Grace for Drowning

Chapter One





Grace





A girl greeted me as I approached the bar. "What can I get for you this afternoon?"

She was pretty, with long red hair and impossibly milky skin, and she wore the kind of beaming smile usually reserved for people on serious drugs and children's television hosts; the two of which may not be mutually exclusive, if you ask me. I had no idea where anyone got the energy to be that happy. Even in better times, I could only muster that much enthusiasm in short bursts, usually ones that involved ice cream or reruns of Jersey Shore, yet here she was, at three in the afternoon, grinning like a maniac at someone she'd just met. It had to be an act.

A thirsty lump began building in my throat as I eyed the bottles lined up behind her. It was tempting. I was pretty sure drinking in front of my future colleagues before my first shift was the definition of getting off to a bad start, but, then again, most of my decisions lately hadn't been particularly well thought out.

I gave my head a small shake. Focus. You need this. "Nothing, thanks. I'm actually supposed to be starting here today. My name's Grace."

Somehow her grin managed to widen further still. "Oh my god. Charlie told me you were coming today. I'm so happy to meet you." She extended her hand. "I'm Joy."

Joy? Seriously? My name's a noun too, but I'm about as graceful as an elephant on a carousel. Some people get all the damn luck.

"Well, I'm happy to be here," I said, returning the gesture. The bar was nice — run down, but in a charming sort of way, with scuffed wooden floors and a host of beer posters from the fifties and sixties adorning the walls. It felt like it belonged in a small town in the middle of Nowheresville, rather than just a hop skip and jump from the Vegas strip. Something about the place seemed vaguely familiar, but that might have just been because I'd spent more than my fair share of time in bars over the last few months. Drink enough and they all start blurring together.

Joy clapped. "Okay, we need to get you a shirt, and then I'll start showing you the ropes. Have you worked a bar before?"

"Not as such. I'm more of a restaurants and cafes girl."

"Oh cool! They're not that different. I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time." She looped her arm through mine, as though we'd been friends for years, and led me toward a door at the back of the room. "This is going to be so much fun. It's been ages since we had anyone new through here."

That enthusiasm was strangely infectious and, in spite of myself, I found a genuine smile creeping onto my face. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was a turning point. God knew that after the last four months, I needed one.

The sight that greeted me on the other side of the door caused me to freeze in place. "What the hell is all this?"

The bar out the front was a fairly sizable for somewhere off the Strip, but the room back here absolutely dwarfed it. It was at least two hundred feet across in both directions. Spilling from each wall down to the center of the room were tiered bleachers, the front rows of each all coming to rest just a few feet from a massive circular platform that rose up out of the floor — a grimy white disk hemmed in by heavy black netting, like some giant spider's lair.

Joy hesitated. "It's the ring. Your friend didn't tell you about it?"

I shook my head.

"Oh boy. Well, in a nutshell, Charlie doesn't just run the bar, he also has his little side project. Final Blow."

"Final Blow?"

"You know what UFC is?"

I shrugged. "Kind of."

"Well, it's like that. An ongoing mixed martial arts league. It's not nearly as big as UFC, or Pride, or any of the heavy hitters, but it's gradually making a name for itself around Vegas. In fact, these days, I'm starting to think the bar might be the side project."

I blinked a few times, struggling to process this new info. I wasn't exactly one for sports, and I wasn't quite sure I was in a place where I wanted to start learning. "So, what, two guys go in and beat the crap out of each other until there's only one standing?"

She tilted her head from side to side. "Kind of. There's rules, but that's the general gist."

"Sounds charming."

She laughed. "I felt the same way when I started here, but it's not that bad. It's kind of exciting, to be honest. Plus, the bodies on some of these guys," she made an elaborate sign of the cross, "sweet Jesus."

I tried to share her conspiratorial smile, but the truth was, ogling guys was about the last thing I wanted to be doing right now.

"So how often do the fights run?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"It varies, but about once a month."

"And we work them?"