"What are you doing sitting out here alone on a Saturday night, Ethan? I
swear, boy, you worry me."
"Had a long day."
"When I was your age, I put in long days and longer nights. You just
turned thirty, for Christ's sake. Porch sitting on a warm Saturday night
in June is for old men. Go on, take a drive. See where you end up." He
winked. "I bet we both know where that's likely to be."
The sudden blare of automatic gunfire and screams made Ethan jerk in his
chair. He blinked and stared hard at the porch rail. There was no one
there. Of course there was no one there, he told himself with a quick
shake. He'd nodded off for a minute, that was all, and the movie action
in the living room had wakened him.
But when he glanced down, he saw the glowing cigar in his hand. Baffled,
he simply stared at it. Had he actually taken it out of his pocket and
lit it in his sleep? That was ridiculous, absurd. He must have done it
before he'd drifted off, the habit so automatic that his mind just
didn't register the moves.
Still, why had he fallen asleep when he didn't feel the least bit tired?
In fact, he felt restless and edgy and too alert.
He rose, rubbing the back of his neck, stretching his legs on a pacing
journey up and down the porch. He should just go in and settle down with
the movie, some popcorn, and another beer. Even as he reached for the
screen door, he swore.
He wasn't in the mood for Saturday night at the movies. He would just
take a drive and see where he ended up.
grace's feet were numb all the way to the ankles. The cursed high heels
that were part of her cocktail waitress uniform were killers. It wasn't
so bad on a weekday evening when you had time now and then to step out
of them or even sit for a few minutes. But Shiney's Pub always hopped on
Saturday night--and so did she.
She carted her tray of empty glasses and full ashtrays to the bar,
efficiently unloading as she called out her order to the bartender. "Two
house whites, two drafts, a gin and tonic, and a club soda with lime."
She had to pitch her voice over the crowd noise and what was loosely
called music from the three-piece band Shiney had hired. The music was
always lousy at the pub, because Shiney wouldn't shell out the money for
decent musicians.
But no one seemed to care.
The stingy dance floor was bumper to bumper with dancers, and the band
took this as a sign to boost the volume.
Grace's head was ringing like steel bells, and her back was beginning to
throb in time with the bass.
Her order complete, she carried the tray through the narrow spaces
between tables and hoped that the group of young tourists in trendy
clothes would be decent tippers.
She served them with a smile, nodded at the signal to run a tab, and
followed the hail to the next table.
Her break was still ten minutes away. It might as well have been ten
years.
"Hey, there, Grade."