* * *
By the time I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge to get back into San Francisco, and then braved the rush hour traffic across town, I was almost an hour late for my shift.
“Oh my god, Tom, I’m so sorry.” I slammed my things into a cabinet behind the bar and grabbed an apron.
“Slow down, cowgirl,” Tom said. “We’re not that busy, and I was having fun hanging with your friend down at the end of the bar.”
I followed his gaze and found Matty sipping a martini. When I caught his eye, he waved at me frantically.
“I’m out of here, if you don’t mind. Have a good night,” Tom said.
I immediately took stock of the folks drinking at the bar to see who needed a refill and who wanted to pay their check. After I took care of a few patrons, I worked my way down to the bar toward Matty.
“Hi!” I told him. “You never come here. What’s up?” It was true. He thought the bar was a dump. It sort of was. But I think that’s what people liked about it.
“I had to hear about the dead guy’s house. Was it amazing? Tell me!” His eyes were wild with expectation. I couldn’t let him down.
But there was no need to. Grandpa’s house was that incredible. I told him every last detail, stopping when I had to serve some customers.
“So the house was unbelievable,” I told him, “but you should have seen the groundskeeper.”
“Oh my god, tell me,” he stage-whispered.
“He was like the Marlboro Man. Only better. And he didn’t smoke.” Matty laughed at that. “I’m pretty sure he was suspicious of my coming to see the house, though.”
“You little slut! I love it.” He clapped his hands together happily and stepped off his stool. “Well. My work here is done. I just wanted to hear the latest in your pre-millionaire adventures.”
“Shhh!” I hissed, looking around. “I don’t want anyone besides you to know about this.”
“Don’t worry, mum’s the word. I just want to know when you’re bringing me by the place. I want to see it so bad.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can arrange it. But you have to be cool. You can’t let on what’s going on.”
“I’ll be good. I swear I’ll be good,” he assured me, and he made for the door, most likely to meet that evening’s date.
I wasn’t sure how I could get Matty there without really raising Win’s suspicions. But hell, what would I do if the place really did become mine some day? There’d be no hiding that. Shit, what if I ended up being Win’s boss?
Chapter 8
Ambrose “Brose”
My best buddy Win and I headed into the city to some dive bar to see a girl he’d taken a liking to.
“How did you meet her again?” I asked him as he wove his pickup truck through the typically heavy San Francisco traffic.
“Dude, it was the weirdest thing,” he started. “I saw her snooping around Cordy’s property. I was going to kick her the hell out but she was just so nice. Not to mention, hot as hell.”
That’s my buddy Win. Always thinking with his little head.
“So, what was she doing there?” I asked.
“Well, at first, I thought for sure she was casing the place. I even offered to show her the house, just to test her and see how she reacted. But she wasn’t interested in any of the valuables. Said she was looking into leasing the property. But Brose, she’s a freaking bartender. She can’t lease a mansion.”
I watched my friend shake his head. Win had a lot of street smarts, and if he felt something was off, it probably was.
“All right. So if it all seemed so fishy, why are you going to see her?” I gave him the side-eye, like I always did when I thought he was being an idiot.
He shrugged as he made an illegal left turn. Like I said, idiot.