How to be a Badass Witch Read online

  Stephanie nodded and, talking about what kind of business they expected for the night, the pair strolled out of the breakroom and clocked in.

  The bar wasn’t busy at this relatively early hour, with only half a dozen or so patrons lounging around, so both women began to set up for the night ahead. Stephanie went to see how things were looking in the kitchen, and Kera examined how well-stocked the bar was. When a quick check showed everything in order, she grabbed a tray and headed out to clear the empty glasses and damp napkins that were already on the tables.

  Kera opened the board separating the bar from the main floor and made haste toward the first table.

  As she walked by one of the booths, a slender Latino man sitting there caught her in his gaze, getting a perfunctory smile in return. She was in Work Mode now: polite, focused on her tasks, and emotionally checked out.

  Which meant she didn’t notice that the man was watching her every move.

  Johnny Torrez reclined in his corner booth. It kept him out of the way while giving him a good clear view of the rest of the bar and the Mermaid’s customers.

  Who, ideally, needed to become his customers. And Pauline’s.

  Based on what he’d seen so far, the Mermaid’s clientele ought to provide an excellent potential market. An emerging market, as the business-school assholes liked to put it, one that was brimming with untapped lucrative potential.

  He had fallen out of that way of speaking as soon as he came back to LA, but the meeting with Pauline was bringing it all back. The people here were clientele instead of marks, and the people bringing the drugs in would be shipping agents instead of mules.

  Behind the language, it was the same thing. Pauline was going for white-collar workers on the fast track to management jobs. If you changed the clothes and the language, they were the same people who were the top marks for other drug pushers: young, upwardly mobile, and eager to spend the money they assumed they would soon have.

  Once they were hooked, they could always be counted on to find the money for the products Johnny would bring them.

  No, not “hooked.” Loyal. Loyal customers. And while he would never have thought he could get business school assholes hooked on meth, Pauline seemed sure of herself. It was all, as Johnny’s teachers would have said, in the product positioning.

  He snickered to himself.

  One of the girls behind the counter slid out and walked past him, seemingly on target to clear a table of some leftover glasses and so forth. Johnny’s eyes went to her immediately. Her bright gold hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and a few strands of it fell over her face in a slightly careless way that only made her look better. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and a rounded chin.

  Unfortunately, she seemed engrossed in her work and hadn’t paid him any heed.

  So far.

  It gave him more time to watch her. Her body didn’t stand out, yet everything about it appealed to Johnny, who prided himself on having a connoisseur’s gaze. She was in good shape, well-proportioned but not too tall, with enough curves to command appreciative notice. The white button-down shirt she wore suggested perky medium-sized breasts, though he couldn’t see the details.

  As the girl bent over to clear the table, Johnny leaned a tad farther out of his seat to watch. Unfortunately, her denim shorts came halfway down her thighs, long enough that he couldn’t get much of a view. Looked like she had a good enough ass for his taste, though.

  He had plenty of time to win her over. She had just come in, after all. She’s not going home anytime soon, is she?

  He grabbed his cocktail and took it up to the bar. When he leisurely sat on a stool, the blonde finally noticed him.

  She looked up from the table she was wiping down and gave him a distant smile. “Another drink?”

  “Nah,” he responded, “I’ll finish this one and call it good. I got shit to do this evening. I’ll be free, though, by…say, two in the morning?”

  The girl nodded in a vague, noncommittal way. “Okay.”

  “Oh.” Johnny grinned. “So you do want to go out. I mean, I figured. I know a couple of all-night places within a block or two of here, and there’s always tomorrow. Lots more opportunities then.”

  The bartender blinked at him for a second, then her face settled into a bland smile. “I’m busy, sorry.” She turned to check on another drinker, an old fat sad-sack of a guy. To Johnny’s eye, he had no business in a place like this but probably figured he could catch an early drink before the night crowd streamed in.

