John's voice was gentle enough to sound like he was flirting.
The bartender's forced air of authority started to fall apart.
His eyes darted around, trying to find that burly security guard from just now, but he didn't dare make a sudden move.
John kept smiling, didn't rush him, just sat up straight and let one foot drop from the barstool to the floor, like a cyberpsycho ready to go on a killing spree at any moment.
The bartender had to deal with more customers every day than he could count.
He could hear whether the guy was joking or not.
"Fack!"
The bartender muttered a curse under his breath.
He leaned in toward John, teeth clenched, replying softly.
"Yeah, Wenna did work here for a while. I remember the name because she didn't want to sleep with customers, the manager wasn't too happy about that."
"And then?"
John lifted his drink. "Where is she now?"
