In the Heart of Eve's Bar: A Game of Shadows and Solace

"I'll make your usual drink. Are you okay with that?" I asked, polite as always.

Michelle merely nodded. She was already tipsy. It seemed she'd been drinking before arriving at the bar. Yes, she tended to drink a bit too much.

As bartenders, we always strive to remember the faces of our customers, even if they've been absent for many years. Typically, we still recognize them. However, this man, this guest - I was certain I'd never seen him before. I often remember customers not just by their appearance, but also their movement, their speech, their unique body language - all these elements aid in remembrance, even after many years.

But Michelle was different. She could alter her body language professionally, depending on who she was mimicking.

(She was a high-ranking BtP officer and a secret spy. )

"Write a name," I handed her a pen and paper.

She gave me a knowing smile and quickly wrote a name on the paper, returning it to me. "DEA will check it, just enjoy your drink for now."

Without hesitation, I began to prepare a Margarita, mixing Tequila, Cointreau, lime, and salt. This drink was first crafted in 1970 by a bartender named John Durlesser. The name of the drink was in honor of his deceased wife. According to the Master, Margarita symbolizes a love that never fades, even when separated by death.

For Michelle, however, the meaning was a bit different - a love that has faded. Michelle typically ordered a few specific drinks: Jack Rose, Cinderella, and Margarita. Jack Rose when she was happy or with a female friend, Cinderella when she was with male friends, and Margarita was reserved for when she was heartbroken. It wasn't hard to tell when Michelle was heartbroken - just like now. Slightly drunk, red eyes, and a look that could kill. This was not the first time.

After carefully salting the rim of the glass and gently pouring in the drink, I placed it before Michelle. Her eyes, slightly red, met mine, and her facial expression shifted, as if on the verge of tears. Her hand darted out, grasping the glass, and she finished it in one swift gulp.

"Another," she requested, her head resting on her left hand folded on the bar table, her right hand absently tracing the rim of the now-empty glass. From behind the bar, I held up two fingers in a 'V' shape.

"22?" I queried.

She glanced at my fingers, her right hand reaching out to touch mine, spreading my fingers wide.

"25," she responded.

Then, her entire warm right hand rested on my left. Her fingers appeared smaller compared to mine. Michelle's eyes bore into me, perhaps seeking attention. I could see sadness and loneliness within them.

"Alright," I conceded, withdrawing my hand to prepare the next drink. As I handed her the refilled Margarita, she immediately downed it, just as roughly as before. "Another," Michelle commanded again. I studied her, trying to estimate her level of intoxication.

My earlier gesture with two fingers was to gauge her drunkenness - if her vision was doubled or tripled, I wouldn't serve her more. The number 25 represented the number of people she had dated and broken up with. This meant that Michelle had been through four breakups since I'd last seen her on the night shift. I promptly mixed another drink.

Michelle is a generous person, always ready to support her friends in need. She never hesitates to put her partner's interests first, even to the point of self-sacrifice. I found myself staring at her face, a face of such beauty it could rival those of famous actresses. It would be hard for any man to resist such allure.

It is from these actresses and models that she copies her face and body.

Michelle possesses a superhuman ability of mimicry. She can imitate the form of humans in any way, as long as she observes them closely. Even their voices can be replicated. She has an incredible talent for observing people, always careful and detailed. Sometimes, I think she can see things in people that others overlook. I've known Michelle for almost three years. You could say we're quite close.

(Close out of necessity.)

"Another." Since earlier, I've been steadily refilling her Margarita and there are now three empty glasses on her table.

"No, then you won't be able to go home," I objected.

Michelle's face turned sulky as she looked at me. If anything, it made her look cuter and sweeter as she pouted, her mouth forming a small, red O while her eyes flashed with mild annoyance. The combination made her look irresistibly captivating.

(Lust, a sly whisper in the depths of my mind, coaxed, "Come on, Jaime. She's the most captivating woman you'll ever encounter. Quench her thirst. Let the alcohol flow, and perhaps tonight you'll share more than just drinks with her. Give in.")

(In the echoing silence of my thoughts, a gentle rebuttal arose from Kindness, my moral compass, "She's spiraling down a self-destructive path with every sip she takes. If you truly harbor feelings for her, you'd put a stop to this.")

(But Lust, relentless as ever, responded, "Look at her, unabashed, seeking solace in the numbness. Indulge her. Make a good impression on this stunning woman. Seize the moment, Jaime.")

(Go Down to the core of the earth!)

"No, I won't be swayed," I responded, forcing myself to look away. My heart pounded against my ribcage, threatening to give in to her demand.

"Maaaasterrr...," Michelle elongated her plea, raising her hand with the empty glass towards the Master who was at the other end of the bar. The Master seemed to sigh, then resumed his work. "Jaime, just serve her...."

"But... but Master..." I protested. If Michelle isn't stopped, it'll be me, not Michelle, who'll face consequences.

"Another..." Michelle insisted, holding out her glass towards me. Her face was artfully manipulated to project a pitiful countenance, an image that hammered on the walls of my heart, escalating the building tension within.

(Men are often rendered powerless in the presence of beauty, ensnared by the enchanting spell it weaves, striking a chord deep within our emotional core. Ahh.. what a sweet torture.)

"Master said yesterday, if Jaime is here, I can drink as much as I want."

