Chapter 6: First Day at CBI - Part 2 & The Cocktail Lounge
The Sterling Room lived up to its name.
Low lighting, jazz quartet in the corner, leather booths and mahogany bar. The kind of place where cocktails cost twenty dollars and nobody questioned it. I'd passed it a dozen times driving through downtown Sacramento, always meaning to stop in.
Tonight felt like the right time.
The bartender—name tag read Tony—nodded as I approached. Mid-forties, professional smile, probably heard a thousand stories from a thousand customers.
"What'll it be?"
"Whiskey. Neat. Your best."
He poured Macallan 18, three fingers, and slid the glass across polished wood. I paid cash, left a generous tip, and claimed a seat at the bar's end.
The first sip burned perfectly.
My phone sat face-down on the bar, deliberately ignored. First day at CBI was done—successful, exhausting, and complicated by Patrick Jane's existence. The System had handled most challenges well, but the Red Herring malfunction during our handshake was a problem. If that happened again in front of the wrong person...
"Can't think about that now. One day at a time."
The System activated on autopilot, scanning the room's occupants. Wealthy businessman at a corner table, stress markers elevated, probably cheating on his wife based on the guilt micro-expressions. Couple by the window, new relationship energy radiating off them like heat. Bartender Tony, content with his life, no major trauma markers.
[ **ENERGY: 68/100** ]
The case work had been more draining than expected. Constantly scanning people, reading emotions, maintaining the Red Herring defense around Jane—it all added up.
"You look like you're celebrating something."
The voice was warm, professional, with an undercurrent of practiced charm. I glanced up.
The cocktail waitress stood beside my seat, tray balanced on one hip. Beautiful—early thirties, blonde hair pulled back, green eyes that missed nothing. Her smile reached her mouth but stopped before touching those eyes, like she'd learned to fake happiness so well it became automatic.
The System activated before I could stop it.
[ **ANALYZING: UNKNOWN FEMALE** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 71%** ]
[ **PROFESSIONAL MASK: ACTIVE** ]
[ **DEEP TRAUMA MARKERS: DETECTED** ]
[ **EMOTIONAL WALLS: SEVERE** ]
[ **TRUST LEVEL: MINIMAL** ]
[ **SIGNIFICANT PERSONAL HISTORY: HIGH PROBABILITY** ]
[ **ENERGY: 65/100** ]
And then recognition hit like a punch to the gut.
Blonde hair. Guarded smile. Working as a cocktail waitress in Sacramento. This was Lorelei Martins.
"She shouldn't be here. Not now. Not for years."
In the show, Lorelei appeared in Season 4 as Red John's accomplice. She'd been recruited after her sister's murder investigation stalled, after grief and rage made her vulnerable to manipulation. But here she was, months before Season 1 even started, serving drinks in an upscale bar.
The timeline was already broken.
I recovered quickly, offering a smile that felt more natural than it should.
"First day at a new job," I said. "Went better than expected."
She tilted her head slightly, evaluating. "New job? What do you do?"
"Law enforcement. Just transferred to CBI."
Something flickered in her expression—too fast for me to catch without the System's help.
[ **MICROEXPRESSION DETECTED: INTEREST + CAUTION** ]
[ **SUBJECT RESPONSE TO 'LAW ENFORCEMENT': COMPLEX** ]
[ **ENERGY: 63/100** ]
"CBI," she repeated. "That's impressive. Serious crimes?"
"That's the plan."
She shifted the tray to her other hip, a unconscious gesture that suggested she'd been on her feet too long. "I'm Lorelei. I work Wednesdays and Fridays here. Fair warning—the Sterling Room attracts a specific clientele. Lots of money, lots of secrets."
"Sounds like my kind of place."
Her smile became fractionally more genuine. "What made you come in tonight?"
The honest answer—needing to decompress after a day of lies and System management—wasn't appropriate. I took another sip of whiskey, buying time.
"Needed somewhere quiet to think. Jazz is better than silence."
"Philosophy from a cop. That's refreshing." She glanced around the bar, checking on other customers. "Most law enforcement I've met prefer dive bars and cheap beer."
"I'm not most law enforcement."
