{"id":534,"date":"2020-07-20T13:01:44","date_gmt":"2020-07-20T13:01:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/?p=534"},"modified":"2021-10-14T21:04:54","modified_gmt":"2021-10-14T21:04:54","slug":"book-ii-chapter-27","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/2020\/07\/book-ii-chapter-27\/","title":{"rendered":"Book II – Chapter 27: Bartender"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

\"\"Illustration by Eyugho<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Content note: Attempted noncon, please read with discretion<\/p>\n

This wasn\u2019t the motel Demos was used to. Normally his exploits took him to the edge of town, to sad, sticky roadhouses tucked between gas stations and pawn shops. They were far from the people and places he knew. He didn\u2019t want to be caught, to be recognized \u2014 not by them. Not by him.<\/p>\n

No, this wasn\u2019t a motel at all. It was downtown, all fifty floors gleaming in glass and steel \u2014 a luxury hotel. Four stars at the very least. Demos had found a tourist lost near the university campus \u2014 a tall, dark Italian with a voice like honey. His name was Sante, or Stefano \u2014 something with an \u2019S.\u2019 Whatever landmark the man was looking for was long forgotten.<\/p>\n

The tourist whose name began with an \u2019S\u2019 was behind him, knees digging rivets into the mattress. Demos\u2019 hair was wound between the man\u2019s fingers, his head pressed so hard into the pillow that it felt personal.<\/p>\n

\u201cStefano\u2014 ah!\u201d Demos choked. It hurt. It hurt so much he couldn\u2019t think of anything else.<\/p>\n

That was the point, wasn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n

The stranger hadn\u2019t corrected him, so that was probably the right name at least. The man was sweating and growling like a steam engine and Demos couldn\u2019t help but think about how disgusting it was.<\/p>\n

\u201cHah.\u201d Stefano\u2019s teeth bared with his grin. \u201cSei proprio una puttana.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos tensed. Why did they always do that? Why did they always call him a whore? His fingers curled into the loose sheets, prying them from the mattress corner.<\/p>\n

His next breath was a hiss, sucked in between teeth. \u201cStai zitto.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRilassarvi, sto solo scherzando.\u201d Stefano laughed. There was something cruel about it.<\/p>\n

Just a joke? Just kidding? What was so fucking funny about this? Demos twisted, wrenching his arm free only to be pinned back down against the duvet.<\/p>\n

\u201cVaffanculo.\u201d There was ice in Demos\u2019 voice. \u201cNon mi toccare.\u201d<\/p>\n

The grin on Stefano\u2019s face faded into something darker. His lip twitched, eyes locked hard as if he\u2019d never been told \u2018no\u2019 in his entire life. His grip on Demos\u2019 hair tightened \u2014 it hurt more now.<\/p>\n

\u201cQuindi stai cambiando idea?\u201d Stefano spat onto the sheets. \u201cNon puoi farlo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now it was Demos\u2019 turn to be told \u2018no.\u2019 Changing his mind wasn\u2019t allowed, not at the home plate \u2014 or whatever baseball metaphor this was. Something scorched in his chest, pumping hot, liquid ire into every vein in his body. There were people who could tell him what to do, and Stefano was not one of them.<\/p>\n

Demos pried his arm free, grasping at his discarded slacks. The butterfly knife clicked and snapped, the handle shuddering in Demos\u2019 grip, the tip pressing just beneath Stefano\u2019s chin. It was the soft, boneless underside of the man\u2019s jaw, a spot the blade could enter and run straight to the roof of his mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d Demos panted. The knife pricked blood. \u201cI can.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were both still for what felt like a long time. Only sweat dared to move, dripping from the stranger\u2019s neck down the back of his spine. His next breath shivered as if it were the last one he\u2019d ever take.<\/p>\n

Finally, he pulled back. Stefano was panting and shaking, gathering up his discarded clothing like he was about to miss the last train out of hell. He stumbled over a pant leg, somehow managing to wrench the jeans on.<\/p>\n

\u201cFottuti Americani. Tu sei pazzo!\u201d Stefano spat again, this time on the art deco carpet.<\/p>\n

The door clacked, then slammed shut. The tourist had abandoned his own hotel room.<\/p>\n

Demos was reeling. \u201cIo non sono Americano!\u201d<\/p>\n

The butterfly knife hit the door with a heavy thunk, one of its two handles splintering off and clattering to the floor. The blade was shaking \u2014 Demos was shaking. His teeth threatened to fracture against one another and the burning in his chest had spread to his entire body, leaving fingers and knuckles tingling.<\/p>\n

