“Batsheba Hunter.”

“Your name isn’t on the list,” the grim-faced bouncer said, drawing his fat stubby finger on the tablet as he pretended to search the guest list.

“Check again,” I said silkily. The prismatic curved horns on my temples were starting to itch. I was going to kill Fatex if he’d neglected to fill out the requisition form again. Not only wouldn’t I get into the Firehouse, but I’d have to put the drinks on my tab. The cocktails in this particular shitty nightclub cost fifty dinero apiece. I never carried more than three hundred when I was working.

“Look, hunter, you’re gonna have to find another dive to give tail.”

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