The Parallels

Loud music rattled in my ears, a pungent smell of alcohol stuck in my nose creating sharp pain. Drunk people dance around and wave their bodies obscenely in front of my eyes. For the sixth hour I have been sitting and looking at each person entering the pub. The watch on my wrist struck midnight and with puffy eyes from fatigue, I slowly got up from the couch leaving the men who had been trying for an hour to earn my attention. With slow steps I squeezed through the sweaty people and sat down at the bar table. Somehow keeping my eyes open, which was difficult at the moment because of the heavy fake eyelashes, I reached out to the bar man.

A young guy with light brown hair and dark eyes came up to me with intently look and a small grin playing on his lips. I shot at him an annoying look and said briefly, "Liqueur, please."

After these words, the bar man bulged his eyes on me, leaned on the table with his elbows so that our faces were at the same level, and whispered, "Don't people drink alcohol after twenty-one?" He said with his British accent.

I ignored his remark and repeated my request, "Liqueur, please," I muttered through clenched teeth. I understand that this is my third mug in a day, but I must somehow keep myself up. The guy shook his head, reached under the table to get a bottle, and poured me alcohol, but before giving me the drink, he diluted the liquor with water, and only then the glass rolled across the table directly into my palm.

Moving away from me, the bar man told me, "Don’t miss him, this is your last chance," with a sarcastic smile, he went to accept an order of a woman who sat next to me.

"Shut up and do your job, don't teach me how to do mine." I barked at him. After swallowing a burning liquid down my throat, with a knock I put down a glass and with the same slow steps I walked through the pub.

Ten minutes have not passed from my short conversation with the bar man as I hear his own voice in my earpiece which is hidden under a wall of curled up hair.

"I see him, he just went through the main entrance." I stopped and widely turned my head like an owl scanning the room. "He is in a blue jacket, with two other friends," again a voice sounded in my right ear.

Now, I see a man, known as a private detective by the name of Alexander Wilson, with black hair, in his thirties. I followed him with my gaze as he approached my partner Aiden, and note that he is the bar man who molested me. As soon as Wilson sat down on a bar stool, his two friends went out in search of a beautiful lass for tonight. I waited for his friends to go on different ways and for Wilson to sit comfortably on the stool.

When Aiden handed the first glass of whiskey to Wilson, with a more sprightly steps, I went to the table for the next drink. As best as possible, I tried to wag my hips for the show and to interest our guest. When Aiden noticed how I was trying to get closer to Wilson and with my new walking style, a ridiculous smile appeared on his face and he shook his head. I rolled my eyes and immediately stopped walking like a slut, until I didn’t scare Alex to death.

I went to the table, leaned over and held out my credit card to Aiden.

"Hello, can I have a bottle of champagne?" I said with a strong Spanish accent. With a welcoming smile, the bar man took my credit card and walked away. With my side vision, I noticed Wilson's gaze focused on me.

Aiden came back with empty hands and handed my card back, "I’m sorry, but your credit card isn’t working."

I looked at him with a disappointed look and faking my strong Spanish accent I cried out, "Oh no, I haven’t brought any cash with me." I pouted my red and puffy lips, don’t get me wrong, the lipstick makes my lips look bigger than they truly are.

"Excuse me," I heard a deep voice next to me, "You can take my card. I’m sure it’s working." I turned my head around and looked at Wilson. He gave me a wink and in return, I smiled sweetly taking one lock of my black hair under my ear.

"Sir, you don’t have to-"

"No, no, no. It’s a pleasure to pay a bottle of champagne for such a beautiful woman like you," Wilson interrupted me handing his card to Aiden. With one swipe of a card, Aiden took the money and handed me a bottle.

I poured champagne into two glasses and handed one to my guest, "My name is Veronica," I introduced myself.

"Very nice to meet you, " Wilson said, "I’m Alexander Wilson, but you can call me Alex."

I nodded with the flirty smile shining on my dark red lips. "So," I started, curling my hair around my finger, "I heard you are the best detective in this area." I looked down at the bag he cares around. An original black laptop bag with the shoulder strap and a handle. Alex finished his cup of champagne and turned his full body towards me with the smirk. I glanced at Aiden for a second and I saw him staring at the man in front of me.

"This is true," Alex said with a proud tone in his voice, "I opened a recent case. Death of one of the deputies. Was found dead in his office. He was shot right in the head." I gasped in horror.

"That’s terrible. Who could do that?"

"Didn’t you watch the news? Everything is clearly rolling out about my business there and how I solved one of the difficult puzzles. It took me two months to find the answer to all the questions the journalists had."

I shook my head. The pictures of the death of Aaron Johnson with colorful pictures spun in my mind. I tried to brush off unnecessary memories and tried to continue my pretend. I automatically came up with the story of my life from childhood, about my family, and to the present day. With confidence and without hesitation, I began, "I have not heard anything like that. I came here only a week ago," I recalled the moment when I watched the flights on the website, one plane flew from Durango, Mexico to New York.

"I live in Mexico, and here for my sister. Her husband died and she needs to prepare for the funeral. But six children had no one to be left with while their mum does some hard work. So I'm babysitting a kindergarten here." I laughed at my selection of words and watched Alex if he understood me and did not think that I was overwhelmed.

"I am very sorry for your sister. I hope she will feel better." He said with understanding. I agreed and an uncomfortable silence flew between us. Without waiting for Alex to start the conversation, I wondered, "What about your new case. I heard that you are now have an investigation?"

Alex waved his hand, "Yes, but I don’t really know what the client wants from me. Speaks about terrorism in our city. In recent years, so many deaths have occurred, but it has nothing to do with terrorism"

I nodded, letting him know that I was listening and that he may continue. "Says that all the murderers and accidents were planned in advance by a group of people. But without evidence of terrorism, I cannot accept any results. Hell, I don’t even know where to start." Alex was indignant while throwing his hands in the air. I looked at his bag again, and watched anxiously at Alex, "And what will you do, since you don’t have any information."

With a sigh, the detective poured himself another glass of champagne, and I still did not touch my glass with my lip. I don’t really want to be treated from alcoholism. "We made a contract, he will provide me with all possible evidence, or at least hints about the terrorists and I will do my best to earn more money on this case."

I carefully selected the right words without letting my partner in the conversation know about my intentions, I said: "What if your client does not find any information? What then? It looks like you are wasting your time."

Little sips of champagne, Alex replied, "If he doesn’t come to the meeting at all, it means only one thing: his story was invented. He could have watched too many movies and now some kind of terrorism is happening in his head." With the sigh, he continued, "It often happens to people. I'm not a psychologist, but I have children who were always afraid of monsters under their beds. And the reasons for this outward thinking are scary bedtime stories."