10. Sober

"What the hell?" Dora untangled herself from Red Hood. She tumbled off the bed and looked around for her bra—her shirt, a pillow, a blanket... anything at all to cover her naked chest. "You don't knock? What's wrong with you?"

"The door was open!" Holly tried to contain the smile on her face, but failed. She looked at Red Hood. "Who's the cutie, Dee?"

"Um..." She couldn't answer. Her mind was racing, trying to think of an excuse, trying to find something to wear. Where are my clothes!? She gave up and just covered her breasts with her arms. "Just... get out of here, Holly!" But Holly just stood there, basking in Dora's embarrassment with a cheeky grin on her face.

"Don't worry, she can stay. I have to go anyway," Red Hood said. He found Dora's top and handed it to her.

"Wait, no..." Dora said, slipping it on quickly. She realized it was sheer and on backwards, but she didn't care. Where could he possibly have to be? A minute ago he had enough free time for sex, but now that Holly had cock-blocked him, he suddenly have to be somewhere?

"Hey, you don't have to go... I can make her leave." Dora held his hand tightly, trying to show him how much she wanted him to stay.

He pulled his hand away. "No, it's later than I thought."

A lame excuse. Dora feared she knew the truth. The interruption had sobered him up and made him reconsider revealing his identity to a desperate girl from the ghetto with daddy issues, and a best friend with no boundaries.

Pissed off but not wanting to show it, Dora glared at Holly behind Red Hood's back and gestured aggressively that she had to leave. Holly either didn't notice or just ignored Dora's signals. She stood there and ogled Red Hood, unabashed, as he slipped his jacket over his bare back. She literally drank him in. A flush of possessiveness overwhelmed Dora, something she never felt before. She wanted to kill Holly, seriously.

Red Hood was oblivious to all that. He reached into his jacket's collar and pulled out a detachable red hood large enough to conceal most of his face in shadow.

"It's okay, Dora," he said. "I'll see you around." He caressed her cheek, looking at her from behind his white lenses.

Dora wished she could see his eyes.

Red Hood bent down and kissed her lips, slow. It was surprisingly soft and tender, in contrast to their previous kisses. Dora's heart was fit to burst. He lingered for a long moment, resting his forehead on hers... "Think about what I said." He placed her glasses back into her hands.

When their skin lost contact, Dora felt a magnetic pull. She wondered if he felt it too, and if it meant he would come back soon. He had to; he couldn't leave her hanging like this.

He grabbed his gear, and on the way out the door, he whispered something to Holly. She smirked, not looking him in the face, but down at his taut torso. "Sure thing, boss. Lips sealed."

Red Hood scoffed, zipping up his jacket without looking back. Dora watched him ascend the steps until he was out of sight. She listened until his footsteps faded and the sound of the back door shutting told her that he was finally gone.

Dora padded across the room and closed the cellar door. "What the fuck, Holly?" she groaned. "What the hell was that? Can't you take a hint? Why didn't you just leave?"

"And pass up the chance to check out my boss while he's shirtless ? He's a babe, isn't he? And hey... you are too." Her eyes lowered. "You've got nice boobs, Dee. You should show them off more often. What's your size? I've got some tops you can borrow if you're ever in the mood." She reached out to tickle Dora's breasts.

Dora slapped her hand away and crossed her arms. She slouched over to the sofa and fell into it, groaning. She was frustrated.

Very frustrated.

"Sorry for the cock-block, Dee." Holly sat down and put Dora's feet in her lap.

"Holly, just... Grrr!" Dora really hated her right now. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Carla was worried about you. You weren't picking up your phone, so she called and asked me to check if you were still at the bar. She said you promised you'd be home hours ago."

Groaning, Dora slapped her forehead. "Damn it, that's right. I kinda lost track of time. Left my phone upstairs."

"Obviously." She pulled out Dora's phone and gave it to her, then picked up the half empty bottle of whiskey and took a sip. "Can't blame you. ... So are you and Red Hood, like, together now?"

"No."

"Do you know his name?"

"No."

"Have you seen his face yet? I mean without that little mask on?"

"No."

Holly smiled. "Oh, so it's just casual?"

