Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story G.P. Sorrells (books to get back into reading TXT) 📖

to woo a beautiful woman at the end of the bar. Micah approached an empty stool away from the pathetic display of machismo and fiddled with a square coaster. It was brown, with rounded edges and a picture of a large oak tree. It had the feint appearance of movement, as though a powerful gust of wind were assaulting its branches. A multi-colored pile of leaves rested at its trunk. Shaking Oak Tavern emblazoned in a circle around the battered hardwood.

“What can I get ya?” Micah hadn’t noticed the bartender at first. “You ok, pal?”

“Yea, uh, sorry,” Micah said. “I’ll take an old-fashioned, on the rocks.”

“Coming right up,” the stocky gentleman responded. The bartender had a handlebar mustache and an expression of pained indifference. Something about it seemed so familiar, but Micah wasn’t sure why. He was certain he’d never seen the man before.

Unaffected by Micah’s curiosity, the bartender retrieved a tumbler from a pantry below the bar. He had grown accustomed to awkward stares from patrons long before Micah ever stepped foot in the door. It was often best to just act as though he was none the wiser. Sugar and bitters found their way into the glass, mixing with a hint of water before a long pour of bourbon joined in, creating a heavenly mixture certain to aid Micah in his desires to forget about everything for a while. The bartender placed the tumbler in front of Micah, twisting the rind of an orange before casually releasing it into the concoction.

“Thank you,” Micah said. He drew in the wonderful citrus aroma, mixed with the hint of vanilla, and took a swig. The taste was even better than he had expected, like a hint of the forbidden fruit in the garden where humanity had been doomed to a life outside of paradise. With a bit more of an immediate burn for effect. He took another drink and stared at the bar top. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the woman from the other end of the bar walking his way.

Guess Macho Man gave it a rest.

“Long day?”

“You could say that,” Micah said, setting down his drink. He turned around and fought hard to keep his jaw from dropping. She was tall, with curly brown hair. The way she stood, so clearly comfortable with herself, absolutely radiating self-confidence. It was no small wonder the other man failed to be a worthwhile suitor. Micah wasn’t certain he was even up to the task, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. “Care to join me?”

“I’d love to,” she answered, sitting down next to him. “What’s your name?”

“My friends call me Micah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Micah.” She placed a small handbag on her lap and adjusted herself to a more comfortable position on the barstool. It was too soon to tell if this gentleman would prove to be a worthy suitor, and she wanted to be ready to bolt if he failed to live up to her lofty expectations. “I’m Valerie. Mind if I get you a drink?”

“Not at all.”

“Frankie, could you please get Micah here another glass?”

“I hope you’re not planning to make me drink all on my lonesome.”

“Who says you get to have all the fun?”

Frankie returned to the couple, placing another old fashioned in front of Micah, and a strange combination of liquids in front of Valerie. Her drink looked like oil struggling to rise through the Caribbean Sea. Micah felt a bit more on edge, but he hoped the second drink would put him at ease.

“What do you do for work, Micah?”

“I’m a contractor,” he said, looking off in the distance before returning his gaze. He wasn’t a fan of lying, but sometimes it proved necessary. It wasn’t as though he could tell her he killed people for money and hope to walk out of the bar without more blood on his hands. “How about you?”

“I run a few salons around town. The shops in Bal Harbour and Brickell City Centre are my pride and joy. It’s nothing too exciting, but it pays the bills.”

“You kidding me? What’s not exciting about being in control of how much of a jackass these people look like when they leave your salons? They piss you off, you make them look like a complete bum,” Micah said, laughing. “And with the money they have, you just convince them it’s a new style that’s all the rage at the country clubs. They’ll be coming back for more in no time.”

“I guess you’re right,” Valerie said, chuckling. “It’s not exactly what I went to school for, so I sometimes feel as though I’m wasting all those years of formal education. The stress levels are incomparably low, though, so it’s not without its perks. Not that running a hair care empire is easy, mind you, but it’s a different type of bullshit to deal with. There is a bit more fun to the entire operation as well.”

“What’d you want to do originally?” Micah finished his glass and, noticing Valerie’s was similarly dry, motioned to Frankie for another round.

“Back when I had a different view of the world and the way it operated, when I was naïve enough to think the rules applied to everyone, I wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I had a case once, the type that every lawyer dreams about. Well, the ones who sign up for the job because they want to do some good rather than latch onto a multi-million-dollar settlement and occasionally show up to work.”

“Funny, you struck me as the latter,” Micah joked. He could see a vein bulge in Valerie’s forehead and immediately regretted crossing that line. “I’m sorry, Valerie. It was a joke. A stupid joke, but that’s, well, kind of my specialty.”

“It’s ok,” Valerie replied. Truth be told, she found it tough to stay upset with that sort of brutal honesty. Most men would have committed to the bit, pushing forward with the jest they were too foolish