  When the girl turned back to head behind the bar, Johnny introduced himself. “Johnny. And you must be...” he squinted at her name tag, “Kera. Nice to meet you. I can tell you’re single, so you can’t be that busy.”

  “Busy enough,” she said simply, not looking up from where she was putting something into the computer. “Which is why I’m trying to keep things nice and simple. I’d rather not complicate things.”

  Johnny had heard these excuses before. He leaned forward on the bar and kept his gaze locked on her. “Then how about something uncomplicated?” he suggested smoothly. “No strings attached.” His voice dropped lower and became smoother. “Something you can tell your girlfriends about.” This one was a Goody Two-Shoes, he could just tell.

  Goody Two-Shoes white girls liked to play around with guys like him.

  Guys like him didn’t mind that.

  This one stopped what she was doing and looked him dead in the eyes. “No, thanks,” she said flatly. She wasn’t angry, not yet. A young woman who looked like her probably got hit on about as often as she ate, drank, or yawned.

  He lingered for another five minutes, giving her four of them to cool off before he attempted to make conversation one last time.

  “So, how long have you worked here?” He turned his glass between his fingers and tried not to let his gaze drift down to her chest. “I have seen this place before, but this is my first time stopping in. Has a nice reputation.”

  “The kitchen’s good.” She barely looked up as she slid him a menu. “You should take a look.”

  He could tell he wasn’t getting any farther with her and that only luck or extraordinary persistence would do the job. She was too aloof and professional to give much away, but she’d put her walls up. It was useless.

  With a quiet sigh of frustration, he put his glass down on the counter’s surface and folded a couple of crumpled bills neatly under the bottom of the glass.

  He was always precise.

  By this point, more customers had begun to filter in, and another bartender was gearing up for duty, a brunette. The daylight was almost spent, and people were getting out of work.

  Johnny was well aware that if he stuck around for longer, he might encounter more potential buyers, but the experience with Bartender Chick had left a sour taste in his mouth. Besides, Pauline had specifically told them that today was only a scouting mission to scope out places where they ought to focus their future efforts.

  He might as well try someplace else.

  He spared a last glance behind the bar, where the ponytailed bartender continued to sling drinks and exchange light banter with her customers, as well as the waitress who worked the tables.

  Blondes. Cute blondes with perky tits were a dime a dozen in this city, but every one of them thought they were God’s gift to the world. Johnny shook his head and headed out with a muttered curse under his breath.

  Dime a dozen, he told himself again. He shouldn’t let this one get under his skin.

  Someone opened the door just as he reached it, and two men stepped in—office workers, to judge by their shirts and ties. One guy looked like he might belong in a place like this. The other was a total geek.

  Not missing a beat, Johnny pivoted sideways and effectively slipped around and behind the pair as they moved, catching the door as they trudged past it and disappearing outside before they were even aware of him.

  He stood on the pavement and took his sunglasses out of his jacket p
ocket. The sky had faded to reddish-purple, so it wasn’t like he needed them; it was the principle of the thing. After all, as Pauline had said, they needed to position themselves.

  He slid into the Cobra and turned the key. Onward.

  Sven better not have done better than he had, or the man was getting punched.

  Chapter Six

  Christian took a deep breath as he stared at the door leading into the Mermaid. He had on a new shirt, a plain t-shirt he had spent far too much time picking out. He’d also been chewing gum to get rid of his coffee breath, which meant that his mouth now tasted like a minty hellscape and beer was going to be a torturous experience.

  He was not ready for this.

  Ted was by his side, which made him feel marginally better, but Christian couldn’t stop thinking that Ted didn’t really get this. Sure, the HR guy got shot down all the time, but he had the magical combination of looks, confidence, and money.

  Unlike Christian, Ted didn’t start every conversational attempt with the utter certainty that the woman would have to be crazy to go out with him.

  Christian could not tell if this was going to end well or with the two of them going down in flames.

