Steele Street 09 - Loose and Easy by Tara Janzen

Author:Tara Janzen [Ismeretlen]
Language: hun
Format: epub, mobi, pdf

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Standing in the doorway between the hostess desk and the rest of the restaurant, Dax checked out the

people sitting in the bar at Mama Guadalupe’s. Then he checked his watch. Charo had made good

time once he’d gotten her off the interstate. He was early.

He let his gaze go back over the people fil ing up the tables. The place was packed on a Friday

night, with music blaring, folks dancing, drinking, eating, and talk, talk, talking. Jazz was the music,

Santa Fe gourmet was the food, and Mama Guadalupe’s was obviously the place to be. Mama herself

was working the tables at the front of the house, charming the diners and snapping her fingers at the

waitstaff to keep them moving. Dax knew it was al for show. The young men didn’t need the added

incentive. They had to work long and hard to get out of the busboy crew and into the ranks of Mama’s

howlingwolf waiters. Not only did the job supply them with plenty of ready cash, there wasn’t a girl

on the west side who didn’t want to date one of Guadalupe’s waiters. The job was cool, always had

been.

“Sir? Mr. Kil ian?”

He looked down at the young, dark-haired hostess standing at his elbow. She couldn’t have been

more than fifteen or sixteen and was dressed very neatly in a black skirt to her knees, a white buttonup shirt, and a black vest with a name tag pinned to it

—Dulcinea.

He agreed. She looked real sweet with her hair swept back in a pair of tidy braids, her warm smile,

and her Holy Cross earrings.

“Yes?” he answered, only slightly surprised to hear his name. The city of Denver would have to

undergo a pretty dramatic population change for him not to run into people he knew, especial y in this

part of town.

“Señor Rick requests your company for a drink.” She pointed to the far dark corner of the long bar,

and Dax grinned. He’d be damned. Rick Graydon, the only gringo in the place, was stil in the place.

“Gracias.” He smiled at the girl before heading across the room.

“Dax.” The bartender greeted him with a smile, a bright flash of false teeth. Dax knew Rick kept

the choppers by his bed at night in a cup of peroxide with a touch of water and a whisper of bleach—

shaken, not stirred. The guy was seventy, if he was a day, stil lively, but definitely old enough to be a

piece of Denver history, and he very freely shared the secret of his blindingly white smile with anyone

wil ing to listen.

“Rick.” Dax reached across the bar and shook the guy’s hand. The older man’s grip was stil

strong, like an ox. Rick was rightly infamous for his mescal margaritas. “Good to see you stil

working.”

“ ’Til I drop, Dax. ’Til I drop, probably right here behind the bar.”

Dax slipped a five across the bar, and Rick reached under his side and slid a pack of cigarettes back

over to him.

To Dax’s knowledge, Rick was the only importer of Faro cigarettes in the state. He was also the

only importer of Oaxacan mescal.

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