The Night Shift: A Red Dead Redemption 2 AU

xiii. Dark Days

Not that the front of house was much better. The day and night servers spent a Monday calling and cancelling the entirety of the Outlaw reservation book, and more than once, Tilly put down the phone and burst into tears, announcing what they'd lost; a fiftieth wedding anniversary, a graduation from med school. The celebrations they used to be a part of were exchanged for tables of wealthy dickheads from the financial district, fresh off a day's work.

To supplicate their new clientele, Micah brought in new uniforms, which were decidedly skimpy. Mia spent most nights tugging at the too tight, too short dress, feeling uncomfortable and exposed. And, perhaps worst of all, he tore out the row of booths, the beautiful velvet gone, in favour of another row of tables, to accommodate still more scumbag diners. Mia thought back to her single incident with sunglasses of the bachelor party and dully realized they'd made a restaurant just for and full of men like him, dozens of men overdrinking and grabbing at the servers. In the staff bathroom, the girls maintained a list of slimy regulars to avoid, Micah's name right at the top.

With his favoured booth gone, Dutch instead sat at the bar during the evenings, often with Micah cozied up next to him. It meant John was off-limits, and Mia instead shrugged at him whenever she caught his eye, a rarer occurrence than ever given their new clientele's tendency to drink.

At least, with Arthur gone, the staff had their phones back, but they found they had nothing to say, too dispirited to make their usual jokes in the group chat. In fact, Mary Beth changed the name after a particularly horrible table, from "Outlaw for life" to "RIP Outlaw."

When she was home, Mia lost her taste, ate only the bland foods she'd once sought refuge from. She spent her time off work glued to her phone, reading the city food blogs obsessively for any mention of Arthur, to see if he'd started working somewhere else. All she found were alarming articles about how Outlaw was changing, mostly for the worse.

The staff rarely went out for post-shift drinks anymore, but one Friday John cajoled Mia to round out their old table at The Livery; Karen and Mary Beth were going, too.

"Can't Sian go?" She said, pulling her purse from her locker.

John shook his head, said quietly, "she and Karen are on the outs, again." Then, louder, "so it's gotta be you."

Reluctantly, she followed her three coworkers into the cold night, walking the four blocks to The Livery. Unlike Outlaw, the dive bar's atmosphere was unchanged; the music loud and reminiscent of their over-emotional teenhoods, the beer cheap and plentiful. The four shared a pitcher of beer and, for a moment, Mia forgot their circumstances, even cracked a joke or two.

"I'm going to see if I can convince Donna to turn the fryer on," Karen said, pushing up from her seat. Donna, The Livery's late night line cook, was Karen's go-to when she and Sian were fighting, and John and Mia traded looks.

Mary Beth stood, too. "Kieran sent an Uber to pick me up, I'm out."

"I'll get us another round," John said, and before Mia had time to argue, he'd set off in the direction of the bar. She rested her cheek in her hand and sighed, tracing her fingertip over the various graffitied inscriptions on their table.

Soon, a beer appeared in front of her, and then John, taking Mary-Beth's old seat to sit opposite Mia.

"Thanks," she mumbled, raising the glass in a half-hearted cheers and then forcing a gulp.

"No worries," John said, "don't get many occasions to buy you a beer these days."

Mia glanced at him to see that he was watching her intently, so she only shrugged.

"I don't see you out much, anymore," he pressed the point. "Day or night. Jackie misses you."

"Yeah, well, I'm tired," she said, "feel run off my feet."

"Sure, we're all tired," John acknowledged. "But it's somethin' else. You seem to be, I don't know, takin' this harder than us all."

She shrugged again, staring into the bubbles of her drink, when she felt John's long fingers wrap around her wrist, saw the inked JACK emblazoned on them and John's face beyond it, full of concern.

She felt a weakening in her resolve, a temporary urge to tell John everything, but felt completely foolish. Instead, she said, "I just miss work, the way it was, that's all. I barely had it, you know?" She felt a tear run down her cheek and wiped it away. "It was just a brief, wonderful time, and now it's gone."

John's fingers squeezed her wrist, gently, "Mia, look at you. It can't be just that."

She wrenched her hand from him to wipe more tears that had fallen down her face. It isn't, she thought, just as she insisted aloud, "It is."

John looked stung, held his beer to his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Fine, then."

Mia forced a few gulps of beer down her throat and then excused herself for home, feeling even more terrible about where she'd found herself.

*

A month passed, and Mia walked into pre-Valentine's Day service uncertain that she'd entered the correct restaurant. Any remnants of Outlaw's beautiful, timeless décor were frosted over with pink tinsel and giant foil hearts, bunches of red and pink balloons. A huge sandwich board by the hostess stand read:

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
SURF AND TURF SPECIAL

Mia would have found it funny if it wasn't so far removed from what the restaurant had been. After a few hours serving tacky couples their tacky steaks and lobster tails in their tacky environs, she plunked down in the kitchen for her staff meal, next to John.

Things had been weird between them since their failed conversation at The Livery, and Mia forced herself to make a friendly effort. Which, for them, meant sarcasm. "Welcome to Red Lobster," she muttered, pulling her bowl closer. Karen had made a bisque with the lobster heads and claws for staff meal; a delicious waste of money.

"At least they get those biscuit things at Red Lobster," John groused. As if by magic, a warm biscuit appeared before each of them, studded with chives and parsley, little pools of cheese crisped on the bottoms.

"First thing I thought of, too," Sian winked. Mia tore hers in half and swiped it through her soup, tasted the butteriness of the biscuit and richness of the soup, and sighed. It was so reminiscent of the old Outlaw and all the more bittersweet to eat.

Her reverie was interrupted by a fresh round of bellowing from the new Chef and Mia winced. "God, I hate it here," she whispered.

"Yeah," John agreed, standing with his bowl to carry it over to the dish pit. "I'll see you in the trenches."

Mia half-heartedly saluted him and took her phone from her pocket, hoping to prolong her return to work as long as possible. She opened her texts, looking again at her last message to Arthur, the damning double-checkmark next to her month-old message.

As she stared, willing him to write to her, another text arrived, from Charles.

The message was a single word:

Antler?

And a link, which Mia opened, her eyes widening.

Personal feelings be damned: she vowed to find Arthur the next day, to show him what Charles had found.