Belly up to the Bar (C 1.4, H 1.5)

When you push open the swinging door to enter the kitchen, you spot Small Fry chatting with Blackjack as he scrubs a dish. Small Fry gives you a nod, but Blackjack stops her conversation with him to turn toward you.

I've been the target of Blackjack's admonishments before, but rarely have I felt they're actually deserved. Tonight is different. Even though I have reasons I could give her for how this night has gone, she would only call them excuses and maybe, deep down, I would too. I could blame half of it on Parcher, targeting the Tower twerp like that, and the rest I could spread around between Mikkie and the Vaulters, but in the end it doesn't matter. Blackjack will blame me, tables need to be served, and this weight I feel on my back isn't going to get any lighter.

I thrust the dishes I'm carrying into the sink of soap water hard enough that I think I hear something break. I almost open my mouth to warn Small Fry about it but he's smart enough to be careful, so instead I turn and walk briskly out of the kitchen without a word to either of them. I have bees in my chest, hot and stinging, filling my ears with their buzzing and my hands with heat. The rush of rage overwhelms my weariness and gives me the boost to maybe actually get caught up, but I know it won't be service with a smile, not that it ever really is.

The next couple of hours are a blur of activity as you catch up on old orders and help Dakota with her section. Parcher glares at you every time you bring orders to him, but the work swallows up the in-betweens. You even find a few tips left behind at a few random tables. Mikkie doesn't return for the night, so he must've gone to Fubu. The Whispers are kept at bay by the rockabilly music blaring over the speakers and all the conversation. Well past midnight you spot Bristol entering with a few Sippians. She makes eye contact with you before she heads to an empty table in your section.

What do you do?

I'm halfway across the bar with six beers on a tray when Bristol shows up with some of the other Sipps. I stop when I see them, remembering how I banished them from the Belly and realizing just how inconsequential my small words were. Bristol is my ride. The rest of them are just salt in the wound.

I duck my head and continue on with the drinks, dropping them off before heading back to the kitchen with the empty tray. I don't stop at the bar to pick up the next order and I don't go to the Sipp's table just yet either. I head back through that swinging door and let the bees in my chest take the lead.

"Blackjack!" I call, head on a swivel looking for her. "Small Fry, is Blackjack still here? Where is she? I need to talk to her."

When you head through the kitchen to the storage room, you hear Blackjack and Sonic arguing about the recent death of Caspian. Blackjack argues that it's bad for business because folks want drama and blood, but they want rivalries, but Sonic's stance is that Mikkie is a stone-cold killer and there's nothing to be done about it.

What do you do?

I give Small Fry a nod of thanks and I head right back to the "office." I don't knock, heading right inside instead. "If you think corpses are bad for business, you should get out there and boot the Sippians who just sat down."

I think of the conversation Nuport and I had in the bathroom, and how she swooped in to save me from Karo at her own expense. I know she killed Kiwi too, but as much as I relish Blackjack’s anger over it I also fear it. I am a rope being pulled from both ends and I feel my fibers squealing from the pressure.

"She’s not. But I don’t want to serve any of them."

The trio enters the main space in the club and Blackjack heads straight for the table where Bristol and her Sippian mates sit. Bristol seems surprised as the music suddenly stops and she sees the owner of the club storming at her with a shotgun in hand. Bristol's hand strays to the pistol she keeps hidden in her jacket, but she doesn't pull it out - not yet. The other Sippians seem to think this is funny and they snicker as the elder lady closes on them.

I heard a story once about a beast called a bear - a ferocious thing with black fur, long teeth, and sharp claws. Faced with a loud sound, a threatening movement, or an unknown scent, the bear, despite its weapons, would sooner scamper than fight. But not when it was a mama bear. At any threat to her cubs, the mama bear would attack, snarling and snorting and seething, a mass of fury and flinging saliva, not even afraid of what should cause her to tremble, and all the animals knew not to cross a mama bear.

Watching Blackjack's tirade transforms her into that mythical monster. I'm not sure whether Kiwi and I are her cubs, or if she babies the Belly, but whatever the reason, it is a thing to behold, and it is terrifying. As much as I don't desire the Sipps here, I don't want anyone else dying on this floor either.

I'm frozen for a moment before I step up, staying behind Blackjack, but meeting Bristol's eye. "I'll meet you outside when I'm done," I tell her in the calmest tone I can muster. "Nothing else needs to happen here."

I remain strung so tight I'm paralyzed for several seconds after Bristol leaves and Blackjack and Small Fry return to the kitchen. When I finally breathe again, it's hardly a comfort. I have no option but to head out to meet an angry Bristol outside or things are only going to get worse for me, but it means I'm walking off a shift early for the second night in a row. Last night was maybe forgivable given what happened to Kiwi, but tonight? After I got Blackjack to scare the Sipps off for me?

I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose, fighting a headache and trying to comfort myself with the knowledge that if Parcher can get his job back here, so can I. Blackjack can't afford to lose me. I hope.

I've wasted too much time standing here already. I rush over to a table in my section and pick up the empties and the small tip left behind, dropping off the dishes before I slip behind the bar to grab the backpack I readied at home earlier.

"I have to go," I tell Parcher, barely looking at him. "Good luck."

I stop when Parcher grabs my arm, glaring up at him. "Trust me, I'd rather stay. But I can't." I glance out to where Dakota drifts around the bar and sigh. "Look, if you want Dakota to move faster, you're going to have to hook her up with something - ganja, oxy, something. She probably still won't be accurate, but she'll move faster at least." I pull my arm away from him. "That's the best I've got for you."

Parcher glares at you, cursing you as a waste as you pull away. He does start looking under the bar for something to give Dakota to hook her up. You head outside and find Bristol and the Sippians smoking cigs as they wait.