The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance) (43 page)

“
You
call me perceptive and intelligent; well my intellect and perceptions
are telling me that you two are more than just chance acquaintances;
and that at least you...” he nods to me, “...and perhaps
you...” he nods to Stephen, “...are plotting against
Mængmum, and therefore against me. No more five feet of space,
no more going into
any
room without me, even the bathroom, and no more whispering in the
dark without me hearing every word. Privacy was a privilege, you’ve
lost that privilege.” He sets his sun glasses back onto his
face as he sits back into his chair, but I can tell he’s still
looking at me; and he’s not going to stop looking at me any
time soon.

Day
Twenty-Six

“
Stephen’s
friend! Put that away!” Pom says, laughing and grabbing for my
Bible, “You are driving away my patrons! No one is going to
want to get drunk if they think you’ll start reading scriptures
to them.” He doesn’t quite manage an angry expression,
but he tries.

“
I
had a few seconds break... sorry, sorry,” I say, stuffing the
Bible under the bar.

“
Children
these days,” Stephen says to one of his customers, “Reading
the Bible...” he shakes his head, then flashes me a smile and a
wink.

“
Ha,
ha,” I say, before taking a drink order for three buckets and
going to crack open the bottles.

“
So,
have you actually managed to finish a page, or do you just carry that
around with you everywhere in case you need to annoy Pom?”
Stephen asks while grabbing three beers from the under-the-bar
mini-fridge.

“
I’ve
read it,” I lie, “I’m just re-reading...studying
it.”

“
Of
course,” he says, “Do you have any questions then?”

“
Not...yet...”

The
look Stephen gives me tells me he knows I’ve read all of three
lines of The Book of Revelation. Actually, I’ve read the first
three lines. Twenty times. I’ve memorized them. But the moment
I get to the end of the third sentence:
“…for
the time is at hand.”
I
stop.

Coward?
Me
?

The
truth is: between needing to earn the money for my sister and my
escape and trying to find new ways of getting any breathing room from
Kasem (and failing miserably), well, confirming that I’m the
Antichrist hasn’t really been top priority.

“
Well,”
Stephen says as he stuffs his most recent tip money into the communal
bucket and grabs a bottle of the ‘well’ vodka, “I
hope that sometime soon you will have questions.” He walks
backward toward the other side of the bar, keeping his knowing gaze
on me.

An
‘
hmm
,’
sound makes me turn to my ever-present lurking-shadow as Stephen
turns and heads down the bar. “So, this
Nathan
is a Bible expert?” Kasem asks drawing out Stephen’s fake
name.

“
I
guess,” I mumble, focusing on dropping a handful of straws in
each bucket, and putting them on the bar. I grab the baht left on the
counter; Pom only just announced that I’m allowed to touch the
cash register.
I’m
a big girl now
!
Smiling and concentrating on not looking at Kasem, I return the guy’s
change and grab a bar towel planning to look busy wiping down some
nonexistent mess.

The
guy I just handed drinks to remedies that by elbowing one of his
buckets over on the bar sending the vodka-soda- energy drink
combination splattering all over the bar, my shirt and the ice
bucket.

“
Damn
!”
The guy says, “It spilled. Can I have another one?”

Peeling
my wet shirt off my stomach, I sigh. “Just give me a second,”
I say, while quickly wiping off the bar, gathering all the spilled
liquid, ice and straws into the now ruined ice bucket.

The
customer raises his voice, “Are you going to get me another one
or not?”

I’m
about to say, ‘sure,’ and make the guy another bucket,
which would come out of my tip money, when Kasem says, “If you
apologize, ask politely and pay for it.”

“
But
it spilled,” the guy says, sounding irate.

“
That’s
not an apology,” Kasem says. “Please take your remaining
drinks and leave; this is not the right club for you.”

Giving
us a gesture I’m not familiar with (but can guess the meaning
of), the guy leaves.

“
All
this ice has to be dumped,” I mutter. I grab the wet bar towel
and wedge it under the edge of the ice bucket to avoid the sharp edge
along the ice bucket hole, when the bucket rises of its own accord,
just the couple millimeters I need to get my fingers in.

“
Thank
you,” I whisper, “And thanks for handling
that
guy
...”

He
acknowledges me with a nod and I notice that the bucket is a bit
lighter than it should be as I carry it to the back room. I’m
heading for the back door when Kasem says, “Could you please
dump the bucket in the trash?”

“
Um...
I could, but Pom would probably be super pissed; when the ice melts
it’ll be annoying to take to the dumpster.”

“
Please,”
he says.

I
change directions toward the wet-trash. “
Alrighty
?”
I say the answer coming out a question. “But I’m going to
tell Pom you insisted when he starts yelling at me.” After
dumping the bucket, I give the metal interior a quick rinse so the
remnants of drink don’t stick to the sides. I leave it in the
industrial sink and grab another bucket from the freezer. It, too, is
lighter than it should be as I carry it from the arctic room.

