Part 6 (1/2)
”Lone wolf, is that what I am?” I sat back on my stool. ”I kind of like that.”
”Oh Jesus, I'm gonna need more to drink if I have to listen to you two,” Case complained. He reached over us to grab the shots that had just been delivered by a plump, middle-aged woman.
”Thanks Rosie, keep 'em comin'.” He spun around between our two stools and leaned against the bar for support. ”What's your name again, gorgeous?” he blinked at me.
”Emilia. Emmy,” I repeated.
He nodded and handed me a shot gla.s.s filled to the brim with amber colored liquid. ”This s.h.i.+t burns, Emmy” he warned, and raised his gla.s.s.
I looked at J., who nodded encouragingly. I brought the gla.s.s to my lips and winced.
”It smells like gasoline,” I complained.
”Tastes worse too!” Case grinned. ”Cheers!”
I was suddenly looking at myself from the outside in. Me, Emilia, the fiancee of Robert Whitestone III, heir to the Whitestone fortune and the toast of Philadelphia high-society, drinking cheap whiskey with bikers. I had to laugh.
Then I knocked back the shot in one swallow, just like my dad taught me.
The bourbon hit my throat like wildfire, burning a savage trail all the way down into my stomach. I felt my eyes water and squeezed them shut as I tried to suppress a cough behind my hand.
”Need a chaser?” J. was right there when I opened my eyes, wiggling a pint of beer invitingly. Case was already pounding his.
I lunged for the beer wordlessly and poured two-thirds of it down my open throat before I quenched the burn.
Case whooped and J. raised his eyebrows in approval. ”So you've done some drinking before, huh?”
The burning settled into a dull, pleasant warmth that radiated out of my stomach and made my limbs droop.
”You could say it's a family tradition,” I replied airily, then immediately regretted it.
No one wanted to hear my self-pity. Robert had drilled that into my head just as often as he had grilled me for stories of my dad's drunken rampages. It was almost as if he liked picking at my pain.
”Heh, I hear that,” J. nodded, and I saw the telltale knowledge behind his eyes. He knew what I wasn't saying. I braced myself for the questions, readying my lies.
But instead of poking at me, he just sighed. ”Want another?”
I leaned forward slightly, testing my limbs. ”I'm going to need some food in my belly if I'm going to keep drinking,” I realized.
”Let's fix that then!” Case shouted. ”Rosie!”
”Case?” J. asked.
”Yeah?”
”Go away.”
I cringed, ready for Case to take offense. I had never heard someone speak so plainly before.
Case only nodded.
”Got it. Probably my s.h.i.+ft with the bikes anyway. Crash is most likely in a pretty foul mood about missing the party.” He stepped between us, but stopped just over my shoulder. He bent towards me, his pale blue eyes bloodshot and unfocused. ”Wish I had gotten to you first, Emmy. You're f.u.c.kin' gorgeous, you know that?”
”Uh,” I stammered, ducking away from the hot stench of whiskey on his breath. ”Thank you?”
He looked at me a second. ”You don't know it,” he realized, widening his icy eyes. ”Well you are.” He stood back up. ”I'm an expert.”
”Go the f.u.c.k away, Case,” J. called out amiably.
”Going!” The huge blond biker staggered to the door and pushed it open, letting in a blast of heat from the summer night.
”f.u.c.kin' idiot.” J. shook his head. ”Hope he didn't freak you out.”
I was still blus.h.i.+ng, but I hoped he couldn't tell in the dim light of the bar. ”I'm okay,” I realized. ”He wasn't saying anything mean.”
”He wasn't saying anything untrue, either.”
I blushed again, but this time I was saved by the appearance of Rosie at the bar. ”Hey there J. You still need me?” she asked in a broad South Philly accent.
J. swiveled in his chair. ”Is the kitchen still open, Rosie?”
The bartender wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. ”It is if you ask me nice.”
”Ain't I always nice to you, gorgeous?” J. flashed his dimples again and I could see they had the same effect on the older woman as they did on me.
She grinned and leaned forward, treating us to perfect view of the deep valley of her cleavage. ”Cheese fries sound good? I still have some bacon crumbles.”
J. turned to me. ”How's that sound Emmy? You said you were hungry.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Cheese fries. All those carbs.
My mouth watered. ”That sounds great, thanks Rosie.”
She smiled at me, ”No problem, doll. Anything for these guys.” She headed back to the kitchen and I heard her bark something at the staff.
”What does she mean?” I turned to J. ”Why will she do anything for you?”
”Heh,” J. drummed the bar with his fingers. ”You remember the flash mobs last summer?”
”Of course.” It had been all over the news. My mother had praised G.o.d that I was home for the summer as we watched the breathless newscasters describing the packs of roaming teenagers who overran South Street. Muggings, random beatings and huge acts of vandalism were reported. I got an email from school about it, even though I was home for summer vacation.
”Those groups of kids who got together and just went wild. That was down here wasn't it?” I realized.
”Right down the middle of the street,' J. nodded. ”There must have been fifty of them, maybe even a hundred. Well Teach,” he gestured to an older black man sitting on a stool in the corner, ”he saw them coming. The Sons of Steel, we were down here for another celebration, uh...” he paused for a second, ”the uh, end of my semester, and Rosie was terrified. A smaller group of kids had come through the weekend before and she was still waiting for her replacement windows. Friend of hers had gotten his store trashed so bad he was thinking of closing.”
”So what happened?”
J. looked at me. ”We stopped 'em.”