complaints of the shares.
In fact, there were only two complaints. One was from the fighting drunks thrown from the bar. The other was that she was never available, no matter who offered or how much was on the table.
Brandy locked up the final drawers in front. She took the small strongbox back to the tiny office nestled by the public toilet. The dressing room for everyone else was also in this area. The box went into the floor in the fireproof safe, the only modern, hundred-percent clean place in the entire building.
Tim, the bouncer, was the last one left, as he always waited for her. He walked her out to her old beat up little bus. There had been a big joke over hiring a bouncer with an even bigger bouncer when she brought in Tim.
The owner of the bar was a man by the name of Carl Giacco. Even though it was in Santiago, Mexico, Carl’s Italian name was actually from New York. He was fat, that rare breed who would chop your fingers off for stealing from him, but sloppy loyal if you were honest with him. Carl would rather be out at the reservoir at Presa Rodrigo Gomez, sucking on beers, hoping no fish took his bait.
His last bouncer had cost him a lot of money with the local Policia because he did too much damage to individuals. The bouncer before that one had gotten shot dead on the job. When she brought in Tim, Carl couldn’t stop laughing. Tim was a skinny six-foot tall guy that looked like he needed help standing. Tall and skinny did not mean basketball type. Tim knew the moves, the pressure points, the stiff fingers, the bony elbow in the right place that left a two hundred fifty pound wrestler struggling to get air. Before all of that, there was the talk about the boyish charm. He turned out to be the best bouncer Carl ever saw. Like her, Tim spoke Spanish fluently. Brandy had been able to expand her high school Spanish to something the locals really understood. She had never had any trouble understanding the language.
Carl acted as if he had adopted Brandy. Between Brandy and Tim, Carl could load up his beer, his tackle, including a couple of friends. Then he was away from the NoName Bar for weeks, just meeting with her whenever he felt like it. Brandy didn’t understand Carl’s fascination with the area he escaped to, as he seldom brought back fish. The area was a change from the dry deserts of Mexico to a deep moist jungle of old. Here, the traces of ancient sites were hidden among the vines. Too small, too hard to get to, it didn’t draw the treasure hunters or the history buffs.
Animals thrived along with birds, snakes, turtles, and, oh yes, don’t forget the bugs. There were too many living things with too many legs in the semi dark of the heavy foliage to suit Brandy. Clouds dumped rain caught by the high peaks surrounding the distant ridges that were on one side of the mountains away from the deserts. She didn’t like it, but had only had to meet Carl twice out there. He had understood, so he usually came to the bar’s office from that time onward. The road to the reservoir was fairly passable for interior Mexico’s standards. The unpaved sections that led into the forest were often un-passable, not that she wanted to go into a place where the mosquitoes were bigger than the multitude of frogs.
Brandy preferred the dry heat of Santiago, even though she had no AC in her little room that Carl provided. She did get some breeze, since it was on top of the storage warehouse, accessed only by a stairway that was partially enclosed. The steps ran up the side of the adobe building. It had a solid door locked at the bottom of the steps. At the top, the cover broke away to allow entry to the open flat roof that held old pallets and discarded boxes. The apartment had a decent bathroomwith only a small shower. If she took the time, she would lock and close all windows. Most of the time, they were open to allow the hot air that blew over the roofs and the slow fan to give her relief from the heat of the day.
In fact, there were only two complaints. One was from the fighting drunks thrown from the bar. The other was that she was never available, no matter who offered or how much was on the table.
Brandy locked up the final drawers in front. She took the small strongbox back to the tiny office nestled by the public toilet. The dressing room for everyone else was also in this area. The box went into the floor in the fireproof safe, the only modern, hundred-percent clean place in the entire building.
Tim, the bouncer, was the last one left, as he always waited for her. He walked her out to her old beat up little bus. There had been a big joke over hiring a bouncer with an even bigger bouncer when she brought in Tim.
The owner of the bar was a man by the name of Carl Giacco. Even though it was in Santiago, Mexico, Carl’s Italian name was actually from New York. He was fat, that rare breed who would chop your fingers off for stealing from him, but sloppy loyal if you were honest with him. Carl would rather be out at the reservoir at Presa Rodrigo Gomez, sucking on beers, hoping no fish took his bait.
His last bouncer had cost him a lot of money with the local Policia because he did too much damage to individuals. The bouncer before that one had gotten shot dead on the job. When she brought in Tim, Carl couldn’t stop laughing. Tim was a skinny six-foot tall guy that looked like he needed help standing. Tall and skinny did not mean basketball type. Tim knew the moves, the pressure points, the stiff fingers, the bony elbow in the right place that left a two hundred fifty pound wrestler struggling to get air. Before all of that, there was the talk about the boyish charm. He turned out to be the best bouncer Carl ever saw. Like her, Tim spoke Spanish fluently. Brandy had been able to expand her high school Spanish to something the locals really understood. She had never had any trouble understanding the language.
Carl acted as if he had adopted Brandy. Between Brandy and Tim, Carl could load up his beer, his tackle, including a couple of friends. Then he was away from the NoName Bar for weeks, just meeting with her whenever he felt like it. Brandy didn’t understand Carl’s fascination with the area he escaped to, as he seldom brought back fish. The area was a change from the dry deserts of Mexico to a deep moist jungle of old. Here, the traces of ancient sites were hidden among the vines. Too small, too hard to get to, it didn’t draw the treasure hunters or the history buffs.
Animals thrived along with birds, snakes, turtles, and, oh yes, don’t forget the bugs. There were too many living things with too many legs in the semi dark of the heavy foliage to suit Brandy. Clouds dumped rain caught by the high peaks surrounding the distant ridges that were on one side of the mountains away from the deserts. She didn’t like it, but had only had to meet Carl twice out there. He had understood, so he usually came to the bar’s office from that time onward. The road to the reservoir was fairly passable for interior Mexico’s standards. The unpaved sections that led into the forest were often un-passable, not that she wanted to go into a place where the mosquitoes were bigger than the multitude of frogs.
Brandy preferred the dry heat of Santiago, even though she had no AC in her little room that Carl provided. She did get some breeze, since it was on top of the storage warehouse, accessed only by a stairway that was partially enclosed. The steps ran up the side of the adobe building. It had a solid door locked at the bottom of the steps. At the top, the cover broke away to allow entry to the open flat roof that held old pallets and discarded boxes. The apartment had a decent bathroomwith only a small shower. If she took the time, she would lock and close all windows. Most of the time, they were open to allow the hot air that blew over the roofs and the slow fan to give her relief from the heat of the day.
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