THE ALIBI
He bought her a drink. He said all the right things. He didn't understand why that wasn't enough.
A new micro story in a series from the world of The Wrecker:
The Yacht Club bar was quiet.
Late shift. Most members had gone home. Sarah wiped down the counter, stacking glasses, checking the till for the end-of-night count. The harbour lights reflected off the dark windows.
The side door clicked open.
She looked up. The mayors’ son. Jason Vermaak stood in the doorway. White linen shirt. Untucked. Sleeves rolled. His watch caught the low light.
“Bar’s closed,” she said.
He walked to a stool. Sat down. “Just want to talk.”
She kept wiping. Her cloth moved in circles on a glass that was already clean.
“You work late a lot,” he said.
“Someone has to.”
“I’ve noticed.” He leaned forward. His elbows on the counter. His cologne reached her across the wood. “The way you handle the rush. The way you remember everyone’s order. You’re good at this.”
She set the glass down. Picked up another.
“Thanks.”
“I’m not just saying that.” His voice dropped. Became intimate. The voice of a man who’d practiced this register. “I’ve been watching you for a while. Not in a creepy way. I mean ... you stand out.”
She moved to the other end of the bar. Reached for a bottle to restock. Her back was half-turned now. A small distance.
“You’re always working,” he said. “Always serving. Don’t you ever take a night off?”
“I take Thursdays.”
“Maybe we could—”
“I spend Thursdays alone.”
The pause stretched. He smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. His fingers traced the grain of the counter.
“You don’t like me,” he said.
“I don’t know you.”
“You could.”
She stopped moving. Looked at him. His posture was open. Inviting. The posture of a man who believed he was being charming.
Her hand rested on the edge of the till drawer.
“I have to close up,” she said.
“It’s early.”
“The log has to be in by midnight.”
He didn’t move. His hand was still on the counter. His fingers tapped once. Twice.
“Maybe some other time,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“You smell different at night,” he said. Quietly. Almost to himself. “Soap. And something else.”
She didn’t answer.
She finished the count.
She turned away. Pulled the till drawer. The cash clicked under her fingers. She could feel his eyes on her back.
The stool creaked. He stood.
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
“Goodnight, Jason.”
His footsteps crossed the floor. The side door opened. Closed.
She released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Then she checked the lock on the side door. Twice.
The reef at low tide reveals everything.
The Wrecker and Before the Wreck are now available on Payhip.
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Link: The Wrecker and Before the Wreck
What You’re Getting
The Wrecker — 350 pages of coastal noir. A yacht wreck on a reef every pilot knows. A salvage crew that arrived too fast. A police chief looking the wrong way. A man named Chris Burger who sees what everyone else misses.
Before the Wreck — 20 prequel stories. The deals that built the syndicate. The betrayals that broke the good men. The moments when each character became who they are.
Both available now. Both ready to ruin your weekend.
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The reef at low tide reveals everything. So do I.
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$9.99 — The Wrecker: Before the Wreck (How it began. What he lost. The last goodbye.)
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