In
the small crack made right as Kasem pushes open the bar door I see
May standing near where Stephen wipes down the bar.

Kasem
starts to turn to examine our surroundings.

Shouting
a “Ow!” I ram my hand into the door. A couple ice cubes
slosh out as I pull back and set the ice bucket down just inside the
back room and start hopping up and down.

Kasem
steps back into the room. “Are you alright?”

I
shake my hand which pulses with actual pain. I was a little over
enthusiastic with my distraction. Pom opens the bar door saying,
“Where is my ice?”

“
You
need to wait,” Kasem says. As he grabs my hand examining the
front then back, I glance up.

Even
though I know I shouldn’t, I glance through the bar door Pom
left open; I look just in time to see May slip something over the bar
and Stephen quickly cover it with his bar towel.

Kasem
starts to turn.

“
Ouch,”
I whine, “That freaking hurt.”

“
Be
more careful,” he responds.

“
Thanks,”
I say, dryly. Pulling away my hand and squatting down so I can get a
good hold on the sides of the ice bucket again. Kasem opens the bar
door, examines the bar for a couple seconds, and then tells me I can
pass.

As
I walk by I just nonchalantly glance to where May had been; in her
space a guy leans on the bar, talking to Stephen.

Passing
them I set the new bucket into its home and start taking orders.

Another
message I can’t read. Another plan I can’t be part of. My
guess is that it has to do with breaking the spell that summons the
demon to stop me leaving this island, but it could be so many things;
there’s no possible way I can aid in this escape anymore. Kasem
has been true to his word, he watches me constantly; he even stands
with his back turned as I shower.

At
first I refused to use the restroom with him standing there with his
back turned to the door but soon necessity overwhelmed my
humiliation. Now six days later it’s almost not humiliating...
No, I’m lying, it’s still freaking humiliating.

The
spell and Kasem, our two biggest obstacles for escape: both of which
I have no idea how to overcome.

For
the next couple of hours most of the orders I take are for buckets
but a few are for more complicated drinks, which I’ve started
attempting. Once in a while someone will order a drink like a Fuzzy
Navel or a Kamikaze and I’ll need to seek help. But as the days
have gone by my share of the tip jar has grown closer and closer to
even with Pom and Stephen’s; so much so that I’m already
half way to the two hundred dollars (or six-thousand five-hundred
fifty-eight baht) that I need, despite how little people tip here
compared to America (or so Stephen tells me).

“
Raven,
a rum and coke?” Stephen says when we’re a half hour away
from finished.

“
Sure,”
I say while grabbing a plastic cup.

Pouring
the well rum and soda I pass it over to him, expecting him to hand it
to a customer; but he takes a sip. “Perfect, thanks,” he
says.

My
indignant, “
Hey
!”
only makes Stephen smile.

After
he walks away to the other side of the bar from my little station,
Kasem says, “If I discover that he is a spy and a traitor, I’ll
have to tell Mængmum.” He doesn’t move his head
toward Stephen or gesture to him in any way, but I know he’s
talking about him.

“
Why
are you telling me?” I whisper, my voice much more
strained-sounding than I intend.

“
So
you can prepare yourself,” he responds. But I expect it’s
more like, so my reaction can give him some indication of the truth.

I
almost, almost consider telling him that Stephen’s death would
be a death sentence for me as well—and therefore for a good
portion of humanity. But I hesitate. Telling him that Stephen and I
have a connection, let alone a life or death connection, would
confirm to him that Stephen isn’t what he seems. That ‘Nathan’
is a fraud. It would force Kasem to make the choice: tell The Spider
and risk the world-destroying consequences or betray The Spider by
concealing that Nathan is a fake, likely a spy. Could I trust that
Kasem’s sense of self-preservation would outweigh his loyalty?
No, I’m pretty positive that’s a big fat
no
.

“
What
would The Spider do...?” I ask, “If he thought Nathan was
a traitor?”

“
Beat
him to death,” Kasem says, calmly.

“
What
makes you think that he’s a spy?” I whisper back, my jaw
clenched.

“
I
know he’s a spy,” Kasem says, “I’ve just been
waiting for irrefutable evidence for a while now; even before you
came here.”

“
If
you
knew
then why didn’t you say something when he was assigned as my
other guard? Especially since you claim the demon manipulated The
Spider into the decision...” I look up into my reflection in
Kasem’s sunglasses, “...because you needed proof? Because
The Spider doesn’t listen to you, does he? Because you know
that The Spider is crazy and that without proof he’s as likely
to turn on you as he is Nathan?”

“
Be
careful what insults you say,” Kasem says, gravely. “Yes
or no, did you know Nathan from before?”

“
No.”