Two weeks into his new job, Ace sat at the bar with a glass of ice water, making a list of things that still needed implementing. He thought he just might be able to clean this place up after all. The new bouncers he’d hired, Jack and Jill (who was actually Bill, but the nickname had already stuck) were doing a commendable job. Axl had even warmed up to them.
Ace suspected Axl wasn’t really all that bad of a bouncer, but had mostly been overworked. Burnout could ruin a security man quicker than anything. You had to have some time to breathe and unwind. Ace had used to do that driving along the scenic motorcycle trails in the Bluegrass or Cumberland Falls regions. He’d have to figure out a better way to blow off steam now that he lived in a concrete maze.
His first inclination turned to Sailor, and while he was sure he’d enjoy the physical pleasures he fantasized about, his boss was off limits. Work and sex didn’t mix. It screwed up your judgement when you needed it most, especially in this line of work. It didn’t help that he didn’t care for casual sex and tended to put his heart on the line. Maybe he could find a good Krav Maga class like he’d taken back home. He could even enroll the bouncers in it to better prepare them for the day when he moved on to his next assignment.
A big ruckus started up behind him, with a man bellowing, “Hey! What the fuck, bitch?” A chair squealed across the floor then fell backwards. Ace looked up at the clock. Five minutes shy of 5:00 on a Thursday – not your usual bar brawl hour. Then again, this wasn’t your usual bar. He spun around on his bar stool, but didn’t get up. Jack and Jill were already headed to the scene.
The man they approached was pot-bellied, mostly bald, and dressed in an expensive suit. He stood at his table, wiping booze off his rage-red face with a napkin. He wore a watch that looked like a cheap thing you’d get from a claw machine. A woman sat across from him, holding a wine glass and staring him down. She wore an off-the-shoulder red blouse and a pair of tight black leggings. Her hair was teased into what looked like a mousy-brown helmet. Excessively tanned skin, wrinkles around her lips, and bulging eyes spoke of someone younger than she appeared who drank and smoked to ease her stress. Hickies on her neck suggested she might be a hired date.
“What’s the trouble?” Jack asked, arms down and shoulders relaxed. He was utilizing the soft smile and easy posture Ace had taught him, all the while looking both parties in the eye. Nine times out of ten, that’s all that was needed. Early intervention to show the patrons that’s as far as they’d let it go.
“That man put a roofie in my wine!” the woman accused, pointing the empty glass at him. Ace couldn’t see from where he sat if any residue was left in the glass. If she hadn’t of tossed it in the man’s face, he might have been able to tell.
Jill picked up on it. “Well, ma’am, we can’t tell now that your glass is empty, but I’d suggest you come to the bar and order your own drink. Then don’t let it out of your sight.” He turned to the man. “Sir, I suggest you get a cab and let this lady drink in peace.”
“I didn’t put anything in her drink!” he bellowed again. The red in his cheeks spread to his neck and put bloodshot in his eyes. He’d already had too many, that much was certain.
“Sir, you need to leave now. We’ll call you a cab,” Jack said, looking to Ace, who flicked his eyes between both bouncers with a nod. Jack and Jill followed his signal and flanked the guy.
Sailor came out of her office and came to stand beside Ace. She crossed her arms. “I’ve already called the police. Now what?”
Ace held up his finger. “Let’s see what they can do.”
The guy flashed a fake smile and a silver tooth. “Come on man, I don’t need a-”
The woman leapt from her chair and smashed her wine glass onto the guy’s head. A jagged piece broke off and clattered on the table. Blood trickled down his cheek. He swiped it clumsily with the back of his hand, smearing red across his chin, and lunged for her. Jack and Jill grabbed him by the arms before he could make contact and started dragging him to the door.
That glass shard could easily become a weapon. Ace slid off the stool to intervene before the woman got hold of it, but his blood turned cold when he saw her reaching into her purse. He stepped in and held her wrist in a firm grip, waiting for her to make eye contact. She finally did. Rage and a multitude of disappointments welled up in tears that threatened to spill out at any moment.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said.
“Maybe I do,” she whispered. “Maybe he deserves it.”
“The police are on their way. If this guy put something in your drink, we probably got it on the security cameras, and he’ll pay for it. Don’t ruin your life by trying to take his.”
She let go of the gun. Ace took the purse with his other hand and set it on the table, well out of reach, and let go of her wrist. She melted into tears then, crumpling onto his chest while he held her and let her cry it out. His eyes drifted back to her purse. The top gaped open, revealing a navy blue plastic gun handle with the letters NE visible. He looked over at Sailor, who stared back with a mixture of emotions crossing her face.
The few other patrons and the rest of the staff, including Gabby, Pieter the musician, and Pippi the bartender, had sat in frozen silence during the incident. Now, they all slowly lifted their hands and gave Ace a round of soft applause.
