Over the Hill White Knight Ch. 01

The place was clean, but the appliances were all old and looked like they were barely holding together. It was big, though, and I got the vibe that the place also fancied itself a gastro-pub: yet another half-formed identity. Kala and her goddess-like body led me past the dishwashing stations to the manager's office.

It was small and cramped, half of one wall taken up by wavering CCTV monitors, the other wall filled by a desk obscured by papers and receipts. "Brett is very, um, organized. You'll see when you meet him," she sighed and waved a slender but toned arm around the space. "If you meet him," she muttered and probably assumed I couldn't hear her.

I cocked an eyebrow; that was the second time I'd heard her say something like that. Who the hell was this Brett guy, and where the hell was he? All his employees had been at work for at least an hour, and he was MIA.

"Well, thanks Kala, I think I'll stick around until Brett gets here."

"Sure thing. You can wait back here if you want?" She responded, her face still a carefully crafted mask of casual dismissal.

I glanced again at the mess, which I'd also noticed smelled like...something. "Nah, I think I'll chill at one of the tables if that's all right?"

She laughed, but the smile didn't reach her eyes, "It's your place now, boss. You can do whatever you want!"

I smirked and supposed she was right, following her back out front and studiously keeping my gaze anywhere but her fever-dream fantasy of a body.

***

I fumed at first when he said he wanted to wait up front; I didn't need this new unknown watching my every move when I wasn't ready for him. I made the best of it quickly, though. I'd be able to watch him in between pouring beers, mixing shots, and waving my tits in desperate men's faces for a few extra dollars tip. I couldn't prove it, but half of that would disappear to Brett somehow, so the girls and I had been having to work twice as hard and act twice as slutty to even make ends meet. Part of me wanted to try some of those wiles on Ivan just to get an even better read on him.

He found a table, and I got back to the bar just as Paolo unlocked the doors and started letting people in. A slowly growing crowd of customers filtered in, but most were there for the dinner special and not time-consuming mixed drinks. Krista and Ji-soo avoided Ivan purposefully without making it noticeable; I think they were relying totally on me to get a good read on him. Great.

After making sure the old regulars at my bar were taken care of, I strutted over to his table, putting just the right amount of sway into my already sashaying step. "Everything alright?"

He glanced at the door, still searching for the elusive Brett, but looked back up at me with a smile, "Can I get a beer?" He shifted his huge bulk, and the chair creaked. Ugh, I thought, why couldn't he have been short and old and fat?

"Sure, boss, what's your poison?" I smiled slightly, putting extra feminine emphasis on boss.

"Whatever you recommend, dar...Kala," he smiled a little wider. I internally rolled my eyes; he'd almost called me 'darling.'

"Hmmm," I tapped a tattooed finger against my plump lips and cocked a wide hip out to the side. He shifted slightly again, and I was sure he'd be readjusting himself as I walked away. "How about a nice rich milk stout?" He nodded, and I took off, smiling to myself. It all came so naturally these days. A lifetime of bad choices had stranded me with almost nothing else but my looks and a vicious sense of self-preservation, but those were enough.

Ji-soo stopped me as I rounded the bar, "who's the new guy? Why'd you let him in before opening?" A flash of panic crossed her face, "He's not one of Brett's, um, friends, is he?"

"He's the new owner," I replied, keeping my perfectly saccharine bartender smile on my face. "George died. Who knew he was even sick? Not like he ever did anything for us anyways," I growled.

"He's, uh, he's pretty cute, right? For an old guy?" Ji-soo said with a tiny smile, her voice soft but melodic.

"I guess," I lied, forcing down the impulse to look up across the bar and smile at him. "I'm just excited to see what he does when he sees Brett."

She giggled and took off with her tray, and I finished pouring Ivan's stout. He smiled at me but said nothing else, sipping away at the beer as he kept watching the door. The crowd grew, and I had to head back to my bar. Both Ji-soo and I were right: he was cute, and something was going to happen when Brett showed up.

***

I tried, valiantly, to generally people-watch instead of being that creep that just stares at the help in a place like this. Wednesday night seemed to be the blue-collar, burgers and fries, pool and darts crowd. A few little groups seemed like college students, but I figured they came through every day of the week based on their course schedules. The Army was, before anything, a people-driven business, so I like to think I was very good at picking up details about someone just by watching them. I purposefully avoided looking at the four girls, though; I needed to get to know them without prejudging anymore than I already had.

