Part 24 (1/2)
Angel
Summoning every drop of charisma that I could find, I smiled and plunked down the gla.s.ses at the four-top bar table for the graying, slovenly bikers. I rattled off the orders as I sloshed the drinks in front of them in turn, each of them smiling grotesquely.
”Four drafts: Bud, Bud, Miller Lite, and Abita. And four shots of Fireball, because why not,” I added mirthlessly.
”Thanks, darlin',” the closest biker chuckled, lifting his shot and suddenly grabbing a nice handful of my a.s.s.
I flinched and drew back from him, preserving my pride and my job by not responding poorly to the hara.s.sment.
”Can I get you guys anything else?”
It was less a question, and more a growl.
”One other thing.”
He dropped his menu on the ground, and looked at me expectantly.
”Step onto that.”
I was used to this by now, and I suppressed a heavy sigh and a filthy look. Instead, I stepped meaningfully onto the discarded menu.
”We'll take one of you,” he grinned.
”You can't have one of me.”
”But darlin', you're on the menu!”
They broke into riotous laughter, as if this was the cleverest f.u.c.king joke ever.
It was pretty funny the first time someone did it to me. Months ago... People are less original than they think. I heard this one twice a week.
”Looks like we're fresh out,” I responded, scooping the menu off the floor and strolling away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their laughter die down, and they were looking at me with annoyance for not playing along.
To h.e.l.l with 'em.
To h.e.l.l with everything about this stupid G.o.dd.a.m.n job.
I hated working this ancient, decrepit dive bar. The money was just good enough to keep myself afloat, and bartending was fun enough, but not somewhere like this.
If it wasn't bikers, it was rednecks.
If it wasn't rednecks, it was thugs.
If it wasn't thugs...
A s.h.i.+ver went up my spine. I didn't like to think about that.
Old Greg owned this place, and he was a friendly enough guy. h.e.l.l, he'd been a G.o.dsend. A lifelong resident of this backwater little town, he was old enough to be my grandfather. His best patron was our sheriff someone who turned a blind eye when I was brought onboard to tend bar at sixteen.
At least that was no longer a problem. I'd turned eighteen pouring drinks.
When it was slow and I was cleaning gla.s.ses or wiping surfaces, I dreamed of exactly what you'd think a bright, young girl who dream about in a place like this: Getting the h.e.l.l out of Riverton.
That was the name of this place. The town, not the bar. Well, the bar too, technically.
Riverton Bar, in Riverton... On Riverton Avenue.
Remember when I said people aren't original?
That applies to the friendly ones, too.
Dropping the drink tray off at the stack, I pa.s.sed back around the counter and checked on my other patrons several working-cla.s.s stragglers, downing cheap beer specials, an older fellow nursing a whiskey neat, and a few older crones sipping heavy martinis.
Satisfied, I began taking stock of my liquors. I was gonna have to pop open a bottle of Crown soon, and we were still out of half our rum...
While I checked things off on my clipboard, I noticed someone approaching the bar. I didn't think much of it, and I continued my work for a moment. I was busy, and the shadow could see that.
Whoever it was, he could wait a minute.
Ticking a couple of more checks, I finally turned around to see the same biker from before the jester of the group.
Well, more like the leader, from the way the other bikers regarded him. He was leering at me for some reason, and I felt a pit deep in my stomach.
”You forgot something,” he grumbled.
”Sorry,” I answered, letting my tone demonstrate how unapologetic I really was. ”My memory's a bit fuzzy. What was it?”
He sat an empty shot gla.s.s on the counter.
I glanced at it, then back up to him.
”I wasn't kidding. I really don't remember. What was it again?”
His eye twitched, but he backed off a little.
”Crown.”
”Oh, right,” I nodded, reaching for the liquor bottle. ”Fireball shots for everyone, and another Crown for you.” If he'd have been any less of a total creep, I would have snuck him a second one, just to make up for it.