Sailor came over and smiled sweetly at the woman. “Come on, let’s get you a cool cloth. You can rest in my office for a while.”
“Okay.” The woman grabbed her purse and held it tightly against her side.
“What’s your name?”
“Alice.”
“Okay, Alice, I’m Sailor. Don’t worry. We’re cleaning up this place, so it’ll be safe for everyone.” Sailor led Alice toward her office, then looked back and smiled at Ace. The warmth in it ignited a spark inside him. A smile like that could be addicting…and dangerous.
Alice glanced back at him for a split second also, but it was long enough for him to see that her face was completely dry.
****
Saturday morning, Ace ventured out into the neighborhood to scope it out. A bar plagued with hoodlums was usually reflected in the surrounding population. But this part of Brooklyn in the neighborhood of Williamsburg gave off a decidedly upscale atmosphere. At the minimum, upper middle class. Only a few stray cigarette butts and gum wrappers littered the sidewalks and curbs. The bushes and trees were all pruned neatly with iron tree guards that protected the trunks from dog piss and car doors.
It was a nice fall day, but the nights were chilly. He didn’t see any evidence of homeless folk. The shops, built into the ground floors of classic Brooklyn brownstones, looked like places Sailor would visit. There seemed to be a lot of newer buildings and high rise condos mixed in with older construction. This whole mess at The Hole had a Jerry Springer aroma to it. As ridiculous as it was unnerving.
Ace stepped into one of the shops, a boutique called Forget Me Knots that appeared to sell all kinds of beaded and bejeweled baubles. An employee stood at a large wire tree display, hanging up necklaces made with shells and feathers. She was a middle aged woman with graying black hair held back in a tie-dyed scarf. Her blouse and skirt were loose and flowing, and she was barefoot.
“Can I help you?” she asked, then glanced up at him, startled. Ace got the feeling she catered mostly to females and males of a smaller build than his.
“Hello ma’am, Ace Montgomery. I just started working as security down at The Hole and would like to ask you some questions about the neighborhood.”
She tilted her head to one side and scratched her cheek for a moment with an ink-stained finger as though deciding whether she should talk. Then she nodded and smiled. “That’s fine. I’m Lilah Rosenfeld. Why don’t you have a seat here in our tea nook, and I’ll get us both a cup?”
Ace wasn’t a tea drinker, unless it involved the non-alcoholic state drink of Kentucky – sweet tea with so much sugar you could stand a spoon up in it. But he didn’t want to make a bad impression before he got some information, so he answered with a polite, “Thank you ma’am, sounds nice.”
Lilah led him to the tea nook, which was a tiny alcove in one corner of the store. He perched on one of the wicker chairs, halfway afraid it would break under his weight, and watched Lilah dip out some tea leaves from a decorative canister into their cups. Then she poured steaming water from a ceramic teapot she had on a hotplate and brought both to the glass-covered wicker table.
She sat across from him. “So, Mr. Montgomery, may I assume you’re not a native to this city?”
“You may.”
“I thought so. Let me guess – Tennessee?”
“Close. Kentucky.”
“Ah, and what brings you to work at The Hole of all places?” She delicately picked up her cup and sipped, staring at him over the rim.
“I’m a former cop, turned private security man. Ms. Kingston needed help with security at the bar. My cousin happens to be her tenant and referred me to her.”
“I see.”
“I’ve walked around the neighborhood. It seems like a nice enough place, which doesn’t fit with the clientele she’s been attracting. I’m wondering if you can give me any hints as to what I’m missing.”
Ace took a too-big sip of his tea. The bitter brew tasted like lawn clippings mixed with moldy cheese. Lilah looked away for a second and welcomed a customer who had walked in to browse. He let what he hadn’t swallowed flow back into the cup and raised his head quickly when she turned her attention back to him.
Lilah shrugged and sighed. “I don’t really know what might be attracting bad customers. This is a nice neighborhood, but it’s lost a lot of its flavor since gentrification in the 90’s. This was once an artist’s haven with low rent, music and murals on the streets. I loved it. Then developers bought up properties all over town and turned them into modern, expensive housing. Most of the artist community moved out, leaving all the corporate types. At least they do enjoy shopping for unique jewelry. That’s the only reason I still have a store. It’s a shame Ms. Kingston didn’t move away and start over without all her father’s baggage. Nice girl. Pity she was born into that family.”
“What do you mean, her father’s baggage?” Ace set his cup down, eye twitching as the pungent herbal steam climbed up his nose.
Lilah chuckled. “Would you like some sugar?”