It was that talent that let me identify Brett the moment he passed Paolo and walked into the room. Paolo seemed to stiffen as the short man walked by, and Brett paused just inside the door and scanned the room. Maybe the lawyer's office had tipped him off that I'd be coming around soon? Or perhaps he was just that awkward.

He was an inch or two shorter than the Caribbean bodybuilder bartender and paunchy. His thin blonde hair was valiantly deployed into the beginnings of a combover, and he had a combination of sun-beaten skin and freckles that made me think of the kid from the front of Mad Magazine. I got the vibe from him that he had played football in high school and never let go of it. He was twitchy, constantly wiggling and drumming his fingers, his lips curling back and forth into a creepy, toothy smile.

I waited to see what he would do and was pleasantly surprised when he was able to pick me out as the 'other.'

"Mr. Ivan Madison?" He asked, his voice perfectly matching his looks.

"That's me," I stood slowly and took his outstretched hand. He paused for a moment as he took in my bulk. "Brett, I assume."

"Just so," he flashed that over-toothy grin again, "I assume you've come to check out the operation?"

"Yes," I held up a hand before he could spring into action, "May I ask where you were at opening?"

His smile faltered for just a tiny moment. "Our Kala didn't tell you?" He looked over at the bar and waved enthusiastically. She seemed surprised and half-waved back, sending interesting tremors through her massive cleavage. "She's my assistant manager. She handles most of the work on slow nights."

I frowned, wishing Kala had told me that instead of ragging on her boss. "Doesn't seem all that slow of a night," I countered.

He laughed, the sound grating inside my skull, "You should come back tomorrow night then! And Saturdays? Whew."

My first concern settled, he took me around the same tour of the bar that Kala had. Of course, the scenery was much less of a draw this time around, and l zoned out slightly until we reached the office. He had another reasonably legitimate excuse for why his office was so messy and smelled like funk: according to him, everyone used it as a break room since the bar didn't have one. It was plausible, but I didn't really buy it, and I figured I'd discover the truth soon.

We returned to the main bar area, and I rounded on him, "Well, that's all I think I need to see for now. I came by on a whim today, but I'd like to have a more formal sit down outside of business hours."

"Of course, of course," he grinned and rubbed those fidgety hands together again.

I shook his clammy hand, "Good to meet you, Brett. I think I'll stick around for a few more hours, just to get a feel of the place."

He took off, hustling off to his office for a few minutes before reappearing on the main floor. Like a man possessed, he was back and forth all over the place, doing everything. One moment he'd be running orders from the kitchen out to the two gorgeous waitresses. The next, he'd be chatting with customers as he poured beers before helping the teenage busboys clear the high tops in the corner. Before I knew it, he was scrubbing the table next to me with a rag, trying to make small talk. How'd I know Georgie? How long had I been in the Army? Where was I from?

Only two things hollowed the positive impression he was working so hard to cultivate: he couldn't stop rubbing his nose, and he was doing everything he could to keep the four girls away from me.

I blinked, and I realized my beer had been empty for a while, unfilled by Brett, and the goth-girl waitress seemed slammed, with the Korean girl nowhere to be found.

I heaved myself to my feet and made my way over to Kala's bar, both to get a refill and to ask her if something was wrong.

***

I must've spent two hours fuming, barely able to keep that fake-ass smile on my face. Brett had apparently decided to be fucking super-Brett today. It had to all be a show for the new owner, a clever game of smoke and mirrors to distract Ivan from the fact that the twitchy little shit was hardly ever at work when we needed him. And when it was slow, and we didn't need him? I shuddered; things had happened in that smelly back office. He'd tricked or conned each of my girls into something or another back there at least once, from something as innocuous as sitting on his lap to...more. I remembered my own singular experience trapped back there with him and barely managed to swallow the bile that came up.

"And how dare that big lumbering idiot fall for the song and dance?!" I hissed under the roar of the bar crowd. It was so easy to tell Brett'd railed a line of coke in the back and was prancing around the place like he was the best manager in the universe. With that much booger sugar on board and that creepy fucking look and wave he'd sent my way, I had an uneasy feeling that Brett was going to do something. He probably thought I'd tried to undermine him somehow, so he'd take it out on my girls or me. Well, he wasn't wrong, but he fucking deserved it.

