What's Left of the Night by Alex Gates

Author:Alex Gates [Gates, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alex C. Gates

Gibson

The clock on Gibson’s dashboard showed just past noon. A January sun fought against a bulk of storm clouds, and a deep chill had settled over the small town. Gibson sat in her car, in the parking lot of the local bar.

Images of four dead teenagers from last year flashed through her mind, along with the dead faces of Tessa Thompson and Emely Ortega. Most of all, she saw the mask with the stitched lips and the stapled eyes. To erase the visions, she had to drown them, bury them in alcohol, in darkness.

Opening the car door, Gibson stepped into the afternoon. She trudged across the parking lot, her feet heavy. She walked like an old woman, broken from war and life, and burdened with the weight of the world, of her past.

When she stepped into the bar, a hazy light greeted her, along with the welcome chime.

Behind the bar, bottles stood across glass shelves, illuminated by strategic lighting. A bartender leaned against the counter to the empty establishment and scrolled through his phone. When Gibson sat on a wobbly stool, he glanced toward her. He had a small face, almost too small compared to his broad shoulders and tall stature, and his nose swelled like a misshapen eggplant.

“How can I help you?” he asked in a strange accent Gibson couldn’t place.

“You serve lunch here?” she asked, glancing around at the restaurant area, not noticing a single patron sitting in the wooden chairs.

“Aye,” he said, sniffling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Gibson noticed a clover tattooed onto his wrist, surrounded by script she couldn’t read.

“What’s that mean?” she asked, not really caring, but feeling like the silence in the empty bar needed breaking.

“What?”

She nodded toward his wrist. “The tattoo. What’s the clover symbolize?”

“A drunk dare,” he said. “You want a drink? Food?”

Gibson wanted a drink. Her mouth salivated at the thought, like a dog promised treats for doing a stupid trick. “Just lunch,” she said, forcing the statement through gritted teeth. “Can I get a menu?”

He reached under the counter and grabbed a paper menu stained purple with wine and smeared in grease. The house cocktails showed first, and Gibson attempted to force her eyes down the page to read the food options, but her gaze lingered on the alcohol. She scratched the back of her neck, like a junkie seeking another fix.

Pushing away the menu, she said, “Just…a club sandwich, I guess. Fries on the side. And water.”

Nodding, the bartender exited from behind the bar, limped across the barren restaurant, and disappeared around the corner, where Gibson guessed the kitchen staff sat on their hands and waited for an order.

Alone, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to the case. Annie needed a pen, but she no longer wore her uniform, nor did she have a purse. Stretching her neck to see over the condiments at the bar, she noticed a blue pen near the cash register. She reached over the barrier that held lemons and olives for drinks, and ketchup and mustard for burgers, and she grabbed it.

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