The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance) (34 page)

Held
tightly against him, without any warning or choice, I fall asleep.
But in the hazy moments before complete oblivion, I think I hear
Stephen whisper very low, “
I
am going to save you from them. I promise.
”

Day
Fourteen (continued)

“
Hey,
Stephen’s friend, aren’t you finished cutting those limes
yet?” Pom says with a smile and a nudge.

“
Just
three more,” I say, mid-cutting.

This
morning I woke with Stephen off the bed and crouched in front of me.
A whispered, “I have a plan,” was all I got from him
before Polite Goon entered the bungalow and Stephen leaned away.

So
far this
plan
has pretty much been for me (and Polite Goon) to go to work with
Stephen.

When
Stephen had suggested that we go to work with him, a very stern
expression grew on Polite Goon’s face. He said, “A bar is
the worst place I can think of to guard or protect Raven.”

Stephen
had argued back that: as The Spider had not technically relieved him
from his bartending job, it was likely that The Spider was ordering
him to do both jobs at once. The only way Stephen could do both jobs
would be if I was at the bar.

When
I had said that I had nothing better to do, Polite Goon volunteered
that his orders technically stated that he could not stop me from
going anywhere on the island or isolate me in anyway.

So,
we went to the bar; this time driving in an open white Jeep. Since I
was just sitting behind the bar, bored, with Polite Goon looming over
me, Stephen’s coworker Pom put me to work. First he had me
refill sugar and salt containers, then make sweet-and-sour mix, then
cut lemons, and now I’m cutting limes. Pom also insisted on
teasing me with the name ‘Stephen’s Friend’ (which
all-kinds of freaked me out).

At
one point I even saw the short guy who put the knife to my throat the
first time I was here. He smiled widely at me, pointed to my hair and
gave me two thumbs up.

“
Thanks…”
I had told him, feeling equal parts awkward and dumbfounded.

“
Stephen’s
friend,” sings Pom, waking me from my lime cutting trance,
“Where, oh where, are my limes?”

“
I’ve
got ‘em,” I say as I turn to offer the cutting board
filled with roughly cut limes.

He
smiles, claps me on the back and says, “oh, good job.” He
takes the cutting board. “Now to the melons with you!”

“
Am
I getting paid for this?” I ask as he sets three large melons
and a new serrated-knife in front of me.

“
What
is your saying? Working hard is its own payment,” Pom responds
with a smile.

“
Something
like that; but I’m pretty sure that real-actual-money is its
own payment,” I say, but I can’t help but smile back.

“
We’ll
see,” says Stephen from a few feet beside me, as he sets
several bottles on the bar and re-organizes others within the bar. “I
believe bar-backs usually get ‘tipped out’ by bartenders,
so if you keep up with us when the crowds come in
maybe
we’ll share some money with you…”

“
Yes,
we’ll share every Thai tip we get,” Pom says.

Pom
and Stephen look at each other and laugh.

Great,
this is going to be
just
great
.
Just rename me ‘Butt’ because I can already tell all of
the jokes are going to be on me tonight.

Then
again, Stephen says he has a plan— which I’m taking to
mean a plan to save Linnie; so… I suppose he and his friend
can make fun of me all they want.

The
weight of the word Stephen laid on me last night is too much for my
mind at the moment. The fact that it makes so much sense just makes
it all that much heavier.

Right
now, knowing that my sister has been wrapped up like a juicy fly in
an amphitheater-sized web is about as much as I can handle. All I can
focus on is getting Linnie out of that web and off this island; then
I’ll work on getting Stephen to Madeline to save my own skin.

I’ll
do whatever it takes to save Linnie; I know that; even if I end up
destroying the world in the process. As I told Jones: some people are
worth the world.

“
Why
are you staring at me like that?” Stephen asks, he smiles but
doesn’t look up at me from where he’s loading the bar
with bottles.

“
Sorry,”
I say, quickly focusing on the untouched melons before me, “I
was just thinking…I didn’t realize I was staring.”
I glance back.

Stephen
meets my eyes and half-smiles again. “You keep
thinking
and we’re going to have to take that big knife away from you,”
he says, nodding to the fruit knife in my hand.

“
Ha.
Ha,” I say dryly, and I make my first cut, sawing through the
fruit.

“
Yes,
please be careful,” Polite Goon says, surprising me because I
totally forgot he was standing behind me.

“
Nathan
stop being so pretty,” Pom says with a good natured pat on my
back, “I have never seen anyone take so long to cut fruit.”

“
Well
if you guys would stop bugging me…” I say.

This
for some reason makes them both start laughing.

Once
done with the melons, I’m given a large men’s jacket and
an icepick and led into the back. The ice is kept in a small
freezer-room that I’m pretty sure is the coldest place in
Thailand. It takes me the better part of an hour to crack apart
enough to load into the eight bins they gave me. Within seconds of
taking the first bin out of the giant freezer and carrying it to the
bar (with Polite Goon’s grudging assistance), the ice has
little rivers all over it and I’m sweating in the over-sized
jacket.