The night turned out to be busier than usual, and I lost track of time, flirting with one man after another and pouring endless beers. So it was a sudden shock when a shadow fell over me, and Ivan thunked his empty glass down onto the bar. "Can I get a refill, Kala?" He asked.

"Brett not taking care of you?" I snarked back before I could stop myself.

"I don't know where he's off to." He glanced around before narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, "And I don't know where y'all's second waitress is, either."

Shit. Shit shit shit. No. Not Ji-soo.

"I'm sure she's taking a break or something. And Brett is probably catching up on paperwork," I lied, hoping to buy myself some time to find Ji-soo. It was already midnight. Where the hell was she? How the hell had the time gotten away from me?

I sent Ivan on his way with a fresh brew and, as soon as his back was turned, flagged down Krista. "Where the hell is Ji-soo?" I hissed.

"How the hell should I know?" She snapped back at me, "Do you see how fucking busy we are? And I have to take care of her tables too!"

"Fuck, ok," I muttered, my heart pounding. Horrible scenarios flushed through my mind, and I had to fight to keep the panic inside me from taking over. Grabbing one of the better barbacks to mind the bar, I rushed around, trying to find her. Paolo hadn't seen her leave through the front. None of the barbacks had noticed her either. I poked my head into the kitchens and asked Ramel, the head cook, and he said he thought maybe she'd gone through the kitchens to use the bathroom half an hour before, but he wasn't sure.

No one knew where she was. I couldn't find her anywhere people snuck off to catch a cigarette or answer a text. So I was forced to consider what I'd known from the start: Brett had tricked or forced her into the back office. Right in fucking front of me! And the new boss! I was so furious with myself, but I didn't know what I could do. Brett would fire me, all four of us probably, and the bar scene still wasn't exactly hiring at peak levels with the pandemic still a rollercoaster of fuckery and all those other bars shuttered for good. I'd been here for years, too, and any new employer would check in with Brett. I'm sure the little shit would provide the worst possible reference, lie about how I stole from the till or fucked customers.

Worse than that, I couldn't let the new owner see just how fucked the four of us were, how fucking awful our whole situation was. He couldn't know those things about my girls, know how Brett had hurt them. My girls were strong, and I'd force him to see them that way. I wouldn't, couldn't let anyone else find out about what'd happened. He had to fire Brett for something else because if the little shit found out it was because of something I did, he'd...well, he had cameras all over the bar, and he'd tricked all of us at least once.

But I couldn't let Ji-soo be alone with him back there any longer! Brett hadn't gone after any of us lately; he'd kept his perversions limited to leering at our tits and goosing our asses, and I thought we were at some sort of stalemate. I guess the eight-ball he'd taken to the face and the stress from meeting the new owner had sent him over the edge.

I was thinking of all of that, chewing on my lip and wringing my hands, when I came back out of the kitchen and ran right into the solid mass of Ivan.

***

Like I said, I can read people, and I watched as Kala scrambled around the bar more and more frantically. She'd talked to every front-end employee before ducking into the kitchen, and the waitress and Brett still hadn't shown up anywhere. Something didn't feel right. Ten years earlier, my gut had told me my marriage wasn't going to end up where I wanted it, and I didn't listen. I wasn't going to ignore it this time. So, as the gorgeous but nervous bartender headed into the kitchens, I got up to follow her.

By the time I'd pushed through the crowd and caught up with her, she was blowing back out of the swinging double doors and straight into me. I caught her easily, steadying her enough to look down at her gorgeous, bronze face. My gut twisted; she was terrified about something, stressed out of her mind, and she couldn't hide it despite how hard she was trying.

"Hey, are you ok?" I held her shoulders, feeling how soft her skin was, the toned muscle underneath. But that didn't matter; she was in trouble, and all I could think about was helping her. "Hey, Kala, is everything alright?"

"I'm, um, I'm fine," she mumbled, "but, shit." She sighed, looked back up at me, and I could tell angry and fearful tears were welling in her eyes.

Goddamn, but I've always been a sucker for a crying woman in need, "But what, darling?"

She took a breath, "Sometimes Brett, uh, disappears, with one of the girls. Hasn't happened for a while, though?"

She was terrified of me, or Brett, for the waitress, maybe all of the above. All I knew was a switch flipped in my mind. My voice dropped an octave, my eyes narrowed, and my brow furrowed.