I quickly glanced at the Master, who shot me a look before quickly looking away. "Yesterday she was drunk, so I had to give her a reason to go home before she got completely wasted."

"But Master, if she gets drunk now who's going to take her home?" I argued. The Master had already moved far into the kitchen, but his voice could still be heard in the dimness, "As usual ..."

"Come on, serve another," Michelle urged.

As an employee, there are three golden rules:

1. The customer is the boss of the boss.

2. The boss is never wrong.

3. If the boss is wrong, refer to the rules above.

Sighing softly, I quickly grabbed the empty glass and prepared a new Margarita. Michelle watched with interest as I made her drink. Meanwhile, my mind was in turmoil. I had plans for tomorrow, like fixing up my house which was damaged in various places and doing my laundry. If I use the phrase 'as usual' from the Master, it means I'll have to drive 55 km to drop Michelle off at her apartment in downtown Melodistria.

This includes carrying her up to the 22nd floor and taking care of her until she's done. Plus, I'll have to wait until Michelle is willing to drive me back home, if she happens to have to go to BtP Headquarters, or I'll have to spend money to call a taxi. This means an additional expense that can't be put on the Eve Cafe's expenditure. She is a disaster for my tranquility.

While she was busy drinking, looking for her smartphone, and cursing someone, I turned my attention to the other customers. The old man was already deep in conversation with the Master after checkmating me in our 242nd game.

"Sssss..." A hissing sound could be heard and a long, soft object moved past my foot, causing me to look down. A venomous snake about one and a half meters long was passing by my feet and began hissing at me.

"Vicky," I called out, looking at a brown-skinned, brown-haired woman sitting at a table, "No animals are allowed in here," my hand moved to try to catch the hissing snake. As it saw my hand approaching, the snake backed away a bit to prepare to move forward again to attack and bite my hand. I immediately withdrew my hand to let its head pass, and then as quickly as possible, I caught its head before it could retract and my other hand caught its tail to prevent the snake from coiling around my hand.

(Catching snakes is easy if you live in a place where almost every morning you find snakes hiding in barrels around your house. I picked up the snake and moved from behind the bar to throw it out through the main door.)

As I passed by Vicky's table, she pouted, "Jaime, that's not my snake, it's Roco's," pointing to a man sitting next to her. I looked at the dark-skinned man, who was a third-time guest, and said, "Sir, no animals are allowed inside the Bar," smiled, and returned behind the bar counter.

Roco looked annoyed and turned to Vicky, "The bartender yesterday screamed in fear."

Vicky laughed and pointed at me, "He's a mountain man!"

(Great, now Eve Bar has two superhuman animal tamers who always bring their animals everywhere, and I just got the title of mountain man.)

I looked over to the corner of the bar where a long-haired black woman named Hana was holding a toothpick in her hand. The small object immediately buzzed and vibrated between her fingers. She used it to cut a glass of drink like cutting butter and started to carve an animal on the glass.

(Another glass to be charged to her payment bill.)

I turned my gaze to a fresh face in the crowd, a young girl, barely of age to partake in the libations on offer, if at all. A mental note was made to check her ID next time. I sent her a warm, inviting smile, my words soft and comforting, "Can I assist you with anything?" I knew from her hesitations, her timid glances, that it was her first foray into the world of bars.

Her eyes met mine, a touch of surprise flickering within them before she returned my smile, her face a canvas of unspoken words and withheld stories. There was so much she wanted to share, so much she longed to say, yet her voice was trapped in silence.

Engaging in prolonged conversations with young, uncertain souls was far down on my list of priorities. It was a dance I had danced one too many times. So, I chose to gracefully exit the budding interaction.

With a gentle, casual elegance, I placed a few snacks on her table, accompanied by a conspiratorial wink and a softly spoken, "On the house. I hope you enjoy your time here."

As I drifted away, my mind refocused on the task at hand, on the name that Michelle had given me. DEA, my personal Artificial Intelligent, was supposed to find the answer about the man and his connection to Michelle.

I slid a wireless earphone into my ear, issuing a voice command in a hushed tone, "Fetch me the results."

While waiting for the response from DEA, I busied myself with cleaning the bar, washing glasses, tidying up, maintaining the appearance of a bartender engrossed in his work.

As DEA's findings filtered into my ear, a fierce anger started to roar within me, "We need to end this man's life! The horrors he inflicted upon Michelle are unthinkable! We must halt his reign of terror! Kill him!"

Yet, my inner voice of kindness argued, "This world is a battleground of good and evil. Forgiveness can be the sword that severs the roots of wickedness."

This time, however, my rage was the compass guiding my actions.

I scribbled a brief note on a piece of paper and slid it across to Michelle. "If you can ready the preparations within two hours, we will finish him off tonight."

Michelle met my gaze, her eyes reflecting a tumult of emotions. "I knew you would stand by me," she whispered.

"But remember, if we fail, we'll perish together. Are you prepared for that?" I asked, my voice low and serious.

"Do you think I could continue living if we failed tonight?" Her words hung heavy in the air between us.

Gently, I reached out to wipe the tears that had started to stream down Michelle's beautiful face. "Get ready. Tonight, it's kill or be killed."

The man had crossed lines no human should ever breach. He had done unspeakable things to a woman, and for that, he had to pay.