"I know he wouldn't leave you behind," I said.
Mr. Boots blinked.
Relief spread through me. At least now I wouldn't have to chase after Kansas again. Even if the process would be easier a second time. Now that I'd used my wolf to find him, I could scent him anywhere. He was locked in.
I tiptoed to the hallway and stood with my back against the wall. I was near the absolute center of the building in that spot, and I should have been able to pinpoint where his movements were coming from.
I waited.
And didn't have to wait long.
Almost immediately, I heard a destructive crash. I cringed, terrified by the amount of glassware I'd have to replace.
"Hecking monkey butts!" Kansas cursed.
Toeing down the stares, I listened in.
"Okay, Kansas, you can do this. Grab glass. Fill three-quarters of the way with ice. Pour one shot tequila, half a shot of triple sec…" There was a pause before I heard him mutter. "Triple sec, triple sec, triple sec—there you are!"
He continued naming the ingredients listed in the recipe for a classic margarita. I never heard any sounds that indicated he was actually pouring anything. I reached the bottom step and peeked around the corner, snapping out of sight again with the speed of a cobra's strike. Kansas stood behind the bar, and as he named off the ingredients, he grabbed the bottles, miming pouring them.
He wasn't making drinks but learning where everything was located, which was what I'd asked him to do.
He'd done exactly what I'd asked him to.
Why?
Kansas spun in a full circle before he changed tactics, listing drinks by name and then ingredients in a more rapid manner while he tapped his fingers against the bar top. "Screwdriver, vodka and orange juice. Cuba Libre, rum and… rum and… come on, Kansas! You aren't a doodoo head!"
I smiled. What a silly thing to call yourself. I wondered if there was a younger friend or sibling in his life who might have called him something like that.
"Coke with a lime!" he declared triumphantly. "Ha! You aren't a fucking idiot either!"
My smile fell. Who did Kansas know who had called him that, and what was their address? I pressed tighter against the wall.
"You're the fudging idiot, Uncle Sean. Haven't heard a flipping thing about me, have you? Not so unwell, am I?"
I'd known Kansas was on the run from someone, I'd used that knowledge to coerce him to work here, but what I was hearing sounded nothing like how I thought the situation was. I'd figured he had a string of jilted lovers behind him. Some unpaid parking tickets or back taxes. I hadn't thought he was in danger.
Was he in danger?
And again, why?
"Who are you talking about?" I asked, coming around the corner.
Kansas jumped and dropped the bottle in his hand. It bounced off the rubber no-slip mat at his feet and careened back into a shelf of flavored cordials. The bottles toppled liked dominoes, falling to the ground, rolling to their sides and spilling out onto the floor.
"Shoot!" Kansas dropped below the bar top.
I stalked around, finding him on his hands and knees with a wet towel. He sopped up the brightly colored liqueurs. "Is your uncle chasing you? Why?"
Kansas peeked up at me through his sandy brown hair but looked back down quickly. "You scared me." He squinted and got that really concentrated look that he sometimes got.
I yawned and scratched the back of my neck. I'd been buzzing with extra energy when I walked in. I still felt energized, but a little less so.
Kansas straightened, his eyes shining brightly. Brighter than even a few seconds ago. "Am I in your way down here? I thought I'd get in some training before your customers came in. I've almost got all the drinks you mentioned memorized."
And in one night too. He was a damned good employee, except he wasn't really an employee at all. He was a man that I knew almost nothing about, except that he charmed men and stole money from them. And now I knew he had a really shitty uncle. Did that mean he had a shitty aunt too? How did I find out if he wouldn't tell me?
"I didn't think you'd learn them all so quickly," I said, taking the towel from him and lifting him back to his feet. I picked up the mat, let the standing liqueur pour out, and then dragged it into the back of the kitchen where I could spray it off into the floor drain. Kansas followed me the whole way, watching my movements silently. Sometimes he acted so odd, like he was seeing the world for the first time and he didn't want to miss out on a single second. "You'll know more than me at this rate."
Kansas smiled, and his cheeks turned pink. "I don't know about that. And you were right yesterday. My greetings are a little aggressive."
That was putting it mildly. Kansas welcomed each person who walked in so heartily the day before, a few had turned around and walked back out. I'd told Kansas they must have remembered something they needed to do because I hadn't had the heart to tell him he was greeting them back out the door.
"How about, 'Good morning! What can I get you?'" He demonstrated with a wave of his hand that made him look like a model on a gameshow.
"Perfect." I dropped down to wipe up the rest of the mess, and Kansas joined me. Together we cleaned up the floor and turned our wash towels into works of tie-dye. I noticed the well tray, where we kept most of our commonly used liquor bottles, could use a scrubbing on its underside, so when I was finished with the floor, I grabbed a fresh towel and started on that while Kansas wiped the dust from the bottles.
That had been a task on my to-do list since I'd bought the place but was also one of those things that got pushed back in favor of more important errands.
We cleaned in companionable silence. The whole time, my unanswered questions bounced around in my brain. Nothing about Kansas added up. He was too sweet to be a con artist, too naive to be world-weary or sarcastic. On the surface, he seemed like a man who loved fast and left faster. He had his armor, but if you examined his armor closely, you saw it was made from paper and straw, not steel.
He liked to keep moving. After he finished dusting the bottles, he grabbed the blue spray bottle and tackled the windows that faced the street. Silhouetted by the daylight streaming in, I watched his lithe form stretch to reach the top corners of the window and then scrunch small as he dropped down to get into the bottom corners. All the while, he hummed a tune that seemed to change every few seconds.
When I heard his stomach growl, I remembered I'd come down here to train him, not to get in some extra cleaning. But after I'd found him, I'd gotten distracted, and then we'd fallen into an easy rhythm.
It was nice having someone around here during a time where there usually wouldn't be.
"Why don't I cook you some breakfast?" I suggested.
Kansas studied my face. His lips pursed together. "I'm not hungry."
He was. I'd just heard his stomach. But maybe he didn't want to make me go out of my way. "We don't offer a big breakfast selection, but you'll want to be familiar for the weekend."
Kansas nodded, only okay with me cooking him food if it was for the sake of his training. He had to be hungry. There hadn't been any food upstairs, and I hadn't seen any wrappers that would indicate he'd gone to a store.
Down here, the kitchen looked untouched since yesterday. I tried to remember if he'd made food to go at the end of his shift to bring back into his room, but I couldn't picture a single thing I remembered Kansas eating the day before. In fact, the last time I remembered him putting food in his mouth had been over a day ago, when we'd shared that pizza in the motel room.