  Ted, of course, was oblivious to Christian’s worries. He gestured at the door with a flourish. “After you.”

  Christian sighed as he opened the door, then stepped back as a slender man pushed past them. After a single moment of intense scrutiny during which Christian sensed the man was assessing everything from his badge to his haircut, the slender man pulled out a pair of sunglasses and went on his way.

  Christian breathed a minor sigh of relief. Getting into a confrontation was the last thing he needed right now. It wasn’t going to turn into a fight, he reminded himself. You’re just jumpy.

  Still, as soon as he got into the bar, he made a beeline for the farthest, darkest corner booth.

  A hand clamped around his arm. “Ohhhh, no, you don’t,” Ted said firmly. “Not this time. We’re going to stand here a minute and pretend we’re trying to decide where to sit.”

  “Why?” Christian asked faintly.

  “First, because that’s not what we’re actually scouting for, and I want to know what I’m working with here. Second—and this is important—so she has a chance to see you.”

  “That’s what I was trying to avoid,” Christian muttered.

  “I know. That’s why you brought me.” Ted flashed him a smile. “So, which one is the girl you mentioned?”

  Christian swallowed. “Uh…” He gestured subtly with his head. “Over there. The, uh, the bartender.”

  “Brunette?”

  “Nope. The, uh, the blonde.”

  Ted considered her for a moment, hands in his pockets. Finally, he sucked his teeth and said, “I hate to admit it, but we might have to go with Plan B.”

  “What?” Christian had expected ridiculous pick-up lines and overly ambitious strategies. He had expected Ted to tell him to go get a makeover and come back. He hadn’t expected Ted just to give up.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ted said. He did sound regretful. “First, let me congratulate you on your taste in women, because damn. However, I must inform you that that woman is…how shall I say this nicely…way out of your league. Like, so far out of your league. Like, there’s out of your league, there’s way out of your league, there’s a few miles of gray space, and then there’s her.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You could have stopped at ‘out of your league,’” Christian told him finally.

  “If I could have, I would have,” Ted said whimsically. “Christian, my friend, do you know how I keep getting women to go out with me?”

  “I have zero idea. That was why I brought you along.”

  Ted cleared his throat, then took Christian by the shoulder and guided him away from the open floor space toward the booth Christian had first made for.

  “I thought you said she needed to be able to see us?” Christian asked.

  “I no longer think that’s in your best interest.”

  “Ouch.”

  Ted grinned. “Look, man, like I said, I get women to go out with me because I don’t aim out of my league. Now, you? Your league extends farther than you think it does. Seriously. You’ve got a good job and a good face. Wouldn’t hurt you to lift a bit, but you’ve got something to work with. But what you’re aiming for right now is a supermodel who is, for reasons unknown, slumming it with us mere mortals in a random bar. The only guys she’s going to go for are the hot, rich, Beverly Hills types.”

  Christian felt the first spark of hope. Normally, he thought Ted knew way more about women than he did, but in this case, he happened to know that Ted’s guesses weren’t infallible.

  “Kera’s not like that,” he asserted. “I’ve never been attracted to stuck-up girls, no matter how hot they are. Kera is nice.”

  “And you know this because?” Ted arched an eyebrow.

  “I told you she was a classmate, didn’t I? We were in a study group together.”

  Ted looked deeply skeptical. “For what class?”

  “Algorithm Design and Analysis,” Christian answered promptly. Seeing Ted’s blank look, he grinned. “Nerd stuff.”

  “Okay, so when you said classmate…” Ted looked between Christian and Kera. “You meant she majored in Computer Science? That girl, the one who looks like she should be in the Industry?”

  “I hope to God you mean Hollywood.”

  Ted waved a hand. “Whatever. She got the same degree you did. She’s one of you genius types? Please tell me she’s not. Tell me she sucked at it. I can’t take any more bombshells today.”