"No! I mean I don't know!" Dora said, aggravated. "We were kinda figuring that out when you barged in."

"Hey, I didn't barge in."

"You might as well have. Why didn't you leave when I told you to?"

Holly shrugged. "I'm sorry, but the damage was done. He was spooked. He was practically halfway out the door once he realized I was there. He would've just left with me and you'd be down here all alone."

Dora hated to admit that Holly might be right, but was being alone really so bad? "Fuck you, Holly."

"Hey, I'm game if you are. Seeing you two together kinda got my motor running." She traced circles on Dora's knee, and a mischievous smile spread on her face.

Dora slapped her hand away, embarrassed. "Stop!"

"Fine, fine!" Holly said, laughing. "So are you going home tonight?"

"No. I'm too fucking tired to walk seven blocks back to the apartment." Dora swung her legs off Holly's lap and dragged herself to the bed. She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her jeans, glad for once her bra was already off.

"You got a point. Mind if I crash here tonight too?" Holly said while typing a text.

Dora honestly didn't care anymore. "Fine," she groaned. "Take the couch."

Sprawling out, Holly smiled. "If I had left... you were going to rub one out, huh?"

Dora threw a pillow at her.

#

$4,000 for flooring. $7,000 for the new pool tables. $5,000 for the new bar counter and the shelf behind it. $4,000 for all the new booths, tables, and chairs. $5,500 more to renew the liquor license. $7,000 to restock all the liquor the LU had destroyed. Plus another dozen odds and ends eating away her funds. All of it was covered by the loan she had gotten for re-mortgaging the Montgomery building, but every invoice still cut deep. $10,000 monthly, for the foreseeable future, to pay it all back.

Dora brooded in one of those newly upholstered booths, with invoices and receipts spread out on the table in front of her, silently trying to keep her composure. The bar averaged about $20,000 in revenue a month—on a good month. With all the usual overhead expenses, coupled with her debt, she would barely break even every month, and probably not see a decent profit for years. She needed an accountant or financial advisor to help trim the fat off her expenses and work out more efficient payment plans for all her loans. Her mother had kept books for the bar and the flats in the building for almost 20 years, but she was far and away from qualified despite the experience. Even if an accountant was willing to overlook all the extortion and laundering in the books, Dora didn't think she could afford one.

What she really needed was her father. He would know what to do.

"Oye, niña, que vamos hacer? Estas segura con sus opciones?" Hey, girl, what should we do? Are you sure about your choices?

Dora snapped out of her thoughts and back into reality. The foreman of the contractors her mother had hired stood by the table, looking at her with an impatient expression. "I'm sorry, what?" Dora asked.

The foreman rolled his eyes and spoke to her in heavily accented English. "I want to ask you, are you sure you do not want marble? Looks better than wood."

It was Dora's turn to be annoyed. She had already told this guy she didn't want marble countertops for the bar, she wanted wood. Marble was too expensive. "El madera, por cierto."

"And for sinks? My men have the porcelain packed in the truck."

Dora groaned. "Steel. I want the steel sinks."

"Sorry, but is not whole point of remodel to make bar look better? You had wood counters before, had steel sinks before."

"Listen, dude, I'm not made of money. If you want this job, then just do what I say and don't argue with me. I could always find some Americans with licenses to do it."

The man gave her a nasty look for a fraction of a second, but wiped it away just as quick. It still left Dora feeling ashamed. "Of course," he said, and turned back to his men with a nod.

She hated to pull that card, not just because it was a complete bluff (she couldn't afford licensed contractors), but more because it was undermining these immigrant workers who were as much Santa Priscan as her mother. She felt a bad taste in her mouth just having said those words.

She looked again at the papers strewn across the table. She had lost her train of thought, not that she had made any progress working out how to dig herself out all this debt. Right now the only plan was to just carry on, earn as much as she could, and chip away at the balance. Perhaps small, but regular payments would keep the debt collectors off her ass. The overhead left just enough for her family to get by, not as well off as before, but good enough—assuming her tenants upstairs didn't keep moving out. With an exhausted sigh, Dora stacked up the papers. Her desk in the office hadn't been big enough for her to work on, but at least it had provided her some privacy from the contractors. Maybe she could sneak in a nap while she was in there.

