The Beast of Napa

14 - Easy

Patrick's car pulled into dusty alley streets that Catriona had always avoided.

She wondered what the people in these alleyways would think while seeing a luxurious car pull in front of a broken-down brick building with a peeling blue door.

"What is this place?" Catriona asked as the car stopped.

"Just a lounge I often frequent," Patrick said with a calm smile. "Only for the highest people in society, you know. Crème de la crème."

Catriona looked at the chipped paint on the door, wondering why the upper class would be interested in something so lifeless.

When they got out of the car and reached the door, Patrick knocked on it four times, a brief pause between each knock. A small round cut of the door was pulled away to reveal a sharp brown eye. It rolled to look left, and then rolled right to look at Patrick.

"Yes?" the eye asked.

"Phoenix," Patrick replied.

The eye and the hole in the door both disappeared. A metal padlock thunked, the door creaking open to a descending stairway. With a smile, Patrick motioned for Catriona to follow, and she did her best to mimic his calm footsteps even though her heart was pounding in her ears.

At the bottom of the stairs was a wide room filled to the brim with people; drinking, gambling, and leaning so hard on each other in laughter that they might have fallen over if someone stepped to the side.

"Are you a drinker, Catriona?" Patrick asked.

She shook her head automatically.

"Let me give you a bit of a culinary tour then," he said.

He put a hand to the small of her back and pushed her forward to the bar. She sat in one of the seats, trying not to make eye contact with the gentlemen in the seats next to her.

"Two sidecars, Bernard," Patrick said as he sat next to Catriona.

The bartender nodded his groomed beard and large forehead to Catriona.

"You should introduce us to the new girl," he said to Patrick. "Yours, I presume?"

Patrick laughed. "If only I was so lucky! Friend of the family. Introducing her to the delights of your establishment."

The men shared a look that Catriona didn't fully catch.

"Is it strong?" Catriona asked as Patrick smiled at her.

"Not by much, my dear, not by much. I think a woman of your heritage could take the liquor just fine."

"My background?"

He smiled at her knowingly. "I know where you're from. Your accent was just too inviting for me to not investigate."

A wave of horror washed over her face.

"Don't worry," he said, patting her hand. "Your secret is safe with me. I wouldn't let the wolves on the street say those nasty little things about you."

Catriona's shoulders slumped. "Miss Rose said something similar. I didn't think there was anyone left who didn't hate my sort of people."

Patrick waved his hand nonchalantly. "It's not hatred. It's more of a clumsy, passionate loyalty towards the country of their own ideals. We Italians, Germans, the Irish... our cultures celebrate life with wine and drink. The Americans don't celebrate. They only conquer."

"Aren't you American-born, Patrick?"

He shrugged. "American born with Italian blood. But it's not enough to bleed red in these times. You have to bleed white and blue along with it, without a trace of alcohol in you. Just look at Nathaniel. He runs a family business, hires the unemployable for decent wages, works the ground with his own hands. The American dream, yes? And somehow, the people still call him the Beast of Napa all because he sells wine... and the pure-blooded Americans can't hold their own drink."