1. Spirits
“Sorry, it’s 9:01.”
“Yeah? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re closed.”
“Closed?” The tipsy-looking woman scowled and furrowed her brow, not believing what she’d heard. “The hell you are. Ring me up!”
Penny lightly closed her eyes and summoned the patience to explain once again: “It is unlawful in the state of Texas to sell liquor after 9:00 p.m.”
“Naw, that’s bull crap. Let me talk to your manager.” She craned her neck to look around the store, making a big show of it.
“I’m the manager on duty, ma’am. If you visit one of the bars down the street, they’ll be able to sell until 2:00 a.m.”
The woman’s mouth fell open in horror. “Ma’am?!” For a moment, she looked genuinely hurt. But then her angry scowl returned, and she headed for the door in a huff, leaving her birthday cake vodka on the counter. “See if I ever come back here!”
Penny exhaled a weary sigh of relief. Only one straggler to deal with tonight. Not bad. Familiar Spirits had apparently lost a customer, but they’d survive. Penny doubted the woman would actually keep her promise to stay away anyhow. Drunks had conveniently short memories.
As Penny was preparing to lock up and exit through the back, an intriguing bluish glint caught her eye. On the floor of the supply closet near the back door, a cobalt liquor bottle stood mixed in among the cleaners. Its olive green label read in ornate, faux-Arabic lettering: “Damavand Persian Gin.”
Persian? Penny racked her brain trying to recall if she’d ever seen a bottle like that before. She was pretty sure she’d remember Persian gin. There was Indian gin, sure, but they used to be under British rule, so Indian gin made sense. Persia was . . . Iran? Was liquor even allowed there?
In any case, she was certain there was no Damavand gin in the inventory. And there wasn’t much else on the label to identify it, just “Triclave Bottling Company” and “750 mL.” Not even a health warning. This bottle must have been sitting in the supply closet for years, since long before Penny was hired. Some former employee had probably stashed it there, preparing to move it out the back door when no one was around. It was an old trick, and it usually worked. Penny had done it herself a few times—in her younger, more reckless years.
That is to say, before she met Felix. She’d changed for him. And then he’d left her.
If the bottle wasn't in the inventory, she reasoned, then it wasn’t actually the property of Familiar Spirits, not technically. And in that case, she wasn’t technically stealing it. It was more like a lost-and-found item. But there might be a hidden security camera somewhere that didn’t agree with her logic, so Penny gathered up a few empty—or at least nearly empty—bottles of cleaner to make the liquor less obvious. Behind the store, she tossed the cleaners into the dumpster and drove off with her prize.
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