Witch Hunt(11)

In the time it took me to realize there was a decision to make, the door opened. A small shape slipped into my living room.
It was Suzy. Ah, Suzy. She was obviously working because she was wearing professional attire. Tailored black suit, white shirt, black necktie. It was meant to make us all look uniform, but there was no hiding the waspish waist and incredible legs underneath the comfortable cotton. Even with her hair up, you could tell she was beautiful.
She looked shocked to see me. Her hand was already in her jacket, reaching for her shoulder rig.
“Oh, Cèsar,” she said. “You idiot.”
She wasn’t wrong.
There were people moving behind her. I couldn’t tell who, but she wasn’t alone. That made the decision for me.
I was out the window, over the side of the fire escape. Flying. Falling.
As soon as I hit, I was running again.






 
    Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure,   Magic
    
 


 

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Olive Pit was a mix of old and new, hip and nostalgic. The first floor had wood paneling and leather furniture. The second-floor balcony, on the other hand, was all acrylic—you could look through it to see the classier decorations below.
When it was running hot on a Friday or Saturday, they would get the spotlights going, and the transparent floor and chandeliers looked insane. But when I reached The Pit after fleeing from my apartment, it was quiet. You didn’t even notice the second floor with the lights off. It just looked like a cigar bar or something. Glistening wood floors, shelves of old books, outdated maps on the walls. The kind of place you could kick back with a martini and a cigar for hours of bullshit with the guys.
On a Wednesday night—or Thursday morning, take your pick—there was nobody there but the staff. One of the girls was leaning on the handle of her mop like she wouldn’t be able to stand without it. Mascara striped her cheeks.
I didn’t know her name. I’d only ever paid any attention to Erin. I wished I knew her name, wished I knew her well enough to tell her how sorry I was. Hated seeing girls cry.
Shaking the rain off my lapels, I headed in.
The waitress noticed that I was approaching and fixed a polite smile to her face. “We’re closing.” Didn’t even sound like she’d been crying. Good at covering up.
“I know. I’m here to talk with you.”
Her cheeks went pale. She ran a hand over the curls trimmed short to her scalp. “Is this about Erin?” She knew what was up. I probably wasn’t the first one here to talk about her. Luckily, she didn’t recognize me.
“Did you know her well?” I asked, extracting one of the Steno pads from my jacket. The most recent one was only half filled. I found the line that said “Black Jack got nailed,” skipped to the next blank page, and wrote “The Olive Pit” at the top.
“Guess so,” she said. She rested her cheek on her hands, wrapped around the mop, and gave me a scrutinizing look. Like she was trying to decide if she recognized me.
“Erin was in trouble. She came in last night with a black eye.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah, right eye.” I pointed at mine to illustrate. “Had you seen her with signs of abuse before?”
“No, she wasn’t abused. Not Erin. She’s not that kind of woman.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “She wasn’t that kind of woman.”
“What kind of woman was she?”
“Smart. She always knew what she wanted and stood up for it. She worked hard. She took all the extra shifts without complaining.”
Yeah, Erin had looked like a smart girl to me. I believed it. And I wrote that down, too. It felt important to make note of what was good about her, the things that had marked her as special when she had still been breathing. “Was she hard up for money?”
“I guess so, but who isn’t these days?” The waitress pointed at the bar with her mop handle. The half-light from the lamps highlighted red on her high cheekbones, the bare curves of her shoulders. “Nobody worked the bar like she did. She was very dedicated to her job, and she got tipped like nobody else because she was such a delight to spend time with. If she was here just for the money, then she faked it well.”
“So you don’t think that she was abused,” I said.
“Not a chance. She wouldn’t have put up with it.”
“Did you ever spend time together outside of work?”
“I work three jobs, brother,” the waitress said. “The only thing I see outside of work is my pillow.”
I laughed at that. It felt good to laugh. Made my face ache a little, but the weight in my chest lightened a few ounces.