Cyrus gave the door a shove. The thick antique wood grunted against the frame, so he shoved harder, half stumbling into the dim saloon.
Five empty stools lined the front of the carved mahogany bar.
John, a rake in every sense of the word, gave Cyrus a wide grin. “Cy! It’s been too long!”
Cyrus offered a non-committal nod. “Got any of the good stuff?”
John Allen slapped the bar. “You know I do. Fresh from Qatar.”
Cyrus winced. “Nothing from Malawi?”
“Naw man,” John set the silk pouch on the bar. “Didn’t you hear? South Africa scorched their fields.”
Cyrus whistled under his breath.
John just shrugged. “Them’s the breaks. Your usual?”
Cyrus shook his head, glancing over the global menue. “Tuica.”
John shook his head. “Fresh out. How about a bottle of shochu?”
Cyrus stood quickly, his stool toying with toppling over. He tossed the slim plastic payment on the counter as he picked up the pouch and crossed the room in three strides, John offering every temptation he could think of.
Hand on the doorknob, he turned back. “Empty glass.”
John gaze dropped. “Really? I didn’t think…” his jaw snapped shut on the word. Reaching under the counter, he placed an empty glass on the bar, silently reciting the golden rule: ask no questions. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cyrus as he buzzed him into the back.
The woman behind the desk was built like a refrigerator, complete with brushed silver skin. She looked at Cyrus, then took his empty glass. “Wait here.”
Cyrus rocked on his toes to halt his momentum. She returned a few moments later, and slipped him a small key.
Not too long after that, John Allen jumped as Cy strode out and tossed him the graphite-inlayed card.
Cy brushed his bangs back to keep them from sticking to his forehead.
“No way.” John’s eyes were locked on Cy. “After all that bullshit you filmed about dolling?” Despite his disbelief, his hands still processed the payment.
Cyrus looked up in confusion. “What?” His cheeks flushed.
John Allen proffered the card, but jerked it back as he watched Cyrus shift his weight from foot to foot, unable to look up.
“Wait a minute Cy…”
Too late. Cyrus was half out the door. “Keep it!”
John uttered a holy string of profanities at the reset programs it would take to restore the drone to a blank slate.