  “She did not suck at it.” Chris had to admit he was enjoying this evening immensely. “She mentioned a few times she thought she should have gone into engineering because she’s better with things she can touch and hold than she is with theoretical concepts, but she was really good at CompSci stuff.” He frowned. “I think she was working on a motorcycle? Like, fixing one up.”

  Ted gave a groan and flopped his head on the table.

  Christian waited, his mouth twitching.

  “Okay.” Ted still had his forehead on the wood. “But do you see how it makes sense that she would be some sort of…oh.” He picked his head up. “Maybe she’s a terminator.”

  “She is not a terminator.”

  “So you say.” Ted shook his head. “I’m going to need a few drinks.”

  “We agreed I wasn’t going to get sloshed.”

  “They’re not for you, they’re for me.” Ted sighed. “I’m increasingly convinced that I need to get my nerve up before I shoulder the responsibility of tossing you into all this. Also, if I get sloshed, it makes you look better by comparison. Two birds.”

  Christian began to laugh. “Okay, okay.”

  “And remember our deal. Drinks are on you.”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Christian grinned at him. “I’m more than willing to pay just for the privilege of seeing you get drunk off your ass.”

  Johnny and Sven reconvened at one of the multiple clubs downtown, complete with blue-tinted lighting and pounding music. By this point, they’d both done enough successful reconnaissance to be able to claim their night’s work was done, and this establishment was a place to relax more than one to case.

  These people might be their clientele someday, but not yet.

  “What about those two?” Sven nodded at a young East Asian couple who were chatting to each other over martinis at the bar.

  Johnny gave them only a quick glance. Both were wearing the sort of street style that had become more popular since K-Pop took off in the US, but he knew immediately that neither of them was the kind of mark Pauline was looking for.

  “I’d say B-minus,” Sven said.

  “Nope.” Johnny preferred to do these things pass-fail. “Too straight-laced. They’re the type that balance their checkbook before coming out to see how many drinks they’re going to buy. You want to talk B-minus? N
either of them would dare get a B-minus in math, that’s how Goody Two-Shoes they are.”

  Sven looked at him as he took a sip of his drink. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…I don’t know, racist?”

  “Yeah, sure, Whitey’s gonna lecture the barrio kid on fuckin’ racism. Sounds good.” Johnny drained his drink.

  Sven frowned as he flagged the waitress down and ordered refills for them both. He sat in silence for a moment.

  “So, what the fuck happened to you tonight?” he said finally.

  “Keep your nose out of it.”

  “Nah.” Sven waited as the waitress set down the new drinks. When she was gone, he said, “I brought you on. You go sideways, that’s on me, too.”

  “I’m not gonna get you popped in the head.” Johnny looked over and saw Sven’s expression. The other man wasn’t going to give up on this until he knew what was going on. Tersely, he explained what had happened at the Mermaid—specifically, his failure to make any headway with the blonde.

  It didn’t help his mood when Sven laughed and waved a hand.

  “It’s no big deal, man. Look around.” He gestured at the club. “There’s gotta be five, ten women hotter than her just at the bar.”

  Johnny knew it was true, which should help.

  It didn’t, though. He was still pissed. “She wasn’t even playing for it,” he muttered.

  “Ohhhhh.” Sven nodded. “Every guy wants to be the one who turns one of those into a slut for a night.”

  “Exactly.” Johnny clinked his glass against Sven’s. “Is there anything better than a good white girl going bad for a night? Eh, I don’t suppose you’d know. No one fucks you to get back at their parents.”

  Sven grinned good-naturedly. “I’ll take your word for it. I—” Both of their phones buzzed, and Sven broke off to take his out of his pocket. “Shit.”

  Johnny pulled out his phone in a hurry and looked at the text from Lia.

  The project just got moved up. We need to move into our second phase of marketing ASAP. Do you have potential target markets?

  Johnny rolled his eyes. “Do you remember what the second phase was? I had zoned out by then.”