Page 44 of I Will Ruin You

Jim approached, gave her a sly smile, and said quietly, “Back again?”

She smiled. “Seen our friend?”

He shook his head. “Have not. Usual?”

Marta nodded, and moments later Jim returned with a Coke over ice, and then proceeded to serve other customers.

The bar was about half full. There were a few couples, mostly in their twenties, and a group of four men in one booth were having a discussion, loud enough to be heard from where Marta sat, about whether Marvel superheroes were better than DC. Three stools down from Marta sat a thin man in his sixties slowly ripping apart a paper napkin, his beer glass nearly empty.

Marta gave him a nod. “Evening,” she said.

“It is that,” he replied.

Marta had a feeling she’d seen him before. She struggled to place him, then realized she’d encountered him a few days earlier at Lodge High School. He was the caretaker, the one who hadn’t fixed the defective latch on the door Mark LeDrew used to enter the building. She couldn’t recall the caretaker’s name. She was worried he’d recognize her, say something like Hey, aren’t you that cop? But, evidently more interested in shredding his napkin, he hadn’t given her a second glance.

Jim checked in on him. “You want to settle up, Ronny?”

That’s it, Marta thought. Ronny Grant. She’d heard he’d been fired, or suspended pending a hearing.

“Think I’ll have another,” Ronny said.

“Sure about that?” Jim asked.

“Never been more sure about anything,” he said.

“Because if you drove, I’m gonna want your keys.”

Marta wondered whether Jim was always this mindful of his customers’ fitness to get behind the wheel, or if this was for her benefit.

“I walked, not that it’s any of your fucking business,” Ronny said, forming his words carefully, figuring it would make him sound less under the influence, but having the opposite effect. “I’m only a couple of blocks away.”

“Okey dokey,” Jim said. “You need anything, just holler.”

“How about a job?” Ronny asked, snorting a laugh, before he drained his glass and set it down hard on the counter.

Jim fetched him another beer, then turned his attention to Marta. “Let me ask you this,” he said.

“What?” she said.

He tapped her ring finger. “How’s your husband feel about you hanging out alone in bar on Saturday night, even if it’s for work?”

“I don’t have a husband.”

He glanced down at the ring again. “This for show? Keep guys from bothering you?”

“No,” she said, waiting to see how long it took him.

“Oh, sorry,” Jim said. “Your husband passed away.” Didn’t even make it a question, he was so sure he’d figured it out.

Marta didn’t want to play with him any longer. “My wife’s very much alive, thanks,” she said.

A slow, self-deprecating smile crossed his lips. “Do I look as dumb as I feel?”

“Pretty much,” she said.

His eyes moved but his head remained fixed. “Don’t look now, but your girl has arrived.”

Marta took a sip of her Coke. “Alone?”