The smell of spilled whiskey was the first and only thing to greet me as I pulled open the door to the Alibi. A textbook dive, the splintered tables of the bar were full, but nobody looked toward me as I tapped the bottom of my boots in the entryway.

The lack of turned heads was a point of pride in the Alibi. It felt private no matter how busy it was. When you were inside the Alibi, your business was your business, and if someone overheard your conversation, no they didn't.

The barkeep, a hammerhead of a woman named Sasha, clocked me in the doorway but didn't offer a nod. In fact, she didn't offer me anything; instead, Sasha stared at me with careful disinterest for a moment before returning to the drink she was pouring.

Maybe it was better that people were ignoring me here. I doubted I would have been good attention.

The bar top of the Alibi was scratched from a million slid glasses and a thousand knives. Years ago, they attempted to re-lacquer the thing, but the regulars said it'd killed the charm. Within a week, it was back to a scratched wooden mess threatening to stab any hand that rested on it.

I sat down at the bar, pulling out one of the few unused stools. As I sat down a behemoth of a man to my right pulled his chair away from me, and closer to the ear of the people he was whispering to.

Sasha ignored me for a moment, but then I held up two fingers to order a drink and made it clear that I was looking for her. I watched her sigh and turn her attention to another customer.

My phone buzzed in my pocket again. It had been ringing off the hook all evening, not that it had a hook; it was a cell phone.

I would answer it eventually.

Sasha finished pouring the neat whiskey for the woman to my right and finally, out of plausible deniability, turned to me. "Detective," she opened, somehow making the title sound like a curse.

"Evening Sasha," I said with a nod, ignoring the tone she'd used, "how's Rod?"

"S'fine," she answered, "what are you drinking?"

I considered it for a moment, "A Mojito." The second I said it Sasha glared at me. Asking her to mash mint was my way of keeping her around. That and a mojito completely clashed with the atmosphere.

Then again, so did I.

"Coming right up," Sasha hissed before grabbing a glass from the bottom of the bar. She knew how it worked; she would start working on the drink, and then when she was trapped in front of me-

"Sasha, a question."

She grunted, which roughly translated to 'there it is.'

"Okay," I cut off our usual song and dance, "a favour then."

That got her to slow down the process of fake cleaning the glass.

"I need you to tell me the truth. Just this once."

Sasha snorted at that and then chuckled to herself. Once she'd finished,she looked up at me, waiting for a smile or anything to show that I was joking.

The core rule of the Alibi and the nexus of its success was that they would always offer an Alibi for you, no matter how many people came knocking on your door. As a detective I was the exact opposite of what Sasha wanted in here. She wanted people to feel safe when they were turning over a new leaf.

It was rough to admit, but these Ex-cons needed a haven away from officers with an axe to grind.

"Look, I'm not here on force business today," I explained. She didn't flinch, "I have two questions about a girl, and then I'll shut up and drink.

Sasha grabbed the white rum from the wall behind the bar but didn't comment.

"Hell, I'll leave a big tip too," I leaned it, "it's just two questions."

Sasha paused, then poured rum into the measuring cup. "You're desperate," she mused after a moment.

I didn't say anything. I just nodded.

Sasha stopped what she was doing and put the half-finished drink down in front of me. There were still several steps between me and mojito. "What'd you get yourself into?" she asked.

"Not me," I corrected; that finally got Sasha to raise her eyebrows and look at me with anything but disdain. "I'm looking for a girl."

"Oh yeah, saw her last week," Sasha answered before I'd explained any part of the question. She went to grab the half-finished drink, and I got my hand in the way.

"Sasha. She's going to get herself hurt."

"Well, it ain't gonna be here so-"

"I know she was here. I just need to know where she was going, Sasha," I explained, "just this-" I stopped, "I'll stop coming here. You'll never get another call from me about a case."

Sasha cocked her head slightly, and her tight bun flopped a moment later.

"Sasha. Please."

Sasha put her hands on her hips and then turned to the back of the bar to find the beer she'd been likely nursing for the better part of the last two hours. Once she'd taken a proper gulp of it, she crouched in front of me. She'd scanned my face enough times that I was sure she wouldn't find anything new.

"Just one question," I negotiated.

Sasha took a deep breath. "Fine. Shoot."

"You saw an Asian girl here. Her name was Carly, would have been with two other girls, all three with black hair."

"Yeah. There's your question."

"That was a statement," I corrected, trying to keep the current dynamic instead of slipping into the old one. "The question is, did they say where they were going?"

Sasha took another sip of her drink. "You said this ain't for work?"

I nodded.

"Why'd'ya care so much."

It was my turn to sigh. I reached and grabbed the half-finished drink, taking a sip of the odd mix of white rum and soda water. "She's my sister."

Sasha frowned.

"And she's in bad, and I don't know how to help her so-" I laid my land on the counter. "Came to someone I could trust."

Sasha stood up, looked both ways and then took a deep breath, "You're killing me, detective."

"I know."

"They were talking about Wharburtons," she answered as she leaned in to ensure that nobody heard her breaking the one rule of Alibi. "Don't know what about, but they're bad news."

I tossed a twenty on the table and stood up. A breath later, I tossed a second one on top of it. There was silence for a moment between us, and it felt like the bar had quieted down too.

"Fuck you and your stupid rules," I hissed overly loud, ensuring that the surrounding patrons heard me.

"Get fucked, Detective," she shouted back. She pointed to the door, but I was leaving anyway.

I couldn't risk turning around to say it, but I hoped she understood that I mouthed 'thank you' as I left.

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/r/Jacksonwrites all that jazz