"Is there any room in all that left for me?"

"Rochelle!" Dora lit up at the sight of Rochelle's bright green eyes and even brighter smile. She pulled her into a fervently tight hug. Dora hadn't seen her since the night the LU trashed the bar, and in the wake of all that had happened, she forgot how much she missed her best friend. "I'm sorry I haven't called you back, things have been crazy busy around here."

Rochelle looked around at some of the unfinished parts of the bar—the bullet holes in the barshelf, the hole in the wall leading to restrooms—she seemed amused. "Yeah, I can see that. I leave you alone and everything goes to shit."

Dora suppressed a laugh. "Why are you here?"

Rochelle's forehead puckered but there was a smirk on her lips. "What the hell do you mean, 'why am I here?' I'm here to make certain I still have a job! The Alibi's hosted three crime scenes within the last fucking year, two of those within the last bloody month—and I really mean bloody now, Dee. It's been totally trashed. I heard from Holly that you sold the fucking place."

"I didn't sell it. I mortgaged it."

"I thought you already owned it."

"I did. I do."

Rochelle looked confused. "What?"

Dora tried to explain it to her. She kind of did the opposite of selling the building; she had bought it all over again. She sold it to the bank for a lump sum of liquid cash, then re-bought the building with a mortgage—all in one transaction.

"Dee, I don't know what difference that makes here in the states... I don't even know what to think. You haven't called, you haven't texted."

"I'm so sorry, Rochelle. And of course you still have a job. Honestly, I just couldn't find a minute..." Just thinking of all the distractions lately made her head spin. Applying for the loans, dealing with vendors and licensing, looking for cheap contractors, then all the renovation work, both what she had to oversee and what she had to do herself. And to top it all, Red Hood stopping by and causing a swirling wake of... feelings... and disappearing. Now that she thought of it, Dora realized what she really needed all this time was a friend, a confidante. She needed Rochelle.

"Wow, Dora," Rochelle said, concern etching on her face as she studied her. "You really look like you need to relax."

A bitter laugh broke out of Dora. "Tell me something I don't know."

Rochelle hugged her tightly, and it took all of Dora's self-control not to break out crying.

"Do you need help with anything?" Rochelle asked, rubbing her shoulder.

"Not really..." Dora looked around the barroom—at the floors, the furniture, the fixings—the hole still in the wall. There wasn't much left that she or anyone else unskilled could do that the contractors couldn't do better or quicker. She and Red Hood had taken care of all the small stuff last night.

"Well, the place is going to look better. Never mind the shit that happened in here, it was due for an update anyway," Rochelle said looking around. "You got new pool tables, I see."

"Yeah, they cost me $4,000. Each." Dora walked over to the nearby wall and flicked a switch, turning on the lamps hanging over the tables. Those were $75 each. She couldn't help but see giant price tags on everything now.

"Red felt?" Rochelle touched the fabric on top of one of the tables, her eyebrow arched.

"Figured it was a refreshing change from the usual green."

"Is that all?" she asked with a knowing smirk. "Why not black or blue or purple?"

It didn't occur to Dora why she had picked red felt over the other colors until just now.

"It... matches the bricks." She gestured at the walls. She didn't feel too badly about the pool tables, knowing that they were a safe investment. Having two new and balanced pool tables with fresh untorn felt and a full set of balls would certainly attract customers. Especially here in Crime Alley, where the denizens liked to wager on everything. Her brain then began to whir thinking of the possibilities—if she struck a deal with a bookie and got two or three flat screens, maybe they could bring in a bit more customers... The cellar was a perfect place to host poker games... but she was getting ahead of herself. Would her father have approved of the Alibi becoming an underground casino?

"Yikes," Rochelle eyeing Dora's brain blast with concern. "It's obvious you need to unwind a bit, so why don't we play a game of 8-ball?" She didn't wait for an answer and racked up. A game of rock-paper-scissors let Dora break. She made a solid in, so she lined up another shot. While she did that, Rochelle asked, "So this Red Hood guy..."

Dora's cue hit the felt. She cursed. This game was meant to calm her down. "What about him? He's the reason we're in this mess, isn't he?" She shot again but didn't score.

