Old Faces, New Places
At least he had a job he knew he could do.
Critical Mass was a dance club in the middle of the strip on Duval Street, and now that the holidays were over the place was starting to do more business. Connor had been on floor duty for forty-five minutes, and he made his customary pass by the bar to check for troublemakers. He was dressed casually, fitting in with the other patrons. He was the last person anyone expected to bounce them out if they got too rambunctious. He'd found earplugs in the bathroom at the house before leaving for work, and he was grateful for the protection of his hearing at the moment. Way-too-loud music was one of the reasons he'd never cared for the club scene.
The Destroyer got a cup of water from the bartender, sipped at it as he headed for the stairs that led to the upper level. He'd apparently worked out the timing so he could make his rounds on a consistent basis, and he nodded at another member of the security staff as they passed each other on the steps. All in all, this wasn't a bad way to make money.
Avery could not believe he was here. Well, he could believe it, because it was happening, but it was slightly surreal. He had decided that he might need to branch out more, fly under the radar, whatever the radar was in this city. He had never met a Slayer before, to his knowledge, and he preferred to keep it that way. Even though he did not leave lifeless bodies in his wake, what he did would probably still be frowned upon.
The vampire sat at the long, glossy bar, drumming his pale fingers against the surface. His blue eyes scanned the shelves in front of him, and when a female bartender took notice of him and gave him a distracted smile, he nodded. She trailed over to him.
"Lagavulin," he requested, sliding a twenty across the bar. "No ice." He recalled the sleek, amber-colored bottle in his father's study when Avery was younger. It was his first foray into the illicit world of alcohol, and it seemed like the thing to order now. The bartender, who was young and pretty in a mild sort of way, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning to retrieve a round-bottomed Scotch glass. He'd wait for her, wait until her shift was over.
All was quiet upstairs, with the exception of one couple he found making out in one of the more secluded corners, and Connor went back down to the first floor with his empty water cup in hand for disposal. He shouldered his way through a smal knot of people who were exiting the club, then put the plastic object into the tray with other dirty glasses.
"How's the tip jar doing, Alex?" He was on pretty good terms with his fellow employees, even if they didn't hang out after work, and Connor kept half of his attention on the dance floor as he added, "Looks like the students are making their way back from their break. Hopefully they'll be bringing plenty of business with them."
"I'm not sure that one's old enough to drink." The bartender pointed a discreet finger, and the Destroyer pivoted to check out the source of her interest. His mouth opened slightly, consternation dawning. "Did you card him?"
"He ordered something specific, like he knew what he wanted." Connor considered it for a minute. Alex really should have gone ahead and asked for ID if she wasn't sure, but then again... "I'll take care of it. Pour him his drink. If he's not legal, it'll be on me."
He slipped back through the crowd that mobbed the bar, tapped the other man on the shoulder. "Your server's trying to guess your age and doin a lousy job of it. You got ID on you?"
The corner of the vampire's mouth turned up slightly as he looked at the source of this new intrusion. His hand reached into his pocket, extracting a weathered brown billfold. Avery withdrew his trusty fake ID, having procured it awhile back for situations such as these. It had cost a pretty penny, but it passed for the real deal easily enough, even under a security light. It was easy to get access to illegal things in tourist towns. He held out the plastic card amiably.
"Never can be too safe," he said, sounding vaguely amused. According to the ID, Avery Adlam was twenty-two years old and an organ donor. An inside joke shared only with himself. His body was pretty much useless to the living.
He examined the plastic-coated card for a few seconds, looked at the face of the man who'd handed it to him, and somewhere underneath the being nonplussed, his stomach was knotting up. Avery didn't know him, and if Avery didn't know him that meant he wasn't among the crop of transplants who'd suddenly found themselves in Key West. He handed the driver's license back, pulled one of the earplugs out so he could pretend to scratch his ear.
No heartbeat. Even with the thud-thud-thud of the music he could tell that much. Damn.
