Anilia met the police at the door to the Rack at 9 a.m. She had been woken out of sleep, when the day guard called her up saying cops had a warrant and were demanding to come in. Anilia, for once, was in more casual dress than what she wore for the Rack. Wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans – and the ever-present high-heeled boots – she nodded to the detective. “Good morning,” she said. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Are you certain there’s nobody inside?”
She gave him a look. “Our men are very thorough getting people out for last call.”
The detective rocked a bit. “Sorry. Thanks, can you open the door?”
“Can I see the warrant?”
She took the offered warrant, and then unlocked the doors. “Lights are to the left, gentlemen, behind the coat check.”
She examined the warrant. “Drugs?” She looked up at the detective. “You’re new to the force, aren’t you?”
“Three months, ma’am.”
She nodded slowly, “Yes, we were about due for a raid.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Whenever we let go of an employee, they always go running to the police saying we’re running a prostitution ring, or a drug ring, or serving liquor to minors on dry night. I’m surprised they haven’t said that we also have murders in the back room.”
She started walking to the bar, and slapped down the warrant on the bar. “Can I at least get a water?”
“Let me examine your refrigerator first,” he said, slipping on a pair of gloves.
“Be my guest,” she muttered, and watched as two men manhandled the refrigerator out from behind, the bar, examining the back. After what seemed like a good half hour, she was able to get her water. They examined the ice buckets, the bottles, under the bottles, behind the walls, the shelves, everything. She followed them into the back room, and they tore through that section.
One group headed to the cellar, the other to the alley, another to the offices.
“Sarge,” yelled someone from the alley.
The detective and one of the policemen went outside to see a man holding up a syringe. “There’s like three of them over there,” he pointed to a corner of the building in the back.
“This is outside of our property,” said Anilia, and looked up. She pointed to a camera. “If someone’s shooting up back here, they know they’re out of the camera’s range.”
“Pick them up,” said the detective, and looked at Anilia. “They could have gotten the drugs from here and shot up back there.”
“Have you found anything that could even allude to drugs being sold at my bar?”
“Where is the owner?”
“Away on business.”
“He’s usually not around during the day, is he?”
“He’s up all night with the bar.”
“So are you.”
Anilia smiled and shook her head. “I go home at midnight. He manages the cleanup and last call. We’re thinking of cutting our hours on the weekend because it’s so sparse in the early morning hours.”
The detective frowned. “I’m going to talk to my superior about that. You don’t plan on leaving the state, do you?”
Anilia raised an eyebrow. “I am not guilty of anything, Detective…”
“Moss. Joseph Moss.”
“Moss. You already know my name.”
“Yes, Ms. Moreau.”
“Call me Anilia.”
“I don’t think I need to,” he said, heading back into the bar.
Another three hours, while Anilia walked around. They headed to the cellar where all the liquor was stored. “You have a very clean cellar,” said the detective. He walked over to the door. “Why is there a bolt on the inside?”
“It was built that way,” she said. “I have a feeling this used to be a bootlegger’s bar.”
“This is a pretty heavy bolt.”
“Some of those Prohibitionists…”
“Uh huh.” He started looking through all the shelves, noticing most weren’t dusty, but then stopping when he saw one pair of shelves were dusty. Anilia threw a look to the sergeant, who shrugged, but patted his pocket above his breast. The sergeant escorted the two cops that were downstairs back up.
This left Anilia with the detective. Moss was staring intently at a shelving unit against a wall. “What’s behind the wall?”
“Bricks?” said Anilia. Moss turned around to look for the cops. “Where’d everyone go?”
“Sometimes you shouldn’t look in dark corners for things, Detective,” said Anilia, getting closer to him.
Moss stared at her, blinking.
She removed her shirt. “Sometimes things come in the dark corners looking for you.”
“I…I’m married.”
“No one needs to know.” She walked over to the door, shut it, and bolted it. “Now you know why there’s a bolt on the inside.”
At dusk, Bomber pushed aside the concrete wall that was the entrance to his haven. He smelled Anilia, and another man. He came up from the cellar to see a Bitten girl, seated on one of the couches, reading a worn novel, a hi-lighter in the other hand. At Bomber’s entrance, she jumped up, smiling.
After satiating his hunger on the young girl and feeding her also, he went to see Anilia. He found her at the bar, taking inventory.
He hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. “What did you do in the cellar?”
“Protected you, my love.”