"Oh, cut the act," Rochelle said. "Holly told me everything."

Dora pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "Then there's no point in me telling you."

Rochelle took her shot. It went wide, but she didn't seem to care. "I know what happened, Dee, but not how you felt about it."

Being honest with herself, Dora felt like she was dying to see Red Hood again. She was anxious to hear his voice, to talk to him. Red Hood had hinted that he had grown up on Park Row like her, so she wanted to know who he was—his name, if they had met before—she was almost certain she had because Park Row was a small neighborhood.

But just as much... she wanted to see his face and his body again, and run her hands all over him—and she wanted his hands, his lips, and whatever else all over her body too. However, she was wary because she had been drunk at the time... and horny. God damn it, she was so hard up for a lay.

It had been years since she was last intimate with a man, and Red Hood stirred something within her that she was having trouble holding back.

She told as much to Rochelle, in less direct words.

"Wow, you're really smitten, aren't you?" Rochelle said.

"Smitten?" Dora wasn't sure what she meant.

"I think you might be falling for this guy."

Dora couldn't deny that she was physically attracted to him, and curious about his real identity, but... was she attracted to him emotionally? "How can I be? I don't even know his name. I haven't really seen his face. We've spent no time together."

"Bullshit. There's more behind the mask, behind the guns, and behind all the killing, Dee, and you know that," Rochelle led Dora over to the window, careful not to let the contractors overhear. "There's a who and a why under that red bucket, and it's vibing with your who and why—name and face be damned."

"You think so?"

"I ship it. I'm on board SS Red Hood x Dora," Rochelle said with a smile. "When are you going to see him again?"

"I have no idea. We didn't really get a chance to swap phone numbers or anything like that. I don't have a bat-signal or anything like that to summon him. He just kinda... drops by whenever I need help."

"Note to self, find a red searchlight." Rochelle laughed. "Oh, and speaking of dropping by."

The front door chimed as a tall old woman walked into the Alibi. Leslie Thompkins. There was a hard expression on her face that Dora was not used to seeing.

"Leslie? What are you doing here?" Dora went to greet her.

"I was passing by on my way to the clinic and I saw the construction. I was afraid you had sold the place until I heard you talking. Did I hear that right, Dora? Are you involved with the Red Hood?"

For a second, Dora was incredulous that she had been overheard, then she noticed that the window she and Rochelle were standing by had no glass panes on it. "I, uh..."

Leslie's glare of disapproval was scorching.

"I'll go tell the guys about this window," Rochelle said, walking off. Dora looked at her desperately, urging her to stay with just the expression on her face, but Rochelle just mouthed, "Sorry."

"Dora, what are you thinking? He's a criminal. A murderer!"

"Leslie, listen, he's not like that. He helped me out a few times—"

"Helped? How? By killing people?"

"It was self-defense," Dora pointed out.

"Then why does he avoid the police? Why does he wear a mask? Would your bar be this demolished if it weren't for him?!"

"I nearly died. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him," she said, trying not to raise her voice. "He didn't trash the bar, the cartel did. Red Hood's done nothing but help me."

Leslie gripped the strap of her bag tightly. "At what cost, Dora?"

"What do you mean, it cost me nothing!" But as soon as she said that, a jolt of realization struck her.

Red Hood originally wanted 15% off her total revenue, but after he sold the cocaine Carla had been running, she was off the hook. How come she never thought of it before? The "cost" had literally been flooding Gotham with drugs, even if it was to bougie brats in the Heights. As much as Leslie had a soft spot for low-income minorities, Dora wasn't about to tell her that.

"Dora, think about what you're doing," Leslie urged. "Is the survival of this bar really worth getting in bed with a crime lord? Think of your family."

With that last remark suspended in the air, Leslie left the bar, leaving Dora with a sinking feeling in her chest that was getting heavier by the second. Leslie couldn't possibly know the truth, but her choice of words made Dora think. What did Red Hood really want from her? Did he really care about her, or was his affection just a front? Was he seducing her so she would comply with his racket? With men, he had no choice but to use force and bribery to get his way, but with women... all he really needed was his charisma. Was she the only female business owner in Park Row he had wooed?

Notes

Song Reference: "Sober" by blink-182

Version 41.1