Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

unloaded them. I’d offered to help the first time we’d dealt together, and Duff had made it clear it would be a cold day in Hell before a woman helped him do physical work. “You been selling more Michelob lately,” he remarked.
    “Yeah, we got a few guys who’ve decided that’s all they’re gonna drink,” I said. “They’ll be back to Bud Light before too long.”
    “You need any TrueBlood?”
    “Yeah, the usual case.”
    “You got a regular vamp clientele.”
    “Small but regular,” I agreed, my mind on writing the check for the shipment. We had a few days to pay it, but Sam had always paid on delivery. I thought that was a good policy.
    “They take three, four cases at Vic’s,” Duff said conversationally.
    “Bigger bar.” I began writing the check.
    “I guess vamps are everywhere now.”
    “Um-hum,” I muttered, filling it out carefully. I was serious about my check-writing privileges. I signed with a flourish.
    “Even that bar in Shreveport, that one that turned out to be for werewolves, they take some blood drinks now.”
    “Hair of the Dog?” Hadn’t Mustapha mentioned a vamp who was hanging out at the Were bar?
    “Yeah. I delivered there this morning.”
    “Huh.” This news was unsettling, but husky Duff was a huge gossip, and I didn’t want him to know he’d shaken me. “Well, everybody’s got to drink,” I said easily. “Here’s your check, Duff. How’s Dorothy?” Duff tucked the check into the zippered pouch he kept in a locked boxin the passenger floorboard. “She’s good,” he said with a grin. “We’re having another young’un, she says.”
    “Oh my gosh, how many does that make?”
    “This’ll be number three,” Duff said, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “They gonna have to take out some college loans, do it themselves.”
    “It’ll be fine,” I said, which meant almost nothing except that I felt goodwill toward the McClure family.
    “Sure thing,” he said. “Catch you next time, Sookie. I see Sam’s got his fishing pole out. Tell him I said to catch some crappie for me.”
    When the truck had gone, Sam came out of the trailer and came over to the bar.
    “You did that on purpose,” I said. “You just don’t like Duff.”
    “Duff’s okay,” Sam said. “He just talks too much. Always has.”
    I hesitated a moment. “He says they’re stocking TrueBlood at the Hair of the Dog.” I was treading on shaky ground.
    “Really? That’s pretty weird.”
    I may not be able to read two-natured minds as easily as I can human minds, but I could tell Sam was genuinely surprised. Jannalynn hadn’t told him a vampire was coming into her bar, a Were bar. I relaxed. “Come on in and let me show you something,” I said. “I’ve been in there measuring.”
    “Uh-oh, you want to move the furniture?” Sam was half-smiling as he followed me into the bar.
    “No, I want to buy some,” I said over my shoulder. “See here?” I paced off a modest area just outside the storeroom. “Look, right here by the back door. This is where we need us some lockers.”
    “What for?” Sam didn’t sound indignant, but like he genuinely wanted to know.
    “So we women won’t have to put our purses in a drawer in yourdesk,” I said. “So Antoine and D’Eriq can keep a change of clothes here. So each employee will have their own little space to store stuff.”
    “You think we need this?” Sam looked startled.
    “ So bad,” I said. “Now, I looked in a few catalogs and checked online, and the best price I found …” We continued talking lockers for a few minutes, Sam protesting at the expense, me giving him all kinds of grief, but in a friendly way.
    After a token fuss, Sam agreed. I’d been pretty sure he would.
    Then it was thirty minutes till opening time, and Sam went behind the bar to start slicing lemons for the tea. I tied on my apron and began to check the salt and pepper shakers on the tables. Terry had come in very early that morning to clean the bar, and he’d done his usual good job. I straightened a few chairs.
    “How long has it been since Terry had a raise?” I asked Sam, since the other waitress hadn’t come in yet and Antoine was in the walk-in refrigerator.
    “Two years,” Sam said. “He’s due. But I couldn’t go giving raises until things got better. I still think we better wait until we’re sure we’re level.”
    I nodded, accepting his judgment. Now that I’d gone over the books, I could see how careful Sam had