CARLA POURS ME a glass of Bourbon without delay and sets it in front of me before she starts pouring a glass for herself and Sonny. Outside, I can hear the sound of rambunctious laughter, high and feminine, and I know some of the women who frequent the bar are here. I don’t hear the thunderous greeting of motorcycles that heralds Sinclair’s arrival, and I can’t say whether I'm glad to not hear it or if I'm incredibly disappointed.
Carla leans forward on her elbows, pressing the glass to her lips as she watches me. In the months I've been at the bar, I've grown used to her studious gaze that seems to see into my very soul. To some degree, I've even learned to find comfort in it.
“Did you and Sinclair get into some kind of lover’s quarrel?” she asks after her study is complete. She take