“
Having
fun?” Pom asks with a gleeful smile as he takes back the
jacket.

Oddly,
kind of.
But
I also know that I chose the wrong B-word, they don’t think I’m
their Butt, they think I’m their…female dog.

“
You
are
paying me,” I say. “
Baht
,”
I add, in case there’s confusion. Honestly I could use some
baht right about now—even if I get Linnie out of the web I
barely have enough to get us off this island, let alone make a quick
get-away.

“
Believe
that, if it makes you feel better, Stephen’s Friend,” Pom
sings.

“
You
know,” I say, under my breath, “I do have a real, actual
name.”

Pom
shrugs. “I clearly remember you coming in here and introducing
yourself as...” he imitates a high-pitched voice, “
Hi,
I’m Stephen’s Friend.”

Walking
back behind the bar, I pause.

Like
a hulking shadow, Polite Goon pauses beside me.

Though
the club isn’t open yet three women stand at the bar; I
immediately recognize the webbed fire dancers. Two stand together,
whispering to each other, sipping on cocktails. May leans against the
bar far from the other women, head hanging, and drink-less.

Stephen
is gone. No one is behind the bar.

“
What
does May drink?” I ask Polite Goon, because for some reason, I
think he’s probably the kind of employee that would know
details like that.

“
Whisky,”
He says.

“
Will
you show me which one?”

May
barely raises her eyes as I set a glass in front of her and fill it
with the amber liquor. Her face does not have a single bruise—it’s
as perfect as the first time I saw her. The Spider must have healed
her or something. Her dainty hand picks up the tumbler and she sips
her drink.

“
Tastes
like pity,” she says, still not looking at me.

I
grab another glass, pour a little whisky into it and take a sip. Two
spouts of fire shoot from my throat directly to my brain. Bleah. I
cough out, “To me, it tastes more like pee. Fire pee.”

May
looks up to give me a miniscule smile. She takes another sip.

“
I’m
not sure ‘pity’ is the right word, anyway,” I say,
lowering my voice. “You should meet
my
boyfriend; last time we were together he held a sword to my neck then
set me on fire.”

She
lifts her glass and I clink mine to it, though I’m not quite
brave enough to drink.

“
You
look…better,” I say.

“
I...heal
quickly,” she responds tonelessly. May looks into my eyes, and
if I’m reading her right, it’s her eyes, not mine, that
hold pity. “I know what you want from me;” she says, “but
I cannot help you.”

“
I
didn’t know I was asking for help,” I say, honestly.

May
glances over at where Stephen has just entered from the door behind
the bar. “Well, when you figure it out, I still won’t be
able to help you. I am sorry.”

“
That’s
okay,” I say because I’m not sure what to say.

May
finishes her drink, gives me one more closed-mouth smile, and then
walks away from the bar.

I
step back and almost into Polite Goon. “Can I have, I don’t
know,
fifteen
feet,”
I
snap.

He
takes a step back and says, “I’ll give you
five
.”

“
Fine,”
I say. I stomp over to Stephen, lean in, inhaling his fresh cigarette
aroma, and whisper, “Tell me that wasn’t your
plan
.”

“
Okay,
I’ll never make you do the ice again,” he says, “stop
whispering, you’re making me blush.”

Suppressing
my overwhelming urge to head-butt him, I make an angry-snort sound
I’m too pissed off to be embarrassed about and walk to the
stack of supplies Pom laid out for me. The monotony of assembling the
‘bucket’ drinks (which consists of grabbing a bucket,
putting in a flask, a liter bottle of soda and a Thai energy-drink
bottle, then repeat) does nothing to dull my anger.

He
wants me to get May to help us? …
Her
?
After I just watched her viciously beaten, almost to death, just for
going against The Spider’s orders and protecting me against a
crazy homeless-zombie-looking girl? Stephen must truly think I’m
the
Antichrist
.
The word slams into me and I have to stop what I’m doing just
to concentrate on breathing.
Don’t
think of the word…don’t think of the word… it’s
too much—

I
focus on assembling the buckets; soon, Pom turns on the techno and
the simple task takes all my concentration.

When
people start crowding into the bar I stop assembling the buckets and
immediately start undoing all of my work. Pom tells me that I’m
the ‘bucket girl’, which means when people order buckets
I take the bottles (I just put into the bucket) out, add ice, open
the bottles, pour them back in, add ten straws and ta da! Almost
everyone orders buckets or a beer called ‘Chang Beer’,
which I’m also responsible for grabbing. Pom handles the money
part since he says I’m not ready and I agree with him; I’m
just not in the right mindset for arithmetic with foreign currency.