The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

After speaking to her before, he returned to the cheap hotel room he'd rented for cash three blocks away. He took a quick shower and changed clothes, then got ready to go back and reconnect with the intriguing woman.

He'd taken a headcount of the people coming and going, though through the darkened windows it was difficult to tell who else might have been in there from previous hours.

Dak was about to get up when he saw Carina appear at the door. She flipped a sign around in the window to say cerrado and then stared across the street at him.

He stood up and strolled over as she held the door open, looking at him with an accusatory glare.

"You want to be a little more conspicuous, gringo?" she asked. "Doesn't at all look like you're staking out the place."

Dak absorbed the jab. "Yeah, well, I thought about coming in for a drink, but the bartender doesn't pour heavy enough for me."

He stopped at the threshold and waited for a second.

She glowered at him. Then her concrete facade broke and she allowed a mischievous smile to crack through her lips. "I like your style," she said with a nod. "Come in. I have something for you."

He stepped through and she locked the door behind, then led him over to the counter where she stopped and ordered two more tequilas from the bartender who was hanging clean mugs over the back bar.

The young man grinned, grabbed a bottle from under the counter, and set it on the surface, then plucked three tumblers from a shelf and arranged them in a row. To call it a bottle would be generous. The pale, golden liquid sloshed around in what looked like an old Hawaiian Punch jug.

"I thought you said two," Dak said, hoping his Spanish hadn't slipped that far in the last few years.

"You think I'm not going to have one too?" the bartender asked with a snicker.

"Homemade, huh?"

The bartender nodded.

"Juan makes excellent tequila," Carina said as the barkeep poured three fingers into each glass.

Dak's eyes widened at the generous pour. "Is this what I had earlier?" he asked.

A smirk and a shake of the head from the bartender gave him his answer.

"This is more like what you would call moonshine back in Tennessee," Carina said. "It's not exactly legal, but no one's going to stop us from making it. The authorities have too many other problems to deal with right now."

"Like the cartels?"

"Among other things," she said. She lifted her glass and raised it toward the two men. They joined her and clinked their drinks together. "Salud."

"Salud," Dak and the bartender joined.

Carina downed the entire glass in one shot. Dak arched an eyebrow at the impressive display, then took a little sip. The barkeep finished his in one go as well and looked at their guest with curiosity in his eyes.

"Too hot for you?" the young man asked.

"Nope," Dak said. "It's perfect. Incredibly smooth. But where I come from, we sip good whiskey. Seems like the right thing to do with your tequila. It should be appreciated."

Carina eyed him suspiciously, then nodded. "I don't usually have time for such things, but I like your style."

She tapped her glass on the counter, signaling for another round. The barkeep splashed another pour into the vessel, and this time when she picked it up, she only took a slow sip.

"Come," she said with a flick of her head. "We have business to attend to."

"Thanks for the drink," Dak said to the bartender. "Quite the talent you have there." He raised the glass to the young man who took the compliment with a humble grin and a bow.

Carina led the way back to the manager's office door. When she opened it, he was greeted by a tiny room barely 150 square feet, if that. An antiquated metal desk sat to the right with a computer monitor atop it with cords running to a tower on the floor to the right. A lamp with a canvas lampshade on the left side of the desk illuminated the room with a dim, yellowish glow. A black plastic wastebasket in the corner and a vinyl-upholstered chair were the only other furnishings in the minimalist space.

She closed the door behind him and locked two deadbolts and the latch. He took another sip of tequila as he watched, surprised at the number of locks she utilized on an office door.

For a place this small, he knew there had to be more than met the eye.

"I'm guessing this isn't your real office," he suggested.

She looked up at him, momentarily losing herself in his emerald eyes. Her mind didn't wander for long.

"You'd guess right." She motioned to a closet door in the back of the room, then glided over to it with an elegant speed.

She pulled open the wooden door to expose exactly what it looked like—a closet. Inside, a few windbreakers, shirts, and slacks hung from hangars. Cardboard boxes full of paperwork, receipts, and invoices littered the floor. She bent over and dragged one of the boxes out. Dak quickly averted his eyes at the spectacle until she'd moved the container out of the way.

Carina spun and looked at him. "What's the matter with you?"

He pulled his focus away from the uninteresting ceiling. "Sorry, I just didn't want to… um…."

Her eyebrows lifted, her face relaxing with amusement. "Wow. A gentleman and a killer. Interesting." She paused as if contemplating the enigma standing before her. Then the moment was over and she motioned for him to follow her. She stepped back into the closet, drawing back the hung clothing to reveal a keypad on the wall. Dak noted how both corners displayed the thinnest of seams. They were barely visible in the darkly lit room.

She entered a code on the keypad, but before she finished, turned to him and said, "If you're going to avert your eyes, I'd rather you do it now than when I'm bent over a stack of boxes."

He blushed.