in places. He also wore a red bodywarmer over a plaid shirt.

Collins figured him for a truck driver.

“Whiskey,” he replied. “Jack Daniels.”

The man nodded and looked over at the barman, holding up two fingers. “Get some Jack over here?”

The bartender approached without a word. He produced an empty glass and placed it beside Collins’s, then filled them both.

The man turned to face Collins, resting an elbow on the bar. He took a sip.

“Heard you’re looking for work?” he asked.

Collins didn’t move. “Ya heard right.”

“Got any experience?”

“Plenty.”

“You local?”

Collins shook his head. “International. But I’m in town for a few days. Figured I’d head to my old stomping grounds and see if I can find something to do.”

The man watched him for a moment, then stood straight. “Come and have a drink with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He walked away. Collins got to his feet and followed. The man led him to a table against the left wall. Two men were sitting there. Both looked of similar age to the bartender.

As they approached, one of the men stood and stepped away, remaining close to the table but at a respectable distance. The other remained seated, his back to the wall.

The man from the bar gestured for Collins to take a seat. When he did, the man sat opposite.

“I’m Harris,” he said.

Collins raised his glass. “Ray.”

“Okay, Ray. My friend here is a go-between for a local fixer. You want work, we refer you. That’s the only way this works. Understand?”

“Aye,” said Collins. He turned to the other man. “And what do I call ya, buddy?”

“You don’t,” answered Harris. “You deal with me.”

Collins let his gaze linger for a moment, then turned back to Harris. “No problem. I know how this works. Don’t worry. So, who’s the fixer?”

Harris smiled. “If you need to ask, you don’t deserve to know.”

“Listen, buddy. I’m not a rookie, and I’m not new to these parts, all right? I’m only here because I can’t go to Mama directly.”

The two men exchanged a glance.

“You know Mama?” asked Harris.

Collins shrugged. “Of course. She and I go way back. Used to get me the best gigs back in the day, ya know.”

“Is that right?” Harris stroked his chin. “I didn’t realize. My apologies, Ray. I guess you’re not a rookie. You know how cautious we have to be about new faces.”

Collins smiled. “Aye, I know. So, Mama was the fixer ya boy here spoke to, right?”

Harris nodded.

“Damn. So, how do you get work now?”

The men exchanged another glance. Brows furrowed.

“How do you mean?” asked Harris.

The sincerity of the question caught Collins off-guard.

“Well, ya know… I heard someone took her out a couple of days ago. That was a big loss and a hell of a shock. But I know the business. Someone must’ve stepped up by now, right?”

Harris leapt to his feet and took a small step away from the table. “You think Mama is dead? Are you serious?”

Silence fell in the bar instantly, as if someone had stuck a pin in a balloon, killing the atmosphere.