Sabrina had made a habit of visiting the bar almost daily, finding it a much richer source of information than the local newspapers. Because bars in North Carolina had to sell more food than alcohol, the Bent Harpoon served up baskets of greasy fries and clam strips, frozen fish sandwiches, and Cole slaw, all served with a red shrimp sauce that filled the air with a cloying sweetness. Or that could have been the vomit. It all ended up the same anyway. The place was barely a third full, with margaritas appearing to be in favor today. A couple of young, well-tanned construction jocks in wifebeaters looked her over as she strode in. One of them examined her shoes with flaring nostrils, and Sabrina registered the response as jealousy. She was relieved they were gay, because she didn’t want to be hit on this early in the day. She slid onto her usual stool beside Cap’n Barney, who turned and squinted at her with one bleary eye. “’Tis a lurvely mermaid,” he said, in a lousy blend of pirate and Cockney.