He weakened on the wrecked pile of sheets and pillows, hunching forward into his hands. Breath caught in his throat. Demos tried, and failed, to curb the saltwater that was now running down to his jaw. It was wasted energy. Why was he like this? Why did he do this?<\/p>\n

There was one good thing about crying, abandoned in some tourist\u2019s hotel in the middle of the night \u2014 no one was there to see it. Not them. Not him.<\/p>\n

And they never would.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Ferris used to be good at staying up all night. Back in high school, and especially in college, he\u2019d done plenty of sundown to sunup study sessions. He\u2019d flipped through text books, typed quietly enough to avoid waking anyone, and scratched page after page of annotations into a notebook.<\/p>\n

Now, on his living room sofa at 3:30 AM, he could barely keep his eyes open. He felt old.<\/p>\n

The fact that he was lounging probably wasn\u2019t helping. Stanley was curled up against his ribs, snoring and kicking in his sleep. The book in Ferris\u2019 hands didn\u2019t want to stay upright and the text inside was just as stubborn. He had to stay awake. Seamus would be home any minute now and missing him wasn\u2019t an option.<\/p>\n

Ferris pinched the bridge of his nose a little too tightly. Maybe a bit of pain would keep his eyes open. Ten seconds passed before he realized his head had drooped forward. Nope, didn\u2019t work.<\/p>\n

\u201cStupid book,\u201d he said. \u201cFocus.\u201d<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t the book\u2019s fault. Seamus was late and Ferris was losing a battle with his own body. His eyelids sunk, followed by his entire frame. The sofa consumed him in a warm embrace \u2014 the paperback wilted onto his chest. His breathing slowed.<\/p>\n

The front door opened with a wild crack. Ferris jerked upright, followed by every single hair on the back of his neck. The book fumbled and Stanley nearly toppled off the side of the couch. Wide eyes locked on the figure silhouetted in the doorway. It was Seamus. Finally.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re home,\u201d Ferris said. His throat was dry.<\/p>\n

Seamus gave a crooked smirk, or at least Ferris thought he did. It was hard to see his expression in the dark entryway.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re awake,\u201d Seamus said. \u201cWhy are you awake?\u201d<\/p>\n

Seamus was already peeling off layers, draping his coat over the back of a chair before tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was waiting for you. We need to talk about the office.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, I know.\u201d Seamus gave a hard sigh, followed by his best impersonation of his friend. \u201cDon\u2019t go in the office! It\u2019s for working, not jerking.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, that\u2019s not\u2014\u201c Ferris eased Stanley back onto the floor. The pug wobbled on the carpet. \u201cWhy is it that every time you do an American accent you sound like a fucking cowboy? Is that what we all sound like to you?”<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust\u2014 just go in there.\u201d Ferris gestured toward the door as best as his half-asleep arm would allow.<\/p>\n

With a huff, Seamus crossed the apartment to reach for the long-forbidden room\u2019s door. His figure disappeared beyond the threshold and a light clicked on, spilling a white rectangle into the living area.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a bed in here.\u201d Seamus was shouting, as if he were in another building and not another room. \u201cWhose bed is this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seamus popped his head back out past the door frame. \u201cHow\u2019m I supposed to use this bed if I\u2019m not allowed in the office?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my god, you schmuck.\u201d Ferris gripped the either side of his own head. \u201cIt\u2019s your room now. You pay rent, it\u2019s your room.\u201d<\/p>\n

If the light had been any brighter, Ferris would have noticed the flush that came to his friend\u2019s face, or the half-shocked, half-elated arc of his lips. Seamus didn\u2019t speak at first, only turning to look back inside what was no longer called the office. His room.<\/p>\n

After a moment, a suspicious squint crossed his eyes. \u201cDo I have to keep it clean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust don\u2019t start a roach colony in there and you can do whatever you want.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFinally,\u201d Seamus said. \u201cSome respect around here. Ah. I might be a bit late on that rent, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris\u2019 hands dropped. \u201cWhat? You\u2019ve been working your ass off. What did you spend it on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEh, manager\u2019s share of the tips went up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait\u2014\u201d Ferris\u2019 once-weary eyes had sharpened to a glare. \u201cManagers aren\u2019t supposed to get any<\/i> of your tips.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seamus shrugged. \u201cNot what he said.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris swallowed. Was this what Demos felt like when he wanted to kill someone? Thoughts of kicking down doors and beating a human <\/span>pi\u00f1ata<\/span> until quarters fell out crossed his mind. No \u2014 later. This wasn\u2019t the time for that. Ferris scratched the back of his neck. It tingled for some reason.<\/p>\n

