Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

A few emails and one text message later brought them to the bar tonight. The small tavern in downtown Boston called The Monkey Wrench was a nice bar, but not overly so. A casual setting, a couple notches above a dive bar and a few rungs below high-end. The Monkey Wrench was one of those bars where the average working-class citizen making ends meet in Boston went after a day's work. No need to throw on a suit and tie, which Gruen was grateful for. He didn't own either one.

He was more accustomed to sitting in his sweatpants rocking one of his graphic T-shirts, his favorite being an Aqua Teen Hunger Force shirt with Master Shake slapping Meatwad. He passed on those options tonight, exchanging them for jeans and a long-sleeve button-up he'd found going through his father's old things. His father, before passing away due to an early heart attack, had been a lot thicker, especially around the chest and shoulders. The shirt Gruen wore was bulky and bunched up around his waistline, but it was hidden under the large, thick trench coat he wore over it.

He was more accustomed to drinking Mountain Dew and eating Pop-Tarts, a dietary staple for gamers. Consuming fine wines and high-end food was not in his wheelhouse, so he kept his order simple. A Red Bull and vodka. The two shared a plate of deep-fried green beans with a wasabi mayo dipping sauce. Gruen was hesitant to eat in front of his date. Roxanne didn't seem to have the same problem, stuffing three in her mouth at one time.

As she munched away on the deep-fried veggies, he sipped from his drink. He wasn't much of a drinker and the vodka burned the back of his throat. He found himself drinking more than he anticipated. He filled the gaps in conversation with small sips from the narrow glass and was shocked to see it was nearly empty.

The bartender walked by. She'd introduced herself as Maeve. She was pleasant enough. She had an Irish brogue that made understanding her difficult at times when it blended with the raspy smoker's cough. The leathery skin around the woman's mouth spoke to long-term nicotine abuse. "Can I get you another?"

Gruen nodded. He didn't want another. He could already feel the effects of the first one going to his head. But he didn't want to look weak in front of his date, who had no problem draining the large salt-rimmed margarita. Maeve set a fresh drink in front of both of them. She coughed into her arm as she delivered the vodka cranberry, or Cape Coder, as she advised him of the drink’s official name.

As soon as the bartender walked away, Gruen grabbed a napkin and wiped around the rim. He was a bit of a germophobe. It had been innate, passed on from his mother, but it worsened over time. He figured that since he spent the majority of his time indoors, his immune system was probably not accustomed to the world around him. He took extra precautions, always sanitizing and washing his hands. Roxanne obviously did not have the same issues. She licked her finger and dabbed it on the rim before stuffing it back in her mouth and swallowing the salt adhered to it.

Gruen's nerves settled as the vodka worked its magic, giving him a strange sense of courage. He thought about leaning over and kissing Roxy. The downside to the liquid courage dosed by the drink, Gruen now had to get up and use the bathroom. He figured he would use that moment to take a deep breath and calm down. Things were going well, as far as he could tell, but his experience in the world of dating was extremely limited. He wasn't sure if she was into him, but she had smiled at a joke he'd made earlier in the conversation.

He looked down at his watch. 9:33. His mother would still be awake, and he seriously debated calling her from the bathroom to get her advice on his next move. "I've got to hit the little boys' room." He tried making a joke of it. She smiled but didn't laugh. "I'll be right back."

Roxy took a sip of her second margarita. "I'm not going anywhere."

He felt warm with excitement at the prospects of that statement. He half-expected her to be gone when he came back from the bathroom. This gave Gruen something he hadn't experienced in a very long time. Hope.

He left his barstool and walked to the bathroom area between the bar and the main dining room. Gruen shot her one last glance over his shoulder as he entered the short hallway containing the bathrooms. Roxy was still there, picking up another fried green bean and eyeing it longingly.

Gruen hadn't been paying attention to where he was going and bumped into a man coming out of the bathroom, nearly knocking him over. The shoulder-to-shoulder contact caused both men to spin off course. Gruen met the man's eyes. He looked angry. "Oh, I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean that. I didn't see you there."

Gruen stood a good six inches above the shorter man whose black hair was neatly combed.

"Ashes and dust," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Gruen wasn't sure if he’d heard the man correctly. And if he had, he couldn't derive the meaning.

"Tick tock. Time's almost out on the clock." The man hustled past him and out of the bar, disappearing onto the street.

Gruen went into the bathroom completely befuddled by the strange man's ramblings. At least he'd have something to talk to Roxy about when he returned.

Gruen used the urinal. He spent an extra amount of time washing the bathroom grime off his hands. His mind kept replaying what the strange man had said. It was the last thought he had before the explosion from the stall behind him sent him hurtling into the mirror glass in front