“Yes, please.” He didn’t mean to sound so relieved, but that brought on a soft laugh from his interviewee as she pushed a little ceramic bowl toward him and took off the lid. A pile of sugar cubes was inside. A pair of tiny silver tongs hung on the handle of the bowl. He used them to plunk three lumps of sugar into his tea and stirred it with a wooden stirrer from a dispenser on the table.
Lilah continued with her story. “Roger Kingston was a real estate magnate and cashed in on the gentrification movement. He bought up properties as cheaply as possible and sold them just as quickly for a good price to many of the Jewish developers.”
“Sounds like a normal, shrewd businessman to me.” He tentatively took another sip. The sweetness helped some, but now it tasted like sweet grassy moldy cheese. Oh well, at least he could swallow some without gagging.
“Indeed, he was, but rumor has it he obtained many a property through unsavory means, embezzling, money laundering, blackmail, whatever it took to turn a quick buck. They say he left behind a string of tax debts, liens and lawsuits that fell on Ms. Kingston as his beneficiary.”
“That is a shame. So if the rumors are true, there could be more than a few people with a grudge against him. But then again, he’s dead. Would they go so far as to try and ruin his daughter?”
“Quite possibly. He probably made numerous enemies all over the city and beyond. But, the Hasidic Jewish community in particular is said to have suffered under Roger Kingston’s tactics. They are known for looking after their own.”
Pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, even if it did take a few sips of noxious herbal tea to make it happen.
Ace stood and shook Lilah’s hand. “Thank you, ma’am. I think I have enough information for now.”
“Anytime. And welcome to the city. I hope you’ll feel at home here.”
“Kentucky’s home, but thank you anyway.”
On his way out, he dialed Sailor’s number. She answered on the third ring, sounding groggy. “Yes?”
“Can we meet up and talk?”
“I suppose so. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing much, just some information to share. Sorry if I woke you.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be here.”
“Okay.”
****
Ten minutes later, Ace arrived at Sailor’s block. He noticed a trio of motorcycles and some bikers standing nearby, munching on hot dogs from a cart on the corner. They were definitely part of a club, as all of them wore matching leather vests. He pulled up beside a vintage Harley, turned off the engine and took off his helmet.
Would these be some of the guys giving Sailor trouble at The Hole?
One of the bikers acknowledged him with a nod. He was as tall as Ace, with a long, gray beard and a bald head. He had a cross tattoo on his forearm.
“Nice Chief,” he said, tilting his head toward Ace’s bike. "Never seen one running before." He grinned.
Ace grinned back. “Thanks. With a little TLC from time to time, she purrs like a kitten." He nodded toward a red Ducati. “Nice pasta rocket. Yours?”
“Mine,” one of the other guys said. He was skinny as a rail, with baggy jeans and a red bandana tied around his head. “I’m Skip. This is Jeff,” he said nodding toward the bearded guy. “And that’s Pete,” he added, thumbing at the third biker, a short guy with spiked blond hair who had a glob of mustard on his chin.
“Ace Montgomery,” Ace said, shaking Skip’s hand, then the others in turn. If these guys roughed up Sailor’s bar, he’d be really surprised. But then, he’d been surprised before, usually at the expense of his own medical bills.
“Where you from?” Jeff asked. He glanced at Pete and pointed at his own chin. Pete took the hint and wiped the mustard off with a napkin.
“Kentucky. Bowling Green.”
“Dang, man, did you see that big sinkhole at the Corvette Museum?” Pete asked.
“Yeah, it was pretty bad.”
“We drove down there just to see it.”
“And pay tribute to the fallen,” Skip added with a chuckle.
“How many was it?” Jeff wadded up his hot dog wrapper and tossed it in a garbage can.
“Eight, I think,” Ace said. “You guys local?”
“Yep, except for Pete. He’s from Flushing. You here with your club?”
“No, no club. I just moved here.” Ace decided to leave out his occupation for the moment. If these guys had any affiliation with troublemakers at The Hole, they would probably not be willing to snitch to the head of security.
“You’re welcome to join us. Some of us get together on Saturday afternoons and ride a loop around the city. We have monthly meetings at St. Francis Church on Olive Street.”
Pete finished picking his teeth with a toothpick. “We take some big road trips once or twice a year to meet up with other clubs, sightsee, go to shows, that sort of thing.”
Ace smiled and nodded. Unless they were really good actors, these guys definitely weren’t the type to cause trouble in Sailor’s bar.
“Sounds good,” Ace said.
“Cool. You look like you’d fit in.”
“Remember that metro guy who kept asking to join?” Skip asked.
Pete nodded. “Yeah, Dick something, wasn’t it? He had a knockoff Yamaha from China. I think he bought it on eBay. Didn’t know squat about bikes. He was odd. We told him he had to come to mass first. He never showed up.”
Ace made a mental note of that. Weird guy named Dick with a cheap bike.