\u201cCheck the desk drawer,\u201d Ferris said.<\/p>\n

Seamus barked a laugh. \u201cYou think I\u2019m going to use a desk. That\u2019s cute.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust look in there before I break it open over your head.\u201d<\/p>\n

From inside the room, there was some shuffling and a clunk, followed by silence. Seamus stepped out of the room with an open envelope in both hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got me a ticket for Doublecross?\u201d Seamus\u2019 voice was heavy \u2014 withered. It wasn\u2019t at all the delight Ferris had expected.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI thought you liked them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seamus\u2019 hands fell to his side. He leaned against the doorframe, half of his figure cloaked in shadow. So much of him was dark \u2014 the rings under his eyes, the stubble that had scattered across his jaw. His lips were set in a thin line \u2014 tight and unmoving.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do, but I can\u2019t go. I\u2019m covering that night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re\u2014\u201c Ferris forced down the scream that had wedged in his throat. \u201cYou can\u2019t be serious. Your schedule was open \u2014 I checked!\u201d<\/p>\n

Seamus\u2019 schedule was not so much a planner as it was an assortment of mismatched napkins and receipts, scrawled with ink and magneted to various surfaces around the apartment. Still, it was usually accurate.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt changed. Sorry that\u2014 that you wasted your money,\u201d Seamus said. He was still avoiding eye contact.<\/p>\n

Ferris didn\u2019t know what to say. He wasn\u2019t very good at \u2018gift-giving\u2019 or \u2018showing he cared about people.\u2019 It seemed as if he\u2019d failed once more \u2014 another item to add to the list of things he couldn\u2019t do like a normal person. He looked at his hands.<\/p>\n

Seamus turned the envelope over, picking through the contents. \u201cThere are two tickets here. You were going to go with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neither man spoke for a while. Ferris was supposed to be looking out for Seamus \u2014 taking care of him. Here his friend stood, income stolen by some clout-bloated bar manager and sporting lines on his face that he seemed to have stolen from an old man. Ferris had to do better than this.<\/p>\n

He faked a smile. \u201cGet some sleep. Don\u2019t worry about the rent, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Ferret. For, uh\u2014 for the room, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bedroom door shut and Ferris was alone in the living area. He marked his book, setting it on the coffee table. Pressure was building in his skull, an approaching storm front promising a nice, steady agony. He dragged his fingers over his temples, as if he might be able to stop this growing headache with his bare hands.<\/p>\n

Ferris would have to do something \u2014 this wasn\u2019t right. This wasn\u2019t the Seamus he knew.<\/p>\n

The Seamus he knew smiled sometimes.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

An open table tucked in the back of Ristorante Giorgetti\u2019s dining area didn\u2019t feel like the best place to be doing the books. Normally, Ferris would have the privacy of the back office, but Gino and Roberto had laid claim to the little room for the last two hours. For now, Ferris was exiled into this public space with a calculator, stacks of papers, and a pile of incriminating notebooks. Fortunately, 3 PM was not a busy time for the restaurant.<\/p>\n

Ferris\u2019 fingertip dragged down the ledger, checking values, then double-checking them. Fortunately, nothing had to be legal \u2014 it only had to look<\/i> that way. Unfortunately, Victor was old-fashioned and insisted on using ink and paper for their records, instead of acknowledging the 21st<\/sup> century like a normal human being. Maybe it was because they\u2019d be easy to burn, if it came to that.<\/p>\n

Ferris peered at a line of text, then shuffled through the old books to compare figures. The stack went back a decade and the ledger from 2002 was already yellowing. Pages flipped between his fingers before he stopped on the sheet he was looking for. Ferris\u2019 next breath stalled, caught in the traffic jam that was his throat.<\/p>\n

It was his father\u2019s handwriting.<\/p>\n

His fingers went numb, but he didn\u2019t notice. Ferris hated when this happened \u2014 when he wasn\u2019t expecting it, when he wasn\u2019t ready. It took a lot of mental preparation to think about his father and at this moment he\u2019d been caught wide open \u2014 unarmed.<\/p>\n

The 2002 ledger \u2014 it would have been the last one with Harold\u2019s handwriting in it.<\/p>\n

He dropped his pen, drawing a hand up to nip back the glassiness that was developing in his eyes. A hand touched his back.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d Demos said. \u201cDid you eat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris didn\u2019t look up. Maybe if he sat perfectly still, Demos wouldn\u2019t notice the humiliating grief he was attempting to suffocate in his own chest. His back made a faint, involuntary shudder.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no response. Ferris could tell that his friend was looking at him \u2014 looking at the table, the open notebooks. Demos\u2019 hand was still there, warm. The touch tightened, fingers squeezing his shoulder. Demos had noticed.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Demos was interrupted by a finger snap. It was Emily.<\/p>\n

