[Quick-log: Eddie N/Svetlana K]
[Repose was magnet. She had mapped old names in telephone directory and in online records no one was supposed to have access to. It took skill, eh? It took skill from the man who would be footing bill in bar or it took cash. Svetlana, she had cash. The teahouse was doing well. It buzzed and it was clean, wholesome buzz. And if not tea-house? The trailer other side of town made money same way as the small apartment over bar in city. There was no man with hand-out for take after, and she liked that. Много, she liked it.
Repose was magnet for old crowd and the new gun was in bedside drawer. The knife was under pillow and there was another now strapped to her ankle beneath the jeans that were tight and cheap and left nothing to imagination. Imagination did not buy sex across town. It was cop bar, eh? It was show and Svetlana's mouth held no amusement but eyes glittered. Show for men who would not buy, who would not think about touching was fuck you. She wore t-shirt from garage station with American flag stretched tight over tits and sunglasses and if Repose was cold it was not Russian winter. Her arms were bare beneath leather jacket and the knife was cold at her ankle. It was insurance. Building insurance on tea-house, health insurance on her, knife was insurance against past. Eddie was not past. He tried to be but it was evolution, eh? He grew. That was good, even if it caused him heart-ache. Heart-ache was good too.]
Vodka, neat. [She sat on the barstool with spiked heels on boots hooked around the rung and she sharded a look toward Eddie as her weight landed. Deadpan and kohl-ringed.] You lasted not long [This as if it were information.]