[ **ANALYZING: LORELEI RESPONSE** ]
[ **INTEREST LEVEL: INCREASING** ]
[ **GUARD DROPPING: 8% (MINIMAL BUT PRESENT)** ]
[ **STILL HIGHLY CAUTIOUS** ]
[ **ENERGY: 61/100** ]
The conversation flowed easier than expected. She asked about Sacramento—had I grown up here, did I like the city, what brought me to CBI. I deflected the personal questions, kept things light, focused on her instead.
She'd been in Sacramento for six months. The Sterling Room paid better than most restaurants, and the clientele tipped well if you smiled enough. She mentioned nothing about family, nothing about her past, nothing that would invite follow-up questions.
The System tracked every micro-expression, every hesitation, every carefully constructed wall she'd built around herself.
[ **SUBJECT IS HIGHLY GUARDED** ]
[ **TRAUMA SOURCE: UNKNOWN** ]
[ **LIKELIHOOD OF OPENING UP WITHOUT EXTENDED INTERACTION: LOW** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: DO NOT PUSH** ]
"Her sister. The murder hasn't happened yet. Or maybe it has, and the grief is still fresh."
I couldn't ask directly. Couldn't reveal I knew anything about her. But the protective instinct was already forming—irrational, premature, and completely unavoidable.
In the show, Red John recruited her. Twisted her grief into loyalty. Made her an accomplice to murder.
If I could prevent that...
"You seem distracted," Lorelei said, pulling me back to the present.
"Long day. Sorry."
"Don't apologize." She glanced at the bar. "I should get back to work. Other customers."
I pulled out my wallet, left a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. Tony raised an eyebrow—the whiskey had cost twenty-three dollars. The tip was excessive.
Lorelei noticed. Her guard snapped back up immediately.
"That's too much."
"Consider it a celebration." I stood, adjusted my jacket. "First day at CBI should be marked appropriately."
She picked up the bill slowly, like it might bite her. "You tip like this regularly, and Tony will give you the best seat every time you walk in."
"Good to know." I headed for the door, then paused, turned back. "You said you work Wednesdays and Fridays?"
Her expression was carefully neutral. "I did."
"I might celebrate here regularly. The jazz grows on you."
That smile—the one that didn't quite reach her eyes—softened slightly. Real emotion bleeding through the mask for half a second.
"Wednesday's three days away. I'll be here."
The invitation was subtle, professional, but unmistakable. I nodded once and left before the System could give me more data I didn't need.
The parking lot was cold, night air biting through my suit jacket. I sat in my car for five minutes before starting the engine, mind racing.
Lorelei Martins. Years early. Working a cocktail job in Sacramento instead of already being entangled with Red John.
The timeline had diverged. Maybe because of my presence, maybe because transmigration itself created ripples in causality. Either way, canon was already broken.
Which meant opportunity.
In the show, she'd become complicit in murder. She'd died helping Patrick Jane, her redemption arc cut short by a bullet. But here, now, before Red John's hooks were in her—I could change that.
If I could earn her trust. If I could position myself as someone safer than a serial killer's promises. If I could prevent whatever trauma Red John exploited.
My phone buzzed. Text from Aunt Marie: Heard about your CBI success through Richard! Proud of you. $10,000 coming your way.
I laughed despite myself. The family's generosity showed no signs of stopping. My checking account had crossed one hundred thousand—money I'd never earned, given freely by people who barely knew me.
"Tedd's family. Not mine. But they treat me like I'm worth celebrating anyway."
The System chimed softly.
[ **ENCOUNTER LOGGED: LORELEI MARTINS** ]
[ **SUBJECT ANALYSIS: INCOMPLETE** ]
[ **TRAUMA MARKERS DETECTED BUT SOURCE UNKNOWN** ]
[ **TIMELINE DIVERGENCE CONFIRMED** ]
[ **RECOMMENDATION: PROCEED WITH CAUTION** ]
[ **ENERGY: 58/100** ]
Wednesday was three days away. I'd return to The Sterling Room, continue building rapport, and hopefully learn enough to keep her away from Red John's orbit.
But first, I needed to survive working alongside Patrick Jane. The couch war had been won for today, but he'd be back tomorrow, curious and relentless and impossible to fool.
I started the car and drove home through Sacramento's empty streets. First day at CBI: successful. First encounter with Lorelei Martins: promising but complicated.
The pieces were moving faster than expected, and I was already playing a game I barely understood.
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