The Headless Woman’s Pub was crowded wall-to-wall with red-faced employees of the Federal Government who had traveled the measly few blocks after work— despite the fact that it was a Sunday. As far as Val could tell, these people never took a day off.
Before getting this gig, he always imagined the feds drank like they were in one of those film noirs, pulling a handle of whiskey out of their desk and mulling over it after a hard case. He thought being an FBI Agent must’ve been so cool and mysterious.
“Oh shit!” a voice slurred from the other side of the room.
Val glanced over and saw that kid from the Violent Crimes Unit wiping spilled beer off of his date’s lap.
After getting this gig, he realized everything he used to think about the feds was bullshit.
These were some of the most depressed fuckers he’d ever met. The ones that got the job for the glory would inevitably crash and burn, and the good ones would be haunted by the evils they saw. He couldn’t blame any of them for needing to indulge at the end of the day, but, Christ— J. Edgar himself would blush at the things these people said when they were drunk. He was starting to wonder if there was a single desk in that building that hadn’t been defiled. Though that was nothing compared to the guy who drank himself under the table because the ‘alien-guy’ stole his job. Val still didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he could still hear the way that guy kept muttering “fucking grey.”
“Excuse me.”
Glancing up, he saw a tall guy easing himself in between two people sitting at the bar. “Do you have a tab started?” Val asked.
“No, uh, I actually had a favor to ask,” the man clarified while his hands fidgeted against the bar’s wooden ledge.
Glancing around and seeing everyone’s drinks were full, Val stopped what he was doing and replied, “Shoot.”
Lanky started fumbling around with the pocket of his suit coat, and he began to worry the guy was gonna pull out his badge. They were too damn short-staffed to spare anyone for a twenty-minute interrogation about some drunk guy making a fool of himself after having one too many.
But agitation quickly made way for confusion when he was presented with one of those pink Hostess monstrosities. Ho Ho? Zapper? Chocodile Kazbars? Whatever the hell it was called, it should be illegal to put coconut in anything that was supposed to be called a dessert.
“I’m on a diet,” he deadpanned.
Ignoring his comment, the man tried to fluff the pink ball back into shape after presumably squashing in his pocket. “The woman I came in with— it’s her birthday, and she loves these things. I was wondering if there was any way you could ask someone in the back to put it on a plate and bring it out to her?”
Now that was a new one, especially for a shithole like this place. “Ya mean like Chili’s?”
“Well, hey, I certainly won’t say no if you have any sombreros hidden away in the kitchen,” he chuckled, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure his date wasn’t getting suspicious. Then, as if nervous Val would say no, he added, “They don’t have to sing Happy Birthday or anything. I know you guys are busy and—”
Interrupting the man’s rambling, he grabbed the pink cream ball. “What’s her name?”
“Scully.”
Val’s eyebrows rose at that. “She related to Vin? I was more of a Jerry Doggett fan myself.”
The guy exhaled a laugh, but then he shook his head. “No, and sorry, actually.” He spared another glance over his shoulder, and this time Val looked with him. It must’ve been the redhead who was glancing around, presumably searching for her boyfriend. He watched the shy smile that spread across her lips as her eyes met the man’s, and damn if she wasn’t one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her man must’ve known that too based on the nervous smirk that was on his face when he turned back around. “Dana. Her name is Dana,” he clarified, straightening out his tie.
It was common for Val to see men bring women from the office out for a drink in the hopes they’d get some. This might’ve been the first time he’d seen a fella do something thoughtful for his lady. Even if it was a 99¢ piece of garbage. “I’ll pass this to your waiter. I’m sure he can fix it up for Dana.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Dana’s boyfriend replied. Val watched as he slid a five into the tip jar and started to make his way back to the table.
“Hey buddy,” Val called out, causing the man to turn around. “Ya told her you were going to come up and get drinks, didn’t ya?”
“Oh!” he exclaimed with an embarrassed wince, rushing back to the bar. Across the room, behind the man’s back, the woman’s brows furrowed and her lips quirked into an amused smirk as she watched him fumble to retrieve his wallet. “Thanks. Uh, one water and one vodka tonic, please. It’ll go under the name Mulder.”
After he sent Mulder on his way, he watched him take long strides back to the woman who was digging into their shared appetizer. He must’ve said something funny because the redhead started laughing and shaking her head. Val was impressed with how suave the guy was being after how nervous he had just been.
“D-did that man say his name was Mulder?”
Val turned and saw a meek, blonde woman sitting at the bar, not far from where the man in question had just been.
Val shrugged while trying to flag down a waiter, “Yeah. Know him?”
She glanced at the couple over her shoulder before turning back to face him, nervously playing with the cuff of her sleeve. “He’s a friend of the family.”
Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!
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Stricen Carter, CEO of NOLA Sips and Sweet Thangs, is known as the creator of the designer Sno-ball and specialty liquor-infused drink pouches. Carter, who is now, 24 years old, has hustled her way from working as a Secondline and PopUp Shop Vendor since 2018 is now the owner of two brick-and-mortar businesses.
On Sunday, May 30th, Carter, along with friends, family, and new neighbors,…
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