"Where?" I growled.

"I-I-I'm not sure," she stuttered out, lip quivering. "Probably his office. I've looked all over, but not there." She seemed more scared of me than anything else at that moment, but I couldn't worry about her until I found that slimy bastard.

I stormed off through the kitchens, ignoring the surprised shouts from the cooks, stomping past steaming friers and tired-looking dishwashers. My huge legs took me through the rooms in what felt like a flash. Blood boiling, ears burning, the strongest wave of emotion I'd felt since my wife had asked for the divorce flooded through me. My hand found the knob. Locked.

My sneaker smashed into the door just above the doorknob, shattering cheap wood and splintering the thin frame as the door blew inwards. And there was Brett, awkwardly hunched over, his pants around his ankles. The waitress was fearfully crouched in front of him, trying to pull away but held in place by his twitchy hands holding her navy blue hair into two pigtails. He was grimacing, trying to force his tiny mushroom dick into her tightly closed mouth.

All I saw was red.

The moment, the very moment those beady little eyes turned to look at me, my meaty fist crashed right into them. His hands flew up, trying to clutch his bleeding and broken nose, but my next punch smashed into his gut. Before he could even double over, my right hand had pulled back and delivered a blow into the other side of his ribs.

It'd been a long time since I'd been just another grunt. I'd driven a desk for a long, long time, and it was oddly refreshing to know that I could still do grunt shit. I smashed one slow, ponderous blow after another into his ribs, the sheer force of it keeping him standing. I didn't stop, the red fog not leaving my eyes, until I felt a rib snap under my fist. Then, and only then, I let him slump to the floor, barely conscious and whimpering with half-conscious pain.

I blinked, the red fading, and heard a whimper beside me. The waitress was horrified, huddled tight under the desk and clutching her knees to her chest. "Go see Kala," I said, my tone perfectly level and low but still stern and commanding.

She nodded, eyes wide with fright and horror and tears streaming down those round, pale cheeks, and scrabbled past me to Kala. I wasn't surprised that she was in the ruined doorway behind me, ready to wrap the girl up in her tattooed arms. "It's ok, Ji-soo," she paused, "Y-your face," Kala muttered.

I wiped the finely spattered blood off of my face with the hem of my T-shirt. "Go make sure she's alright. Now. Then call the cops, and tell them to go around back." I'd noticed the door leading to the wraparound lot behind the bar earlier. "What's the head cook's name?"

"Uh, Ramel," Leilani whispered, already leading Ji-soo away from the office. After only a few steps, the poor girl started quietly sobbing, her body heaving with each wracking cry.

"Ramel!" I shouted, voice cutting through the bustle. The man's head popped around the corner with a confused expression until he saw Brett puddled on the floor behind me. He hustled over, wiping hands on the rag at his waist, "Go tell Paolo that when the cops get here, he needs to send them around back. I don't want y'all's paychecks to suffer tonight 'cause of this clown." He nodded and hustled off through the doors. Kala had already sat Ji-soo down in the corner of the kitchen, dabbing where her tears streaked her eyeliner.

Brett groaned and stirred slightly, and I prodded him with my toes just to remind him I hadn't left. He didn't try to move after that. Ramel came back a few minutes later with a wet rag for my face and knuckles. "Thanks."

"No problem," he responded, looking down at the puddled little man and the small pool of blood leaking from his nose and mouth, "Fucker had it coming if you ask me."

A million questions filled my mind in the swirling wake of adrenaline and red rage. Kala knew something was happening. Ramel too, it seemed. Who else knew, and how much did they know? And, more importantly, why the fuck didn't they do anything about it?

I wish I could say differently, but I'd seen something like this more than once in the Army. The bastard must've had something on the people in this place, especially the girls. I stepped over his limp form, picking through the shitsty he called an office. In the one clear spot, I saw a splash of white powder and a rolled-up bill. That explained the twitchiness.

A dozen layers of post-it notes in a riot of colors ringed the monitor. Not even a little bit surprised, one of them had what I assumed were his passwords for the computer and a handful of online accounts. The idiot was probably so coked out of his mind all the time that he couldn't remember shit. One of them had six digits, so I fished through his pockets for his phone. Ramel made a noise -- Brett's pants were still around his ankles -- but I'd long stopped being squeamish around dude-ass.