Once the doors closed, Jade eyed the liquor, where not so much as a speck of dust dulled the bottles or the glass shelves. The bar’s lights glinted off the bottles, which sat on shelves against the mirror that ran from the ceiling to Jade’s waist, as wide as the length of the bar. It was well stocked for now, though later she knew there’d be a run on the cheaper stuff: Ram Rum, Liquid Courage, Manager’s Reserve, Jimmy Runner, Potato Juice, Blue Label Special, Nirvanic, Captain’s Special Box.
The knock-off Indian booze might all taste like sugary antifreeze, but it had the best names. Jade chuckled and wondered who had thought of them all. In the mirror, the light caught her smile and her blue-and-gold eyes, framed by her almond face, olive skin, and the kinky brown-and-black hair that hung just past her shoulders.
Then she reached down, just there on the paneling, just below the bottom shelf of the mirrored bar, just below the phone that never rang. Jade tapped the spot and the cabinet opened. Unseen and unseeable by anyone but her—though lately she wondered about Rucksack—the cabinet held her true duty.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish