TWO
Piper put the last of the glasses on the counter to dry, and then pulled the plug on the sink. It was nice to spend time alone in the club for a change. The recent demon attacks and Phoebes' impending wedding had her nearly frazzled. Ii was good to spend even a few moments in the mundane.
She looked around the club. Everything looked just about ready to open. In a little bit the staff would arrive to make the last minute preparations. She began making mental notes. All the liquor was all stocked. The glasses were all cleaned. All of the cans of compressed liquids were filled. All that was left was to chop some fruits for the drinks. She pulled out the cutting board and some lemons.
"Excuse me," said a man walking toward the bar, "are you the proprietor?"
The man was about fifty and was wearing a suit. He carried a briefcase in one hand and a small box in the other. He spoke with just a slight English accent.
"How did you get in here?" demanded Piper.
"The door was unlocked," said the man, pointing toward the front of the club.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I'm looking for the proprietor," said the man.
"You found her," said Piper, suspiciously.
"Ah, good," said the man, sitting his briefcase down on the floor. "My name is Marcus Jones. I represent the West Coat Division of the Tate Bottling and Distribution Company. We've recently expanded into the San Francisco area and I'm here to offer you significant savings on your alcohol purchases."
"A salesman," said Piper. "Listen, I'm quite happy with the company I deal with now."
"Oh, but we can save you as much as fifteen percent or more on all your purchases," said Jones. "In addition, for simply trying us on a trial basis, you'll receive this set of knives and other utensils absolutely essential for someone in your line of work."
He opened the box he was carrying. Inside was an assortment of knives, a corkscrew, a peeler, several bottle stoppers, and what looked like a juicer. He picked up one of the knives.
"All are made of the finest carbon steel," he said. "They never need sharpening, are rustproof, dishwasher safe, and absolutely guaranteed for as long as you own them. Perfect for, say, what you're doing at the moment."
"Like I said," said Piper, "I'm very happy with my current distributor."
"At least try it," said Jones, holding the knife out to her. "I'm sure you'll find the feel much better than what you've been using."
"I don't want to be rude," said Piper, starting to put away the glasses she had just washed, "but I don't want to change distributors. I'm sure you're company is very good, but I've dealt with . . ."
One of the glasses was still wet and slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor.
"Damn," she said. "Listen, Mr. Jones, is it? I'm really busy right now. I don't really have time to deal with this."
Piper bent down and started picking up the broken glass. As she did, the still wet shard slipped from her hand.
"Ow," she said, standing up.
Blood covered her index finger.
"My dear," said Jones, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it over her bleeding finger, "you should never pick up broken glass with your bare hands."
"It's okay," said Piper, pulling her hand away, "it's only a scratch. Now, as I was saying, I'm really very busy. I need to get back to work."
"Of course," said Jones, picking up his briefcase and the box of knives. "Perhaps another time when you aren't so busy. I'll just see myself out."
Piper went back to cleaning up the glass while Jones left P3. He walked down the street a short distance, and then turned up an alley. He walked up the alley a short distance, and then stopped.
Jones pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and looked at it. There was blood on it. He smiled. That had been easier than he thought it would be. He looked around to make sure he was alone, and then just vanished from the alley.
Piper put the last of the glasses on the counter to dry, and then pulled the plug on the sink. It was nice to spend time alone in the club for a change. The recent demon attacks and Phoebes' impending wedding had her nearly frazzled. Ii was good to spend even a few moments in the mundane.
She looked around the club. Everything looked just about ready to open. In a little bit the staff would arrive to make the last minute preparations. She began making mental notes. All the liquor was all stocked. The glasses were all cleaned. All of the cans of compressed liquids were filled. All that was left was to chop some fruits for the drinks. She pulled out the cutting board and some lemons.
"Excuse me," said a man walking toward the bar, "are you the proprietor?"
The man was about fifty and was wearing a suit. He carried a briefcase in one hand and a small box in the other. He spoke with just a slight English accent.
"How did you get in here?" demanded Piper.
"The door was unlocked," said the man, pointing toward the front of the club.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I'm looking for the proprietor," said the man.
"You found her," said Piper, suspiciously.
"Ah, good," said the man, sitting his briefcase down on the floor. "My name is Marcus Jones. I represent the West Coat Division of the Tate Bottling and Distribution Company. We've recently expanded into the San Francisco area and I'm here to offer you significant savings on your alcohol purchases."
"A salesman," said Piper. "Listen, I'm quite happy with the company I deal with now."
"Oh, but we can save you as much as fifteen percent or more on all your purchases," said Jones. "In addition, for simply trying us on a trial basis, you'll receive this set of knives and other utensils absolutely essential for someone in your line of work."
He opened the box he was carrying. Inside was an assortment of knives, a corkscrew, a peeler, several bottle stoppers, and what looked like a juicer. He picked up one of the knives.
"All are made of the finest carbon steel," he said. "They never need sharpening, are rustproof, dishwasher safe, and absolutely guaranteed for as long as you own them. Perfect for, say, what you're doing at the moment."
"Like I said," said Piper, "I'm very happy with my current distributor."
"At least try it," said Jones, holding the knife out to her. "I'm sure you'll find the feel much better than what you've been using."
"I don't want to be rude," said Piper, starting to put away the glasses she had just washed, "but I don't want to change distributors. I'm sure you're company is very good, but I've dealt with . . ."
One of the glasses was still wet and slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor.
"Damn," she said. "Listen, Mr. Jones, is it? I'm really busy right now. I don't really have time to deal with this."
Piper bent down and started picking up the broken glass. As she did, the still wet shard slipped from her hand.
"Ow," she said, standing up.
Blood covered her index finger.
"My dear," said Jones, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it over her bleeding finger, "you should never pick up broken glass with your bare hands."
"It's okay," said Piper, pulling her hand away, "it's only a scratch. Now, as I was saying, I'm really very busy. I need to get back to work."
"Of course," said Jones, picking up his briefcase and the box of knives. "Perhaps another time when you aren't so busy. I'll just see myself out."
Piper went back to cleaning up the glass while Jones left P3. He walked down the street a short distance, and then turned up an alley. He walked up the alley a short distance, and then stopped.
Jones pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and looked at it. There was blood on it. He smiled. That had been easier than he thought it would be. He looked around to make sure he was alone, and then just vanished from the alley.