“The boss doesn’t want our female waitstaff to have to deal with Patriot Zealots—PZs. They’re…hmm. Let’s just say they’re total Neanderthals.”

“Felix, that’s an insult to Neanderthals everywhere.”

Laughing, he patted her shoulder. “Exactly right. So—”

She didn’t release her grip on the drink orders. “I can handle cavemen.”

“But—”

Felix didn’t have a shy bone in his body, and his preference for the same sex was obvious. “Honey, if they’re like that with women, they’re probably just as rude to you.”

Why should he have to put up with their behavior?

He flushed. “Yeah, but I’m closer to their weight class than you are.”

Those bastardi. “I knew Alaska was a frontier, but I’m surprised the owner puts up with—”

“Eh, he doesn’t.” Felix leaned against an empty table. “I should have gone over this with you. If anyone touches you inappropriately, you can boot his ass out or tell the bartenders and they’ll handle it. We tolerate mildly rude comments. After all, the customers are drinking and hey, Alaskan, right?”

She laughed. “As far as I’ve seen, the customers in here are nicer than New Yorkers.”

“I’m so not going to vacation in New York.”

“Oh, no, no. You’d be fine. New York is all about equal opportunity rudeness. With equal amounts of nice, really.”

“Good to know.” Felix glanced back at the PZ table. “After the boss banned, oh, a half-dozen PZs, they learned to keep their hands and crude insults to themselves. But their misogynistic, bigoted behavior makes the female servers uncomfortable, and I’m okay with—”

“No, Felix. Let’s see how it goes with me waiting on them. If I’m bothered, I’ll ask you to take over.” She needed to talk with them, see if Kit was inside their compound still—and how to get her and Aric out.

“Girlfriend.” Felix shook his head reprovingly.

Frankie gave him a slow smile. “I grew up in New York, my friend, and learned my insults from cabbies and street vendors. I can hold my own.”

“Huh. In that case, they’re all yours.”

She timed her arrival at the bar so the nice bartender named Raymond would fill her orders.

Then she took the PZs their drinks. “Here you are.”

More leering looks.

She smiled cheerfully. “I hear you guys are Patriot Zealots, but I don’t know what that means.”

The red-bearded guy started, “It means we take women like you and—”

He grunted when someone kicked his leg.

The older, clean-shaven one took over. “The Prophet has directed us to return to the traditions of our forefathers. To follow the Bible and the Constitution. Our people find peace in letting go of modern ways.”

He seemed oh-so-sincere. She’d bet he did a fine job of recruiting people.