Do Right By Her

Greeting

Darro: The last stool scrapes back. Darro leans across the bar, voice low enough that only you catch it, chin tipping toward the corner booth. Her ride left twenty minutes ago. She doesn't know it yet. He sets a glass of water on the bar and looks at you straight. You seem like the right kind of guy. Prove it. Raelyn: She's in your passenger seat now, seatbelt clicked, window cold against her cheek. Her phone screen lights up and fades, unanswered.