Tormented by Robert J. Crane Page A

second time someone’s asked me to do that, like destroying the place is good for business in some way.”
    “I don’t think it’d be all that good for business, to be honest,” Brant said, “though we are going into the slow season, so maybe it wouldn’t matter as much. That said, as fascinating as I find this bit of oddness to break up the monotony of a very slow week, I’m not all that excited about seeing this … uh … whatever you’ve got going on,” he waved a hand at me, “getting much more intense than it already has. You’re fun to banter with and all, but I’m not wealthy, and I had to get a high-deductible insurance policy on this place—”
    “Understood,” I said, nodding my head. “I will avoid trashing your place of business unless our very lives are in danger.” Not that it would matter; acts of metas weren't covered by insurance anyway. Needless to say, I kept this helpful information to myself, since it would probably only have served to make him nervous.
    His face grew pale. “Uhm … how likely is that to happen?” Nervous-er.
    I started to answer him but was interrupted by a gentle tapping on my shoulder. I spun quickly to see Jake flinch back from my sudden movement. He was standing there next to Sarah, who was watching the whole thing with a cool eye, which was probably how she watched everything. “Whoa!” Jake said. “No harm intended.” He held his hands out in front of him. “Just wanted to say hi.”
    “I didn’t even hear you come up,” I said, the muscles in my back at full tense. My fists were clenched, already prepared for an ambush, and I could hear my heart pounding even over the music, which had moved on to the Postmodern Jukebox version of “Poison” sometime during my conversation with Brant. Good taste, bartender.
    “Didn’t try to sneak,” Jake said, taking a step back to stand next to Sarah. “Sorry. Wasn’t intending to surprise you, either.” He lowered his hands, and for the first time I noticed the gold watch on his left wrist. It had handsome links.
    “I should be apologizing,” I said, lowering myself back onto the barstool. “Or I should buy you a drink, or something.”
    “I like this idea,” Brant said from behind me, “because it involves money going into my pocket rather than coming out to make repairs to my oh-so-quaint establishment.”
    Sarah’s cool gaze flicked over me. “Your hand is bleeding again.”
    “Huh?” I looked down and unclenched my left hand. Sure enough, there was crimson spreading out across the bandage. “Hell. Must have squeezed it tight enough to break the skin when I, uh, overreacted to your husband’s approach.”
    “I often overreact to his approach, with similar results,” Sarah said, sliding onto the barstool next to me. If I wasn’t mistaken, this was probably as close as she got to sympathy, but it was sprinkled with her über-dry wit. “I’ll take a martini, Brant, since the young lady’s paying.”
    “I feel like I just got an unpleasant glimpse into your sex life,” Brant said, frowning slightly as he stared off into space past Sarah. “I don’t think I like it.”
    Sarah’s eyes rolled hard. “You’re reading too much into it. Now go fix me a drink.”
    Jake slid onto the barstool next to mine, sandwiching me neatly between the married couple. I probably would have felt more uncomfortable, but Sarah was already ignoring me in favor of the little bowl of mixed nuts sitting on the counter. “Settling in?” Jake asked, with that broad grin I’d seen him display more than a few times already today.
    “More or less,” I said, getting back on my barstool with a little effort. Those things were tall, and I am not.
    “So which is it?” Sarah asked, not even bothering to turn to face me while she spoke. “More? Or less?”
    “Probably less,” I said, giving her side-eye. Brant was a few steps away and turned his head to look at me as I spoke, but he offered nothing to my story,