Jerry flicked Sean’s T-shirt. “What other ideas do you have, Einstein?”
Sean didn’t answer.
“Unless you want to see a beauty salon go up right on the spot where you’re standing, you better reconsider.”
Blowing out a long, laborious sigh, Sean asked, “Why didn’t you fucking say something?”
“I only got the call yesterday.” Jerry scratched his head. “I was going to talk to you after tonight’s gig. I didn’t expect the woman to march in here before I had time to warn you.”
Sean already had a name and a design—Starlight, in bright blue letters on a silver background, surrounded by stars. Maddy would’ve liked it.
Jerry gripped Sean’s shoulder. “There must be other locations if this doesn’t work out.”
“This is the best location in town, and you know it.”
More importantly, Maddy had worked here, and her presence lingered. It was the only place he could still feel her. He wouldn’t fail her, but doing a gig for Juan Hernandez, hell no.
Jerry squeezed his shoulder before letting go. “I wish there was another way.” Apparently, with nothing left to say, he walked into the office at the back and closed the door.
Juan’s event organizer, Leona, had been on Sean’s case about playing private barman at the kingpin’s exclusive fiftieth birthday party for months. Sean was surprised he hadn’t yet been hijacked at gunpoint or had his kneecaps knocked in. The whole city knew the Colombian drug lord had rented an island off the coast of Cartagena for the weeklong celebration. Fifty of his closest friends and influential business partners had been invited. A symbolic number for a dangerous man. It also happened to be the fiftieth celebration of Juan’s father’s drug business, the one Juan had taken over at the age of thirty. The party was going to be a cesspool of criminals, something Sean had no desire to be a part of.
He went back to preparing his nightly presentation, which was the opening show of the house, so to speak. When the doors opened at nine, he’d execute the performance he’d practiced during the day to the beat of funky house music. Jerry was on lights, maneuvering the spots and colored lasers. Matching the music, lights, and the liquor to the choreography was a complicated business. The routine changed every day. Tonight, he had a fire-blowing trick up his sleeve. He called the mix he’d invented for the occasion Fire Dance. It also meant they had to stock up on the booze that made the mix. If there was a feature cocktail on the menu, it was always ordered three times more than the usual drinks.
After a quick practice run with Rod who was in charge of the music, he settled behind the bar and waited for the stampede. People would compete for tables, pushing to get as close as possible to the counter. They’d buy a mood cocktail, for which he was famous, drink it quickly, and leave. As soon as the music and lights were dead and the show ended, they’d seek out the more glamorous clubs in town. Only Jerry’s dwindling amount of regulars in biker jackets would remain, nursing a beer or a whiskey, which made Jerry hardly enough dough to cover his costs.
“Suzie,” he said as she passed by, “reserve a VIP seat for Miss Asia Sommer. She’s coming in to see Jerry at nine.” Maybe he could sway the kitten and get her mind off this crazy spa idea of hers. It was a feeble hope, but it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Sure.” Calling back from over her shoulder, she asked, “What kind of a name is that, anyway?”
Freddy, the bouncer, checked his wristwatch and looked at Sean for his cue. It should’ve been Jerry who gave the signal, but it had been a while since Jerry paid real interest in his business. All Jerry wanted these days was to retire, not that he was that old. When Sean nodded, Freddy opened the door, letting in a throng of women in short evening dresses and high heels followed by men dressed in white linen shirts and fancy slacks.
A particularly glamorous group filtered through the door. Sean froze. As if sensing the dangerous power emanating from the women and men who’d just entered, the crowd cleared a path, letting them through to the only group table in the lounge area at the back. Everyone was staring. Their physical perfection made it hard not to notice them. Even the atmosphere had changed. They demanded attention, if not respect.
Well, well. Fuck him and all the laws of nature he’d tattooed on his body. He knew a group of forbidden arts practitioners when he saw them. He was one of them, after all. The reason he and Maddy had moved to Colombia had been to escape the hunters who were after their gift. Being a waitress and barman had initially been a way of making a living, until Maddy had found her passion in mixology.