Mojitos

4:10 P.M.

Aleon Dove had spent the entire afternoon sitting at the rear end of the bar, emptying glass after glass of wine.

Hana had studied him from her spot behind the counter, subtle but careful, while cleaning glasses or taking some people's orders. But the more she observed him, the more she wondered if subtleness was even required. He didn't look like he was registering anyone's presence, let alone hers, a mere bartender properly doing her job on the other side of the room. He didn't even look like he was registering his own presence in the bar. He just looked lost. Completely and utterly lost.

She had applied for this job for the sole purpose of observing him –since it hadn't taken long to realize he spent his days at the bar – but a part of her felt like she could simply have sat behind him in the bluntest way and he wouldn't have noticed.

She hung the glass she was drying on top of her, with a row of other glasses, and proceeded to clean another. She glanced at his head that looked like it would collapse anytime on the table, and pursed her lips. She wasn't sure what she could do about him. She had been following him for two weeks already, but his schedule was the same every day. He usually slept until noon and then woke up to go the Delexo hotel's bar, where he spent most of his day. Then, after a wine purge that would destroy anyone's liver, he haggardly walked to the buffet restaurant, had dinner, and limped to his suite where he would slump on his bed until the next day's noon.

When she was lucky, he would show some signs of lucidity and go out in the streets in the evening, and those moments proved to be more useful to her. Those were the moments when he would behave like a relatively sober Aleon Dove would. He would saunter in the streets, buy expensive supplies and clothes, sometimes sit and pick a newspaper. She could then see glimpses of the man he used to be, of the dutiful, clean and poised businessman his girlfriend had described to her. But those moments were short-lived because eventually he would grow distressed and frantic and hurry back in the Delexo Hotel, to his suite. To the shriveling man coiled over his glass that she saw every day. Hana had concluded that the hotel was some sort of shelter to him.

When she was much less lucky, he would spend the whole afternoon drinking and then he would go in the streets. She was always afraid he would pick fights or throw himself in front of a bus, or do anything that would force her to come out of the shadows and save his drunk ass –or save someone else's unlucky ass from him, that was an option too.

So, overall, Aleon Dove wasn't helping her at all in her attempts to spy on him. His girlfriend had only requested Hana to follow him, but sooner or later, she'd have to get better means to know what was wrong with him. Hacking his computer hadn't helped much either –he had received nothing but bills reminders and advertisements, or emails from his business partners. Hana would have to do more in order to extract something, anything from this case –which meant listening to his phone conversations if he had any, and tracking his every move. She just hoped his girlfriend wouldn't mind her methods.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she caught a slight movement toward his seat. He moved his head, opened glassy eyes and looked around himself, as if he were wondering where he was sitting. Then, he became more frantic. Glanced around him, afraid. Worried. Showing the same desperate energy a prey running from a predator would show.

Hana narrowed her eyes, moving to the shadowed part of the counter to see him better. He seemed conscious, finally. But scared. Even from where she was, she could see he was panting. He was panicking.

That happened sometimes, too. When he became too aware and started looking around himself, as if he were checking nobody was here to harm him. But this time, he was trulyfrightened. She cursed under her breath. She hurried on the other side of the counter, careful not to be seen by him, and intercepted her co-worker as he walked past her.

"Yazel," she called in a quiet voice, and he looked at her, blinking.

"Yeah? I'm busy," he argued and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"The customer over there is panicking."

He swiveled. "Oh. Again."

"It's never been that bad," she reminded him.

He gave her the plate he was carrying. "Make two Mojitos for the table n°5. I'll bring him a glass of water."

She took the plate and he rushed to Aleon's side. She went back behind the counter and started putting mint leaves in two glasses, focused on Yazel and Aleon. Yazel was the one she got along with the most at the bar, and as such, the one who talked to her the most. He had told her that Aleon would often come, even before she had been hired, and that everyone was used to see him there. He had sworn he was a VIP customer, too, since he had an expensive suite in the hotel.

She frowned when Aleon flinched at Yazel's sudden appearance, but relaxed when he himself did. He took the glass of water, seemingly grateful, and emptied it as fast as any of his drinks. Yazel and Aleon talked for a bit and Yazel came back a minute later.

"He told me he was having a nightmare," he shrugged and grabbed a towel from under the sink, wetted it and wrung it. "As if. He was hallucinating from all the alcohol he's ingested," he pestered.

"Did he say anything more?"

"He asked me if anyone had arrived in the bar. Psh, of course people arrived. It's a bar, not a private room. Did he expect me to know the names of every single customer? And even if I did, why would I give them to him?"

She poured lemon juice in the glasses, silent. "That's weird," she replied, absent-minded. And determined to get every single name of every single new customer who had arrived at the bar. "I've rarely seen him more conscious than now. Which is weird, since he is so drunk I can hardly see how he could communicate with anyone." She rose her gaze and stared at him. He was sitting straight in his chair, looking soberer than she was.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. He was almost drowning in his glass just a minute ago, like, super close to an ethylic coma. And look at him now." He pointed at him with his chin. "He's not normal."

She shrugged. "He's having a strange moment of consciousness. Peeking through the fog, I guess."

Yazel grumbled something that she knew wasn't pleasant, and she smiled. With his freckles and his short blonde waves, his brown eyes and his turned-up nose, Yazel looked nothing like the grumpy, whiny boy he was, dripping with sarcasm and cynicism.

"I'm gonna bring him a wet towel," he announced and walked over Aleon, who accepted the towel with a thankful gaze and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He then hunched back on his table and kept looking around, to reassure himself.

Yazel came back and grimaced. "I'm impatient to be done with my shift," he hissed. "I can't stand people like him."

"You're the one who brought the towel of your own will."

He glared at her. "Are you insinuating I have a kind fiber in my ice-cold heart?"

"I wouldn't dare!" She rose her arms in defense. "Though I do think you have more than just one kind fiber in your not-so-cold heart."

He feigned glaring, then smiled at her. "Give me my Mojitos and stop talking nonsense."

"Okay, boss."