\u201cDemos.\u201d Emily gestured at a table of executives that had been there since brunch. \u201cWine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe right there,\u201d Demos said. The hand on Ferris\u2019 shoulder held fast for one last moment before slipping away. Ferris breathed out.<\/p>\n

He watched his friend approach the table with a wine list, exchanging words with the customers that were too distant to make out. Without warning, Demos glanced over, catching his eyes for only a second before turning back to the table.<\/p>\n

The chair beside Ferris scraped outward before a figure dropped into the seat. Emily had joined him at his makeshift work station.<\/p>\n

\u201cMind if I sit with you?\u201d Emily was already opening a laptop. \u201cApparently the office is just an old men\u2019s club now and I\u2019ve got inventory to finish.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris pulled a few papers into a stack, making room for her.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d he said. \u201cUh, how\u2019s school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s good. I think I\u2019ve decided what my focus is going to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCriminal law?\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily grimaced. \u201cEw, no. I want to do immigration.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris bit his lower lip, wishing he hadn\u2019t jumped to such an obvious, and wrong, assumption. Not every Giorgetti ran around shooting guns into the air and bathing in money.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can help the family in other ways,\u201d Emily said. She smiled.<\/p>\n

That was right \u2014 half of them weren\u2019t even citizens. It had taken a lot of time, money, and forgery to keep the whole family in place. So many of the people he knew had come from other countries. His coworkers, Seamus, Nadia\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re making a face like you just had some mind-blowing epiphany,\u201d Emily said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI might need your help with something later. You and Gina.\u201d Ferris flip-flopped his pen between two fingers. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t make faces.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou absolutely do.\u201d<\/p>\n

From across the open space, he could see Demos still going over the wine list with the table. Ferris could tell the smile on his face was fake, even if the customers couldn\u2019t. It looked like torture.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy is Demos recommending wine, anyway? Where\u2019s your sommelier?\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily groaned. \u201cHe got married. Went off to France, of all places. I\u2019ve been making Demos stand in and he\u2019s losing his mind. I mean, he\u2019s great at the wine part, but every time someone claims \u2018white wine is for women\u2019<\/i> or asks him to fill the glass \u2018to the brim<\/i>,\u2019 he loses a year of his fucking life.\u201d<\/p>\n

That would explain the braced smile, the slight twitch that suggested Demos\u2019 internal dialogue was nothing but screaming.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re so short-staffed right now,\u201d Emily said. \u201cIt\u2019s a nightmare. Sergio\u2019s had to cover the bar \u2014 even our sous chef had to go and get carpal tunnel.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris looked up from his notebook. \u201cThe bar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, he\u2014\u201c Emily\u2019s attention was stolen by a couple at the entrance. \u201cUgh, hang on. I have to go play hostess. I swear to God\u2014 why does anyone come to a restaurant in the afternoon?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t watch her leave. His attention drifted toward the opposite end of the room where the bar sat. It was dark, glossy wood, curving into a smart \u2018L\u2019 with a clear view of the piano. Liquor bottles stood in rank against the wall and a half dozen leather-topped bar stools hugged the curve of the counter. Sure enough, Sergio was there, adding ice to a cocktail shaker.<\/p>\n

Ferris pressed his mouth into laced fingers. This could be really good. It could also be really bad. Seeing Sergio behind the bar felt natural \u2014 it had been that way since Ferris was young. It wasn\u2019t, however, where the man wanted to be. Ferris could remember the day they\u2019d hired an actual bartender. The grin on Sergio\u2019s face could have shamed the sun.<\/p>\n

This was not a normal restaurant. Every staff member had been hired on the dual qualities of exceptional skill and the ability to keep their mouths shut. They went hand-in-hand. Demos had picked a bullet out of Nicky in the kitchen. The corpse in the back of Victor\u2019s Lincoln still hadn\u2019t left Ferris\u2019 nightmares. The first Ristorante Giorgetti had burned down.<\/p>\n

His father had died here.<\/p>\n

Ferris\u2019 head lowered, fists propping him up by the forehead. They treated their employees well. One couldn\u2019t expect others to keep their secrets without first offering respect. There would be no more triple-shifts, no more skimmed tip jars. Seamus could work hard, but not too hard. He could rest.<\/p>\n

He could smile again.<\/p>\n

Ferris closed the notebook, then turned toward the bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019re you having?\u201d Sergio said. He was already grabbing a whisky bottle. Ferris leaned onto the counter, one elbow supporting his weight.<\/p>\n