“Go to our website on w, w, w Saint Francis on Wheels dot com. You can register there and get on our forum where we plan meetings and events and stuff.”
“I’ll do that.” Even if they didn’t rough up Sailor’s bar, Ace figured they might know something about it. “So where’s a good spot to grab a beer?”
Jeff scratched his beard. “Well, there’s Sharkey’s across the street, but they only have a few beers on draft and no craft beers. Or there’s The Hole a couple blocks from here. Food’s good, beer’s all right. The bartenders know their stuff.”
“There’s a hot blonde who runs it,” Pete said, grinning. “You can’t miss her.”
Ace doubted anyone could miss Sailor. “I heard that’s a rough joint,” he said.
“Rough, yeah you might say that.” Skip guzzled some soda from a big foam cup with a red straw.
“It ain’t bad all the time, but it keeps the cops busy. Don’t look like the place you’d see a bunch of bar fights.” Jeff shrugged.
“Like knock-down, drag out type fights or some pushing and shoving?”
“Both. Either one or the other, often on the same nights. We just sit in the corner and make sure the ladies don’t get hurt. We weren’t there one night when the owner got beat up. Believe me, we’d have put an end to that real quick.”
“We talking gangs, weapons or what? I carry, but I don’t want to have to use it.”
Jeff shook his head. “Naw, not that we’ve seen. Mostly drunk deadbeats and losers. The bouncers are useless.”
“I heard she just hired a new security guy. Former cop. Hopefully that’ll help,” Skip said, slurping up the last of his soda. He tossed it in the garbage and burped.
“Nice,” Pete said, frowning at Skip, who just smiled and shrugged. “Anyway, I sure hope that guy turns the place around. A face like hers deserves protection.”
The guys laughed.
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Ace said with a wink.
“Aw, man, is it you?” Jeff exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“Yeah.”
“Should have known from all those questions. Well, hey man, good luck and if you need any help, just let us know.”
“Thanks, I will.”
****
After exchanging numbers with the bikers, Ace reported to Sailor’s townhouse apartment and got settled on a stool at her kitchen bar. Surrounded by fine art and fine rugs and fine furniture that he could never afford even if he wanted them, he felt more than out of place. And Sailor, dressed in simple yoga pants and a white t-shirt, long blonde hair hanging loose and slightly disheveled, was still flawless, even if she had just woken up. She wore modest makeup that didn’t seem as carefully applied as usual. Perhaps she’d quickly put some on because he was coming. The thought made him smile.
She stood across from him at the bar, sipping some kind of green shake from a straw with a celery stick for garnish. Ace sipped his Dr. Pepper from a bottle he’d bought at the corner store on the way there.
“What information do you have for me?” she asked.
“It’s about your late father.” He related everything he’d heard from Lilah.
All the while, Sailor seemed to grow more tired and annoyed with every word she heard. Finally, she shook her head and waved off his story. “It’s all old news. I’ve sold off what I needed to pay his debts. Most of them anyway. People around here have been jealous of my family’s wealth for a long time.”
“But if he did make enemies in the neighborhood, what’s to keep them from trying to hurt your business?”
She smiled. “You.”
He watched her red lips on the straw as she sipped again and couldn’t help envision those lips on select parts of himself. Then as if to remind him of his battered thirty-year-old body and ill-suited environment, a painful spasm squeezed his lower back. He shifted on the bar stool, rubbing the problem area to no avail.
“Back pain?” Sailor asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, embarrassed to look like a broken down ex-cop, instead of like a tough bouncer, in front of the young boss lady.
“Then I have just the thing. Come with me to my yoga and Pilates classes tomorrow.”
He burst out laughing, even though it made the spasm worse. But Sailor’s face was deadpan serious.
He dried up the laughter and turned somber. “Is this a job requirement?”
“You need to keep in shape and be flexible enough to toss drunks out, don’t you?”
“Well…”
“Come on, it’s great stress relief, too.” She gave him a funny look that made him suspect she worried about his past trauma.
Great, first he had to drink grass clipping tea and now he’d have to fold up like a pretzel so he could keep his boss happy so she wouldn’t think he was made of chicken shit. “Okay, sure. Why not? Just tell me where and when.”
“Great! Oh, and you might want to wear comfortable shorts or jogging pants, not that you don’t look good in your leather jacket and jeans, but…” Her words trailed off, and he caught a glimpse of a blush on her neck when she turned around to put her glass in the sink. “I’ve got to get ready for work. I guess I’ll see you there.”
He took that as his dismissal and left, heading back upstairs to his temporary abode in Harper’s apartment. Ace wasn’t at all crazy about yoga, but it was clear Sailor thought he was at least a little attractive. And the thought of seeing her in tight workout clothes left him needing a cold shower before work.