"Sorry about that," he said, putting the plug back in. "We got our liquor license just last August. The manager wants to make sure we're not selling to minors. You'd think most of it actually tastes good what with the hurry people are in to drink it."
"Not a problem." Avery's drink was set before him, and he laid a few more singles down on the bar top. He took a slow sip of the Scotch as he gave the other man a discreet once-over. Security, had to be, although he wasn't the stereotypical muscled-up intimidator. Which probably meant he was more dangerous. The alcohol tasted dimly of smoke, the kind from a bonfire. The vampire tried to recall how it was before, when he was on the brink of being a teenager and sneaking sips from the top of his dad's bottles. The most rebellious thing he had ever done, really, besides dating a vampire girl.
"You must see all sorts of types in here," he remarked, eyes flickering toward one of the flat-screen televisions mounted over the bar.
"We get a fair amount of different sorts," Connor said. "It'll probably get busier now that the holidays are done. Lots more people to card." He decided to at least pretend for the moment that Avery was only scamming, because this was hardly the place for 'I just got warped here from Chicago and boy are my arms tired.' Still, the situation merited watching.
"Don't think you've been here before, though."
"No," Avery agreed, taking another drink before setting the glass on a coaster advertising a local beer. "But I've passed by and been curious. Pretty decent place." Full of pretty decent meals, the vampire added to himself, although the bartender was probably a no-go. It looked like Mr. Security knew her pretty well. Better to pick off one of the faceless, drunken strangers; send them home with a hangover and a weird wound on their neck.
"What did you say your name was?," he asked casually.
"I didn't, but it's Connor."He's not scamming. He's way too casual for this to be a ruse. Damn it. The Destroyer tucked one hand into his pocket, pushed hair out of his face with the other hand. "We don't really fill up until late, like around eleven or midnight. By then, the security guys are even more careful about keeping watch. But usually it isn't too bad. At least there's not as much fighting as some of the other places around have had to deal with."
Avery nodded contemplatively, finishing off the drink. It had been about three fingers, a generous pour. He gestured to the empty glass with another polite nod, and the girl came back to refill it. It was like drinking water, he could probably finish the whole bottle, but then how would that look? Connor's attention was on him now, and it wouldn't do to look like some desperate, young alkie with a possibly suspect ID.
"I'd rather steer clear of crowds like that," the vampire commented. "The bad element."
"The heavy drinkers have been staying out for the past few weeks too," Connor said lightly. "If they just want booze they can go someplace else. There's plenty of places to take up room around here, they're free to find one."
The guy sounded so much like the Avery he knew that it was hard to reconcile that they might be different, but with a vampire there were really only a couple of ways this could go. Better to have him on the premises where he could be watched than out there somewhere snacking on the general populace. He signaled Alex for another cup of water, and the clear plastic tumbler was pushed across the bar towards him. He lifted it to his mouth, felt the cold liquid go down his throat.
"You don't have any bad habits I need to know about, do you?" he asked, his mouth ticking upwards at one corner. But his blue eyes stayed steady. "Bad associations, a tendency to get loud...unexplainable eating habits?"
The smile was slow to spread across his lips as Avery swirled the Lagavulin. "Do I look like the type who gets loud?" He was soft-spoken, even now in this loud club, but Connor appeared to hear him perfectly. And then he saw it, the sharp eyes, the body that was half-way between tense and relaxed, ready for anything. No wonder they picked him for security. There was something more there. Unexplainable eating habits.... What a funny question.
"I won't be any trouble. In fact, I was planning on leaving after this drink. I have to drive." The vampire jangled the keys in his jacket pocket for emphasis.
"Friends don't let friends drive drunk." Connor half-turned towards the dance floor to give it a quick inspection, then swung back to face Avery. "It's policy to make sure everyone enjoys themselves, but we don't want to get sued. You never can tell who's going to be the bad element." He'd probably be back at some point, which meant he'd have to keep an eye out. And walk Alex to her car when she got off her shift. Just in case.
"Well, back to work for me," he said, finishing off the water in a couple of gulps. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Avery, glad you like the place."