\u201cA serious conversation with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio set the bottle down. \u201cAw, damnit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I know someone who could take over the bar for you. He\u2019s good at it, hardworking, friendly\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re making it sound like there\u2019s a catch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Ferris\u2019 tone darkened. \u201cThere is a catch. He\u2019s a friend. You\u2019re going to be personally responsible for his safety. And if you get him wrapped up in any mobster bullshit, I will<\/i> throw you into the ocean.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio placed a hand on his chest, followed by a theatrical gasp. \u201cMe? Corrupt another person? I think you\u2019ve mistaken me for Demos.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris decided not to think too hard about the comment. He tightened his glare.<\/p>\n

\u201cSergio.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, yes.\u201d Sergio lifted a loose fist, pinky outstretched. \u201cGiurin giurello.\u201d<\/p>\n

At the edge of his line of sight, Ferris saw Demos hurry across the dining area to answer the phone. Part of Ferris thought he should run this by the Ghost first, but the other part already knew what he\u2019d say. He accepted the pinky, hooking his finger with another grown man\u2019s. The curve of his knuckle tightened and Ferris\u2019 voice dropped.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not kidding about drowning you, Sergio.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their hands parted.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you worry.\u201d Sergio patted the side of Ferris\u2019 face. \u201cI\u2019ll watch your friend as if he were my own child.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was probably best for everyone. Ferris already felt as if he\u2019d been babysitting the Brit for the last six years. Then again, Seamus had always watched his back in turn.<\/p>\n

Ferris sighed. \u201cOne last favor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis better be a fun one,\u201d Sergio said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you could kick someone\u2019s ass for me? He\u2019s a manager at a bar downtown.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio\u2019s face lit up like a five-year-old at a birthday party. This was a fun one. \u201cSure! I\u2019ll bring Benny. You want a, uh, \u2018call in sick<\/i>\u2019 kind of beating or a \u2018your own mother won\u2019t recognize you<\/i>?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive him a new profession.\u201d A glare caught the lens of Ferris\u2019 glasses, masking one eye in a panel of white. \u201cOne where he won\u2019t need his hands.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio responded with a pair of finger guns and a click of his tongue. A woman waved a hand from the other end of the bar, attempting to catch Sergio\u2019s attention.<\/p>\n

\u201cBring your friend tomorrow.\u201d Sergio slung a small towel over his shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m tired of pouring drinks.\u201d<\/p>\n

With that, he turned to attend to the customer. Hopefully this would be the last night he\u2019d have to do so. That was, if Seamus wanted the job. Ferris snapped open his phone, tapping keys until he found the right contact.<\/p>\n

– Hey Seamus, you got a second?<\/i><\/p>\n

It took a moment before his phone buzzed back at him. Ferris\u2019 thumb tapped over the number pad, keys clicking as one word after another was punched out onto the screen. There was another buzz. This reply had come faster.<\/p>\n

\u201cMerda santa<\/i>.\u201d Demos had returned from the phone. \u201cYou\u2019ll never guess who just called.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris blinked at his friend. Demos was in rare form \u2014 wide-eyed, breathless. That look might have been mistaken for terror if not for the glowing smile over the Italian\u2019s lips. Who the hell could possibly have been on the phone?<\/p>\n

Ferris squinted. \u201cJesus?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, better,\u201d Demos said. \u201cWe got\u2014 oh, fuck. We got a Michelin star.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe tire company?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I mean\u2014 yes. I mean\u2014 you know exactly what I\u2019m talking about, you asshole.\u201d Demos elbowed Ferris in the side. If it was meant to hurt, he\u2019d failed. \u201cThe Red Guide. The news is probably going to be here, I \u2014 I have to tell Nonno. We\u2019re understaffed. Cazzo, we don\u2019t even have a bartender.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Just as Ferris started to wonder why he got so much pleasure out of this flustered version of Demos, his phone hummed once more. His eyes scanned the text before looking up to match his friend\u2019s. Now was as good a time as any to break the news. Demos was already so wound up he was practically shaking \u2014 a good mood, if anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually.\u201d Ferris snapped his phone shut. \u201cYou do.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Illustration by Eyugho Content note: Attempted noncon, please read with discretion This wasn\u2019t the motel Demos was used to. Normally his exploits took him to the edge of town, to sad, sticky roadhouses tucked between gas stations and pawn shops. They were far from the people and places he knew. He didn\u2019t want to be […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-534","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-8C","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/534","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=534"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/534\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":834,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/534\/revisions\/834"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=534"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=534"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=534"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}