by Helene Laval
“Huh,” I said, lifting my beer to my lips and taking that in.
“That’s just my opinion. I’ve never actually talked to her about it. She doesn’t open up much.”
“What?” asked Jesse, trying to join in. The big lug wrapped his arm around Rina and pulled her tight to him as he leaned into the table, our three heads now too close together.
“Nothing,” Rina and I both said in unison. Rina leaned back, bringing Jesse with her. She reached over and patted the arm he had draped over her shoulder.
It was impossible to converse. Best to just enjoy the live band and sing along to their classic oldie covers. Jesse and Rina were in love; it was sickening. It took them a long time to get together, and they both had been through a lot this past year. As much as I ragged on him for being a lovesick puppy, I was happy for him. Rina was a good woman and could bake better than Martha Stewart. She, and her partner, Betsy, owned a couple shops on Main Street, and had nearly single-handedly turned this town around with coffee and cookies.
My other co-worker, Michael, took the most corner spot, backed up against the wall and glared at the room. Michael didn’t talk much. He was the silent, broody people watching type. He wore his thoughts in his body language, and they were “stay the fuck away from me,” and “don’t even try.” Even though plenty of women were trying. They ate that shit up.
As the night wore on, the bar shifted energy. Although there were fewer bodies this late in the night, more of them stumbled into us. A glassy eyed man grabbed my shoulder to steady himself and moved on. I had a better view of Annie behind the bar and watched her prep a fresh pot of coffee in anticipation of sobering up a few customers. I was no longer pressed into my spot at the table by swaying bodies, and I was now able to clearly see the bright blue neon restroom sign.
The band finished their last song and started packing up their equipment. The booming bass now stopped, and the room was noisy with the chatter of voices. Jesse and Rina got up to put on their jackets, wood stools scraping loudly across the floor. Michael scooted out of the corner, his coat in hand.
“We’re heading out,” Jesse said, grasping my hand. “Rina’s got to get up early and make the donuts.”
“Sounds good, brother,” I said, shaking his hand. “Rina, I’ll catch you later, darling.” I looked over Jesse’s shoulder and smiled at her.
“See you later, Steve.” She smiled back.
“What about you?” I asked, nodding to Michael.
“Leaving,” he grumbled, putting his coat on.
“Alright. I’m heading up to the bar for a last drink. See all you assholes in the morning.”
Jesse and Rina stepped out, followed by Michael soon after. An attractive woman in a short skirt, fuck-me heels, and pink streaks in her hair peeled herself off the wall to follow him out. He held the door for her expectantly. What. The. Fuck? The guy didn’t leave the corner all night, and he has a girl ready to take home?
I shook my head, amused, and sidled up bar-side to check on Annie. Or maybe I should say check out Annie. I’d been trying to insert myself into her life for nearly a year now, and I had absolutely nothing to show for it. I must seem like a pussy for as much rejection the woman has given me, but it drove me crazy she wouldn’t give me the time of day.
I snagged a momentarily vacated barstool at the very end of the long bar. I spent many nights in this very spot admiring it. The dark mahogany top was smooth as silk, not a worn spot on it despite its obvious hard-core usage. The brass taps were polished to a bright shine, and the counter-to-ceiling mirrors behind the bar were well lit and bright with liquor bottles of every size, shape, and color resting on the built-in shelves.
Annie reached for those bottles without even looking before she poured from them. She moved with absolute confidence as her body stretched to reach, pour, and shake drink after drink. My dick stirred as I watched her long graceful fingers clamp around the neck of a bottle of Grey Goose vodka and pour for another customer.
“Hi there.” Shaken out of my Annie-watching gaze, I turned to the voice interrupting me. A pretty brunette squeezed herself next to my barstool and leaned an elbow on the bar.
“Hello,” I said. She was tiny. I was sitting on the stool and still had to cast my eyes downward. She was cute, in an elvish sort of way. Long thick hair brushed her shoulders, and big round eyes with lovely lashes swallowed half of her face.
