Part 23 (2/2)
Finn still held his temper. ”I think that the lady is with me, because she's my wife.”
For a moment, it looked as if the man was going to challenge Finn anyway. Then he shrugged and backed off. Finn took the seat next to her, grinning. ”Was I okay? a.s.sertive, but not aggressive, firm, but not impolite?”
She laughed, setting a hand on his arm.
”You were quite perfect Although, you know, I can defend myself against a drunk.”
”Probably true,” he said philosophically. ”But did you really want to have to deck the a.s.shole?”
”You've a point. Might have ruined the costume.”
”His, or yours?”
”Mine, of course. It's borrowed finery.”
Finn sat back, frowning. Megan's attention was drawn down the bar. The drunk was now hitting on another woman. It was the pretty young woman who worked at Mike's new museum, manning the ticket booth. She had introduced herself as Gayle Sawyer.
She wasn't wearing a costume-at least, Megan didn't think it was a costume. She was in a black knit dress that hugged her compact but well-shaped body. Tonight, there were a number of studs and rings in her ears, a silver stud above her left eyebrow, and a tiny diamond in her nose. She was nursing an amber-colored c.o.c.ktail, and had been talking with another girl, very slim and blond, also in black, at her side.
The drunk had come between them. Gayle was obviously his target.
”Swallow it down, and I'll buy you another,” the man encouraged her.
”I'm good with this,” Gayle said, impatient that her conversation had been interrupted.
”I'm really good-looking beneath this makeup. And rich,” the drunk said.
”Look! f.u.c.k off-I don't want another drink!” Gayle told him, completely irritated then.
The drunk gripped her by the arm, dragging her off the bar stool. She fell against him, and struggled to straighten herself. The drunk slipped his arm around her, holding her close.
”So you wanna dance!” he laughed gleefully.
”Let me go!”
The man wasn't listening. He started to pull her out onto the floor.
”Hey!”
Finn stepped forward at that, striding toward the pair. He set his arm on the drunk's shoulder. ”Buddy, she wants to be left alone.”
The man looked around-his putty nose starting to descend a bit. ”Hey, what are you, the dating police?” he growled to Finn. ”You need to go home,” Finn said.
”This ain't your wife, your girl, or your concern,” the man said angrily.
”Common courtesy. She doesn't want to be with you. Let her alone.”
At that, the drunk dropped hold of Gayle Sawyer. He'd been holding her so tightly that she staggered back. Finn went to support her, and the drunk swung violently at Finn.
Finn ducked the blow with a second to spare. When he straightened, the drunk swung again. Finn blocked the blow, but lost patience and control. He swung back, catching the fellow dead square on the jaw, and the drunk fell like an axed oak.
”Oh, man, thank you!” Gayle Sawyer gushed out, flinging herself at Finn, hugging him tightly around the neck.
”Hey, it's all right,” Finn murmured awkwardly, trying to disentangle himself and get down on the floor to check on the offender. By then, Sam Tartan was heading through the crowd. He didn't look so thankful. He stared at Finn as if he had hired a pariah to play at his club.
”What the h.e.l.l?” he demanded crossly.
”Your 'guest' was attacking the young woman,” Megan said sharply, before Finn could even begin to move his lips. She'd spoken with such a contemptuous air, that even Tartan stood dead silent for a minute.
”We employ people to handle this kind of problem!” he stuttered out after a moment.
”Well, your employees were apparently not available and I was practically being raped on the dance floor!” Gayle Sawyer said, looking crossly at Sam Tartan, and then adoringly at Finn.
”I hope you haven't broken his jaw,” Tartan said.
”I hope he has!” Gayle muttered.
Someone else-in a two-foot blond wig and velvet Victorian costume had come through the crowd and stooped down by the drunk.
”Hey!” Tartan said.
The ”woman” in the velvet dress growled up at him in a deep voice. ”I'm a doctor. He's fine, won't even have a bruise on his chin.
He's just drunk as a skunk. Anyone here know the guy?”
A startled little cry sounded and a tiny woman came rus.h.i.+ng through them, falling to her knees. ”It's Marty!” she cried. And she stared at all of them as if she were surveying a circle of vultures. ”What have you done to my husband?”
”Your husband?” Gayle repeated disbelievingly. ”You're here with... him?”
”Of course! He's my husband, and what did you do to him?”
”Lady, he was being totally obnoxious at the bar.”
”Marty? Never!” she protested angrily.
”Ma'am, really,” Megan said. ”I'm sorry, but he was being really obnoxious.”
The woman wasn't about to take it. She glared at the occupants of the bar. ”I'm sure he turned all you prost.i.tutes down, and so-” ”Prost.i.tutes!” Gayle cried.
”This is getting out of hand,” Tartan said, his lips twitching. ”Doctor-” he began, then shuddered, looking at his ”guest” in his drag- queen apparel-”can we move him?”
”Of course. He's just drunk.”
”Drunk. Marty never drinks too much!” his wife argued.
”Lady, smell him,” the doctor said.
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