I threw my bag on the dresser and retreated to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror at myself. I looked older, mostly because of the suit, but also because I had my hair back in a ponytail. I held up a gloved hand and heard the leather stretch as I clenched a fist and then relaxed it. Grown-up indeed. I pulled the glove off and started to splash water on my face to help me wake up, but then remembered that it would probably destroy the careful amount of makeup I had applied earlier, before I left the Directorate. I rarely wore the stuff, but in this case it seemed important for the role I was playing.
I looked again at myself in the mirror and wondered what I was thinking. We were on a serious assignment, the first chance we had to prove ourselves, and we were going to a bar at midnight to have some drinks even though we weren’t anywhere close to done with our assignment. I sighed and looked at the faceplate on my phone again. The LED indicator that let me know when I had messages or missed calls wasn’t blinking. Screw it. Screw him. We’d been working our asses off for months, Kat was going to stay sober, and Scott and I would just have one or two and call it a night. An energy drink or coffee tomorrow and we’d be ready to keep going.
I tried to remember that reasoning as we walked in the doors to the bar. The light was orange in the room, with flatscreen TVs suspended from the ceiling around the bar itself. Tables were set up to the left and right of the bar area, with a small dance floor in the far corner. Music was playing, a modern pop tune, but not a soul was dancing. I scanned the room as we walked in and the place was only slightly packed, which surprised me given it was Saturday night.
We made our way to the bar, Scott leading us, his grin reaching an infectious stage. He bellied up and Kat sat next to him. I took the seat on the other side of him, mostly because he was more likely to talk than Kat. She was always tired and quiet after healing someone.
The bartender made his way over to us, a guy in his forties that had more than a few extra pounds. He had long brown hair in a ponytail and was happy enough after he checked our IDs. “Whaddya want?” he asked in an accent that was as far from midwestern as I could imagine.
Scott looked over to me first and I shrugged, so he turned to Kat. “Just water for me,” she said. “Designated driver.”
“What’s good here?” I picked up the mixed drinks menu that he had proffered and thumbed through it.
“Honestly? I got some strengths; I make a pretty good Whiskey Sour, Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail, Dirty Martini…my Fuzzy Navel is the stuff of local legend—”
“You don’t need to show us that,” Scott said.
The bartender smiled and his face split into jowls. “I also make a pretty good Cherry Bomb.”
I shrugged, without a clue. “I’ll try the Whiskey Sour.”
“Straight up or over ice?”
He looked back at me and I felt the fatigue of the day edging in. “Surprise me.”
The bartender nodded and Scott ordered a beer, a local brand, and went to the other end of the bar to prep our order. Once he was out of earshot, Scott turned to me. “What do you think so far?”
“He seems like a nice enough guy. Kinda big, though. You think that’s glandular?”
“About the case.” Scott shook his head.
“I think we should not screw it up.” I tried to give him my most serious look. “Right?”
“Right.” He looked back at Kat, who was resting her face on her palms. “Right?” She gave a lethargic shake of the head, pulling it off her hands to spread her palms with indifference. “It’ll be fine. Just a drink or two, and we’re off to bed for the night, and back to work tomorrow.” He smiled again at me and I caught the first hint of nervousness. “But come on, admit it – we’re out on our own, on the road, we’re in charge of this thing, and we’re sitting in a bar after a long day of chasing down a meta. Tell me this isn’t how you imagined it.”
I felt a charge of amusement. “First of all, it’s been like four hours, not a day, and most of it we’ve been driving, so I don’t know how hard it’s been.” I saw his nervous happiness start to evaporate and stopped myself. “Yeah, it’s kinda how I imagined it. Freedom, right?” The bartender returned and set down a napkin and placed my drink on top of it, complete with a maraschino cherry, put a beer bottle in front of Scott and slid a water glass onto the bar beside Kat.
“I’ll drink to that,” Scott said, raising his beer up and angling it toward me. He waited for me to pick up my glass, which was a lot shorter than his; kind of a midget glass, I thought, like they didn’t want me to have a grown-up’s cup. I clinked it against his bottle as he said, “To us! To freedom!” and then reached around him to click my glass against Kat’s. Even she was wearing a smile, as wan as it was.
“Pretty sure it’s bad luck to toast with a water glass,” I said to Kat as I took the first sip of my drink. Whatever she said in reply, I didn’t hear. I felt my face contract as the full flavor of the whiskey hit my mouth. It was only mildly sour. What caused me to make a face like I’d swallowed battery acid was what I could only assume was the result of the alcohol. It was pungent, powerful, and I immediately wanted to spit it out and throw the cup far, far away from me. They had given me poison, I was sure of it.
“Are you all right?” Scott was looking at me with his brow furrowed. He took a swig and set his beer back down on the bar.
I swallowed the vile mixture and wondered where the barman had gone. I assumed he’d wanted to be as far away from me as possible when I discovered that his idea of a good drink was far removed from what I had thought it would be. “Is it…supposed to taste like I took a swig of household cleaners?”
Scott laughed and looked back at Kat, who feigned a smile of amusement as she rested her face on her hands. “A little strong, huh?”
“It’s a little strong in the same way that compared to normal humans, we are a little strong.”
He picked up my drink and took a sip. “Not bad. It’ll probably take a little bit for you to get used to the flavor, that’s all.”
I wanted to tell him that the only way I could ever get used to the flavor would be to take a blowtorch to every taste bud in my head first, but I refrained. I stared down at the drink, looking at it like it was an adversary I was facing off with. “Acquired taste, huh?” I picked up my little kid’s glass, suddenly thinking it was a lot bigger now. I didn’t want to waste a lot of time on this, and it certainly didn’t bear sipping, prolonging my disgust for an hour or more, a little shot of revolting nastiness at a time.
I threw it back like I’d seen on TV, trying to ignore the strong, nearly gag-worthy reflex it caused as it passed my tongue and drained down my throat. I felt the ice on my lips, and that was good, the last lingering aftertaste of the liquor still remaining on the cubes. I set the glass down on the bar and shook my head, as though I could rid myself of the tang that was still on my tongue.
The bartender made his way over, and just as I was about to ask him to make my next round a water, he set another Whiskey Sour in front of me. I looked up at him, frozen, like I had gotten caught flashing him a fake ID, except this was much worse. “The gentleman down there sent you this.” I looked at the barman, and he lifted a pudgy finger to point to a man down the bar.
He had brown hair, spiked a little in front, with a thin face and intense eyes that caught my attention even from twenty feet away. He raised his glass to me and I could almost feel the ice cubes melt in mine as I picked it up and raised it in a silent toast across the distance between us. He took a drink of his and I took a deep sip of mine, taking care not to make the face that was struggling to get out, that mixture of putrid desire to spit and horror that drinking so vile a liquid was socially acceptable.