“I’m Dana.” She held out her hand, like she expected me to grab it and haul her out of here. She wobbled a little, and I reached out to steady her.
“Hello, Dana.” I smiled big at her as I looked around for anyone that might be able to help her out of here. “Are you with anybody tonight?”
“No,” she said. “Not any man, if that’s what you mean.” She leaned in closer to me, eyes not really focusing, and settled in between my legs. Oh no, this girl was too drunk.
“I mean, any girlfriends with you?” I asked above her head, looking around again.
“Yeah, they’re over there.” She pointed to the opposite end of the room, where a group of ladies were gathering their coats. I spotted a tall blonde scoping around the bar, locating Dana, then locking eyes with mine.
She stomped across the room, narrowing her gaze at me.
“Dana,” I said, gently turning her toward her friend, “I think someone is looking for you.”
The friend arrived just as I faced Dana her way and said, “You ladies have a safe way home tonight?”
What might have been an angry, accusatory stare softened at my question. “Yes, I’m designated driver tonight,” she said, pulling Dana toward her as I gently nudged her in that direction.
“Make sure she gets home safe and maybe get her a Gatorade before bed? She’s going to feel this one in the morning.” I gave another good-natured smile and lifted Dana’s hand to her friend for the final hand off.
“Good idea, thank you.” She smiled back at me. “Come on Dana, let’s get you home.”
“Goodbye, beautiful man,” Dana said as she was led away.
I shook my head and smiled. Even though I had no intention of leaving with any woman tonight, it always felt good to feel wanted. I watched Dana and her group of friends leave the bar in a huddle, making sure they weren’t followed out or bothered by anybody.
Speaking of feeling wanted, Annie had not been as receptive to my advances, and I had long since stopped asking her out. I tried for a long time when I first moved here last year, but I learned she was not going to soften to my usual charms. Yes, she was hot as fuck, but I could find that anywhere. I liked her self-confidence and independence, and I wanted to know her more. But she didn’t give me any indication she felt the same, and after a few failed attempts at asking her out, I decided to let it be.
It didn’t mean I didn’t want to fuck her senseless. I sure as hell did. I just didn’t want to be the creepy guy that never leaves a girl alone. You know, the girl that comes up to you in a bar and says, “Hey, pretend to be my boyfriend, just for five minutes. This dude will not take no for an answer. I need him to get the picture.” I will never be that poor asshole, but I will be that guy that pretends to be the boyfriend.
“I said, give me a drink, bitch!”
I whipped my head from the exit toward the insult.
“I said you’ve had enough. You want a coffee? It’s on the house.” I saw Annie speaking calm, but firm to the man in question, hands on her hips.
“You cunt. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Annie bristled. “I’m the owner, that’s who, and this is your last chance before it gets ugly. You’re done. Time to leave.” She pointed toward the door.
The fucker moved quicker than I thought somebody that drunk could possibly do. He leaned over the bar and snatched a hand out so fast, grabbing Annie by the shirt and pulling her toward him.
One of his friends tried to pull him off. “Come on, man, let her go.”
He didn’t let go. Instead, he used his free left hand to
swing and punch his friend in the face. It was a good one too, right square in the cheek. The guy staggered back. Annie still hung there in the man’s grip. She was tall for a woman, but he was taller, and I imagine she was on her tiptoes. Her hands fumbled for leverage, and I felt an old, yet familiar heat surge through my body. I saw red and sprang from my seat.
“Put her down,” I roared, heading his way. Without stopping, I cuffed the asshole on the side of the head, and he let Annie go. Before I could blink, the guy lunged at me like a bull and we both went down on the floor. The crowd parted, and a bar stool went down with us. We both rose quickly, ready to full on fight this one out.
The fight was fast. The guy was good, but a lifetime of fighting on the streets of El Paso made me better. The noise of yelling voices was a soft din behind the thud of blood rushing in my skull. Fight. Kill this motherfucker, was in my brain on a loop. I was red hot and ready to go.
“Everybody stop!” The call boomed above all noise in the bar.
