delighted.
While the dancers of both genders were permitted
and, frankly, expected to give “private performances,”
the bartenders were under no such instructions. But
Misty liked Jim, and he liked her, and if her shift
ended on time, sometimes she’d serve him a drink
upstairs.
“Jim!” Misty was adorable. Petite, impish, with pale
blond hair, hazel eyes, and a body that had none of
the outrageous curves of the dancers but was
decidedly attractive, she was much more appealing,
Jim thought, than any of the actual performers. “How
you been? I see Tychus has found his usual seat.”
Jim laughed. “Some things never change.”
“Let’s see, Scotty Bolger’s Old No. 8 for the both of
you, and beer chasers?”
“That doesn’t change, either.”
She winked. “Coming right up.”
She moved to get two shot glasses and two beer
steins. He watched her appreciatively for a moment,
then turned his attention back to the dancers.
They were certainly worth paying attention to. One
particularly striking “performer” removed what was left
of her costume and tossed it at Tychus, then turned
her dark head slightly to catch Jim’s eye. He was glad
he’d ordered drinks because his mouth was suddenly
dry. The brunette beauty gave him a sultry wink and
mimed a kiss, then continued performing.
“Her name’s Evangelina,” said a voice behind him,
and he jumped, turning guiltily to Misty as she shoved
the beverages at him. “She’s new. Very popular.”
Her voice held no trace of jealousy. Evangelina. Jim
had to smile a little. The unit to which he and Tychus
had once belonged had gotten the nickname
Heaven’s Devils. Evangelina was an angelic name,
and her face was indeed as lovely as any angel’s he’d
ever seen painted. But that body certainly promised
devilish things.
“She busy tonight?”
Misty gave him an annoyed look. “Jim, I just take
drink orders. Wayne handles everything else.”
Properly chastened, Jim nodded. He leaned over
and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She gave him a
look. He gave her credits.
“That’s better. Go have fun. I’m off later tonight if
Evangelina’s got no time for you.”
He smiled at her and returned to the table, carrying
al four drinks careful y, and set them down. Tychus
handed him the stil -warm brassiere Evangelina had
removed. “Here.”
“Uh, thanks,” Jim said. He placed it down on the
table slightly awkwardly and took a sip of Scotty
Bolger’s whiskey. He smiled at the familiar burn and
looked around. This was home, such as it was, and
had been for almost five years now. Wayne ran a
good establishment: his dancers, bartenders, and
dealers were paid wel and liked working here. He
and Tychus were always made welcome, and even
though he suspected it was more because they
usual y showed up with fistfuls of credits rather than
because they were just so inherently likable, it was a
good feeling.
There had been camaraderie among the Heaven’s
Devils that Raynor found himself missing. He had
some of it stil with Tychus, but most of the Devils—
red-haired, fire-tempered Hank Harnack; kindhearted
Max Zander and Connor Ward; Tychus’s onetime
girlfriend Lisa “Doc” Cassidy—were dead now. Dead
because of the treachery of their commanding officer,
Colonel Javier Vanderspool—the one person they
should have been able to trust. Ryk Kydd, the sniper
who’d saved their asses more times than Raynor
wanted to admit, had gone off on his own. They hadn’t
kept in touch. Most of the memories of those times
were piecemeal and vague; Jim hadn’t wanted to
remember much about it.
But here, while this was hardly a familial
establishment, there was a sense of family. Of
belonging.
“It’s good to feel …” Tychus frowned. “What’s the
word I’m looking for? That word when you don’t have
no more stress and tension and danger breathin’
down your neck.”
“Relaxed?” Jim offered.
“Yeah,