Eleven
Max pushed his wheelie bucket and mop through a heavy crimson curtain and into the cleaner’s nook, a tiny area separated from the main action at The Ruby Room. He’d changed the bucket water not fifteen minutes ago and already it held a murky gray-brown color that made the mop head disappear at the bottom. The nose-wrinkling smell wafting from the surface was stale and bitter.
He peered down at his white-gold Rolex, not exactly fitting with his black, grime-stained cleaner’s apron. And if that wasn’t sign enough of his faded lifestyle, right about now, his plane to Ibiza would be coasting down the tarmac at Melbourne Airport, mere hours from sunshine and paradise. Without him.
He lowered his wrist and rested his chin atop the wooden mop handle, the sound of yet another dropped gla
