her shoulders and her face was fully made up. “Where’s Karl?” he asked. “He took

the night off. He had to see to some things.” Rogers nodded. He imagined Karl

had to see to a broken finger, a nearly crushed windpipe, a bad leg, and a

wrenched arm. But that wasn’t his problem.

 

Myers spent thirty minutes going over work details and the protocols and

policies of the bar. “Half the IDs you’ll see are fake.

 

Twenty-one is the legal drinking age. No one under that age is allowed in. No

exceptions. Most of the people in uniform are nineteen or twenty. You err on the

side of keeping people out. The last thing I need is to be put out of business

for promoting underage drinking.” “You’d think if you’re old enough to fight for

your country you should be able to drink a beer.” “I agree, but I don’t make the

laws. Weekends are our big nights, obviously. We’re closed on Mondays to let

everybody take a breather, but we’re open every other night of the week.”

“Anything else?” Rogers asked. “You have to exercise discretion and good

judgment, Paul. While we want to keep underage people out, we don’t want a rep

of being a place where folks get turned away unnecessarily or get hassled or

beat up, okay? That’s also not good for business.” “I understand.” “Each night

we have a list of VIPs who you’ll let bypass the line. I sent the list to your

phone earlier. They’ll come up and show ID. You match it to the name on the VIP

list and in they come. They’ll be escorted to a special section of the bar by

people inside. You’re to stay at the exterior door at all times unless you’re

called inside. You are the first line of defense.” “Who are the VIPs?” “That’s

no concern of yours,” she replied firmly. “Just clear them at the door. That’s