Free The Lure by Felice Picano Page B

it open on a screwed-down opener. “California, huh?”
    “Frisco,” Noel said, trying to meet the look Chaffee had given him. Rick was about thirty years old, with long, lank dark hair, thin face, fine features, deep-set dark eyes. Scars in various places on his cheeks and forehead. A rough beard and mustache.
    “Must be something in the water out there,” Chaffee said. He punched open a Bud for himself and leaned over the bar. “Need work, huh?” Without waiting for an answer, he asked, “You ever come in here before?”
    “Just got in town.”
    “I guess you don’t have to hang around bars much. You been pushing it much?”
    For a second, Noel was confused, then he realized he was being asked if he were a prostitute. He fought down his sudden anger.
    “No. Never did it.”
    “You could,” Chaffee said. He tapped his long fingers on the bar, leaned closer, and said, “Tell me, would you rather work here or ball me? You can’t do both, you know. I’ve got ethics.”
    He’d been waiting for his own reaction to the first proposition. This one was so good, Noel had to laugh. “Could I take a look around?”
    “Sure. Look around. You’re too pretty for me, anyway. I’d rather have you pulling in business than have a few good fucks and lose you.”
    “Then I can have the job?” Noel acted sincerely.
    “You’re on a month’s probation. I’ll need you three nights a week. Eight o’clock to four in the morning. That’s when we close here. Not at three like California.”
    “Two, out there,” Noel corrected, suddenly remembering the fact.
    “Whatever,” Chaffee said, all business now. “You set up when you come in. We keep two reserves: open and closed. You have to get a key from me for that. Or ask. Count your register when you come in. Note it. Tips are split among everyone on the shift, usually two of us. Free drinks at your discretion. I assume you can mix anything?”
    “Pretty much,” Noel lied. He’d have to get a bartenders’ manual and learn it by heart.
    “We have three qualities of booze: house, brand, and top brand. Three prices. Always mix with the house unless someone asks for the others and is watching. No sex, no drugs at the bar. If you want to smoke or ball, go downstairs. Bud will show you the office downstairs. You get a half hour for dinner break. What you’re wearing looks fine. Don’t you have boots?”
    “Yeah. But if I’m going to be on my feet all night…”
    “Start tomorrow. Eight o’clock. You know the pay?”
    “Buddy said…”
    “It’s not much. That’s why you’ll have to hustle for tips. You shouldn’t have any trouble. I’ll work two nights’ shift with you for a while. Buddy’ll probably work with you on the other day. That’s Max at the door.”
    Noel turned around in time to see a large, heavyset man with a nasty, distinctly Teutonic face, dressed in black leather from his boots to his visored motorcycle cap. He’d just come into the bar, looked around, smiled a broken-toothed grimace, and settled himself on a tall stool next to the entrance.
    “You have any trouble at all, call Max. He’ll cream the guy. Eh, Max?” Chaffee lowered his voice. “He’s really a pussycat when you get to know him. But he likes to play rough, too.”
    Max grunted loudly and, overhanging the stool on all sides, appeared to fall into an immediate sleep.
    “Remember,” Chaffee warned, “you’ll be watched here. So no shit. Okay? Oh, and do us a favor? Don’t bring your personal life into the bar.”
    Noel assured him he wouldn’t.
    Business over for the minute, Chaffee smiled, and leaning over the bar ran a finger down the front of Noel’s chest, stopping only where the jeans began. Noel was so surprised he couldn’t help but flinch. “You’re going to regret not balling with me. Believe me, you’d bring out the best in me. I’d do things to you you’d never get over.”
    “I thought you had ethics,” Noel said, sipping his beer and gingerly