Chapter Text
A stool creaked behind me as another day-drinker sat down at the bar. I’d glimpsed her already when she waltzed in. As if I could ignore that crown of platinum hair.
I whipped my hand towel over my shoulder and turned around with a smug smile and a raised eyebrow. Her pupils dilated as soon as they met mine. She remained frozen in her seat as I glanced from the dip in the neckline of her little black dress to the tips of her thick black eyelashes.
I didn’t say a word as I poured her drink: a Stoli on the rocks. Simple. Elegant. Powerful. And she’d drink it in one gulp.
“Olive Morgan. How did you know I was going to be here?” She murmured, clutching the glass and surveying the room.
“I didn’t,” I said, quietly closing the liquor bottle.
“Bullshit.”
I laughed, stowing the bottle away under the counter and swiping my towel over the wood where condensation from cold glasses had gathered in rings.
“What brings you to Berlin, Lorraine?” I spoke discreetly. I was a smug asshole, but I wasn’t about to blow her cover. I took an order for a man a few seats away as she scrutinised me under her steely gaze.
“Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I don’t actually. I’ve been preoccupied with other aspects of you.” I sent her a wink as I poured ice into my cocktail shaker. “Your job isn’t your entire life, you know.”
She hesitated with her drink at her lips. “For fuck’s sake,” she breathed, before downing every last drop and hitting the empty glass back down onto the coaster I’d given her.
“You kept the photos from the carnival,” I said, pouring another tot of Stoli into her glass.
Her eyes dropped from mine.
“You told me you didn’t love me, Lorraine.”
“I meant it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I said it to your face, did I not?”
“That doesn’t mean a fucking thing, Lorraine,” I spat, leaning on the bar towards her. I was itching to force her face up to meet my furious stare. “Everything you do is a fucking secret, I know. Everything you do has to be covered the fuck up, I know. But for god’s sake, I know I wasn’t nothing to you. You kept the bloody photos!”
“You’re making a scene, Olive,” she muttered, her gaze flickering to each person sitting in the sparsely populated room. They’d barely taken note of us.
I huffed and strode into the storeroom. I clenched my fists, dying to break something. To do something satisfying with this boiling anger. I scanned the room. Empty vodka bottles lay by the back door. I grabbed two and shouldered the swing door open.
The alley behind the bar was becoming dark. Moths buzzed around the old, dim lightbulb next to the door. A soft breeze blew the locks of hair falling out of my ponytail around my face. I placed the bottles onto the ground and closed my eyes. I rolled my shoulders back and pictured Lorraine’s infuriatingly beautiful smile.
With a fierce growl followed by a shout I hurtled one of the bottles at the opposite wall. It smashed into a thousand enraged pieces. My heart thumped. A car hooted somewhere in the street a few hundred metres away. I kicked the second bottle across the alley with a little less valour. The neck broke off and rolled back towards me.
I inhaled deeply, muttered, “Good riddance,” and disappeared inside.
I knew as soon as my eyes landed on the empty bar that something was wrong. Then the broken tap caught my attention. Slowly, all of the damage creeped into my sight. Scattered all over the floor were broken chairs and glass. Blood spattered the tiles and two bullet holes had been shot through the fridge.
Before I could think another thought, I clapped my hands over my mouth as a bloodied head of platinum blonde hair on the ground next to the counter peeked out at me. I ducked under the trapdoor leading out from behind the bar and dropped to my knees next to Lorraine’s motionless body.
She groaned as I turned her onto her side and I gasped in delight - she was alive.
“Lorraine,” I whispered, shaking her frantically. “Lorraine!”
She grunted and took a weak hold of the hand I had on her waist.
“Fuck,” she moaned, opening her eyes and pushing herself up. I tried to help, but she swatted me away. She slumped against the bar.
I inspected her body, finding no gunshot wounds of any description, thankfully, but there was a cut on the left side of her head oozing blood.
“I need some gauze and a bandage for your head,” I muttered, shakily moving onto my feet.
“No,” she mumbled through a swollen lip. Her eyes caught mine. “Just… just stay. For a bit.”
With a smile, I gently scooted over and sat next to her, leaning against the bar. After a few moments, she laid her head on my shoulder. I left my hand palm-up on my knee and watched her fingers crawl into it and cling onto me desperately.
A low whine grew from Lorraine as she turned her head into my neck. My heart skipped a beat as I enveloped her body in mine, stroking her matted hair. She sobbed into me, her shoulders wobbly and frail. The gash in her head, I noticed, wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was long but shallow, like a bullet graze. I pressed my hand towel against it gently. Lorraine tightened her fist around the hem of my shirt, whimpering.
Police sirens were becoming louder and louder and I knew it was only a matter of time before they’d be ransacking the bar and asking for witness reports.
“Lorraine,” I mumbled, curling some of her hair behind her ear. “We need to get you out of here. I’ve got a car out back.”
She nodded meekly. I heaved her to her feet and helped her stumble through to the back door. As I sat her down in the front seat of my old hatchback, she winced, pulling her gun from the thigh holster under her dress which had been digging into her at an agonising angle. I secured it in her hands. The magazine was full of ammunition. She didn’t even have a chance to use it.
“Stay here,” I told her, brushing hair out her face and kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She nodded, swallowing uncomfortably and tilting her head back. She squeezed my hand as I was about to let go. Her eyes slid over to meet mine.
“I do love you, Olive,” she croaked. “But we both know that I shouldn’t.”
“I know, darling,” I whispered with a smile. I tugged a strip of booth photos from my apron pocket. “Here.”
She picked her head up from the seat and her eyes widened. “How’d you get this?”
“Nicked it from your hotel room.”
She stared at me in awe. I handed her the strip. Four photographs. Four moments between Lorraine and I. Smiles, dress-up tiaras and fake moustaches. A kiss. She’d kept it. That's what had been fueling my search for her. It's what brought me to Berlin.
“You’re not the only stealthy one,” I said softly, leaning through the car window and kissing her on her cracked lips. It was gentle; more of a brush.
When I pulled away, tears were brimming in Lorraine’s eyes.
I sighed. “I’ll come back for you.”
She reluctantly let go of my hand and I walked backwards, watching her silhouette through the window until I slipped back inside the bar.
I didn’t hear the car start or see it speed away.
But god, I wish I had.