Reid
When I get back to the bar, I’m angrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. All those years of hard work only to have some fucker steal it. And the worst part of it all is there’s fuck all I can do about it.
By the time I reach the door, it’s already past eight. It’s quiet, but then that’s normal for a Sunday night. As I walk through, Akilah looks up from pouring a drink for a customer. He smiles as I approach.
“Everything okay?” I shake my head, but don’t say anything. Akilah knows this isn’t a conversation to be having in front of clients. Knowing this, he finishes up with his client before walking over to me. “What happened?”
“They stole my fucking money,” I seethe.
Akilah’s eyes widen. “But they can’t. We need to try and get it back.”
“It’ll be our word against theirs.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, taking a couple of steps back. Once he calms a little, he leans over the bar. “I’m so fucking sorry, brother.”
“It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Who do you think tipped the police off?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been thinking about that the whole journey home. I know there have been clients we’ve turned away, and some have even threatened retribution. Whoever it is, I will hunt them down and have great delight in gutting them open and revealing the fucking pig that they are underneath.”
“And I’ll help,” Akilah says with determination.
I smile, knowing I have an ally. I trust Akilah with my life. “Thanks, man.”
“After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do for you.” He points to the bar. “Drink?” I nod, and he gets to work fetching a glass and pouring me a whiskey. I say my thanks and take a sip, savouring the bite it offers me. I’m still pissed, but with every sip I take, it dulls down a little. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do, but I’ll find the fucker who did this, and he or she will pay in blood.
I watch as Akilah serves another customer before turning my attention back to my reflection in the mirror. I look tired and pissed off.
Something catches my eye.
When I look into the mirror squinting, I see a familiar-looking purse sitting on one of the tables in the far corner. On turning, I stalk towards the item. My head’s buzzing, and my knees are trembling. It’s a purse, but not just any old purse. A purse that’s red with distinctive diamonds around the edges—diamonds which I had specifically instructed to be placed there. And I know if I turn the purse around, there will be more diamonds forming the initials S and V … for Scarlet Valentine.
I pick the offending purse up and immediately turn it around. My heart sinks when I see the initials. “Who left this?” I shout, causing everyone in the bar to look up. “Who the fuck left this purse?”
A woman with black hair, a red tank top, and incredibly short shorts walks towards me, holding out her hand. “That’s mine. We’ve moved tables, and I accidentally left it there. Sorry about that, but thank you. I really don’t want to lose this purse.”
“Where did you get it from?” I ask, noticing her frown when I won’t give it back.
“It was a present. Can I have it back now, please? It’s mine. If you don’t believe me, look inside. It has my ID card in there.”
Surprising her, that’s exactly what I do. There are a few euro notes and some credit cards, and, sure enough, there’s also ID. I take it out to look and see her face staring back at me. “Sarah Vickers.”
“That’s me. Now, can I have my purse back, please?” She asks, extending her hand out again.
Reluctantly, I give it back, but not before asking, “Did the purse come with that design?”
She shakes her head. “No. My boyfriend bought it for me and had it custom made.”
Somewhere in my mind, I don’t believe her. This was Scarlet’s purse. But, how can I prove it?
Shit, this bitch is messing with my head. If there is another life after death, she’s certainly taunting me with it. Then again, I deserve it. She’s most probably down there right now, having a drink and laughing her arse off with the devil.
“Thanks,” she says again as she starts to walk away. Before she does, though, I catch her shooting me a look that says I’m batshit crazy.
Ignoring her, I go back to the bar and to my drink. Immediately, Akilah comes over. “Are you okay?”
Being honest, I shake my head. “No, I’m not fucking okay.”
He walks away, grabbing the whiskey bottle before walking back. As he pours some more liquid in, he says, “Do you want to talk about it yet?”
I huff out a laugh. “How long have you got?”