The familiar “click click” of a loaded weapon echoed throughout the now suddenly silent room. I froze; so did the asshole.
Annie took a deep breath, and as calm as can be said, “Steve, why don’t you move off to the left over there? I don’t want to get you if I have to shoot.”
As she tilted her head in that direction, holding that shotgun steady, I did as she asked and moved my feet.
“Friends of this asshole.” She waved the gun up and down at him at her announcement. “Gather your shit, including this piece of trash, and get the fuck out of my bar.”
The guy and his friends burst into movement. Nobody else moved. Nobody took a breath. I didn’t take my eyes off Annie.
Her short blond pixie cut showed off the angle of her sharp jaw and long slim neck. She was wearing her trademark scowl, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes. Her chest, in her black sleeveless tank top, turned at a slight angle for better aim, rose and fell evenly and slow. Her arms held the shotgun steady, showing no signs of fatigue. Her feet were planted shoulder width apart; her tight jeans hugged defined thighs and a curvy ass. Her entire body was taut and humming, ready to take the kickback if she fired.
Annie with a gun was the single most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
3
Steve
Singer’s Garage, located just at the edge of town, was a rectangular gray corrugated metal building, complete with four garage bays, a large open shop area that included both a painting booth and a few spots for parking longer-term projects, and a small waiting room for customers. There was even an apartment built in on the second floor. It was mostly unoccupied, now that Jesse was shacking up with his woman, but Jameson crashed there during school breaks.
AC/DC was thumping through the sound system, and I was buffing out rust on a classic 1970 Dodge Dart that Jesse wanted to take to a car show in the spring. Michael was in his corner of the room running diagnostics, and Jesse was in the bay working on a tow he had brought in the day before.
We did any and all mechanic related work, including all of the towing services for the surrounding area. Maintenance, wrecks, and oil changes paid the bills, but Jesse’s real passion was restoration. The old cars of the sixties and seventies were harder and harder to come by, and getting this one in as bad shape as it was, was a boon. Body and paint were my specialty, and I was taking extra care to make this one perfect. Running a hand over my work, ensuring a smooth finish on the Dart, I decided it was done and walked to Jesse’s station.
“She’s ready for paint.”
“The Dart?” Jesse said, not lifting his head out of the hood of the SUV he was working on.
“Yup. I know you were thinking tan, but I think silver would look sick. With the black seats? Silver is the way to go,” I said.
“You think?” Jesse asked.
“I know.”
“You’re the artist. It’s why I hired you.” Jesse turned his head to look at me.
“I’m telling you, man, it’ll look fantastic.”
“Do it,” he said.
This is why I love this job, this town, and these people. I haven’t had a lot of people in my life that trusted my opinion and considered me worthy of having one. I’ve made a lot of poor choices in my past. Regrettable decisions, with huge consequences. Landing at Singer’s, two thousand miles away from home, was not one of them.
“I’ll get on it tomorrow,” I said and turned back to the Dart.
“So it’s true?” Jesse interrupted. “About Annie.”
The big-bearded guy was trying to free a stubborn bolt off an alternator, and the applied torque set his socket wrench skittering across the floor.
“Shit,” he said, eyes tracking the wrench as it approached me.
“It’s true.” I stopped it with my boot and bent to pick it up.
“Shit,” Jesse said again, shaking his head, plucking it from my offered hand.
“No kidding, you should’ve been there.” I wiped my now grease covered hand off with a rag. “It was nuts. I can’t believe she did it.”
“I can’t believe I missed it! Mikey, can you believe it?” Jesse looked over to Michael, who was staring intently at a diagnostic screen.
“Yup.” Michael didn’t even glance our way. I almost forgot he was here.
“Damn. I always heard about the shotgun, but I didn’t really believe it,” Jesse said.
“Like the wild fucking west,” I smirked, crossing my arms over my chest and shaking my head.
“Don’t fuck with Annie,” Jesse said.
“Don’t fuck with Annie. I’ve always heard it. Now I know why,” I repeated.
“Nope,” said Michael, loud enough for us both to hear.
“So tell me all of it. The whole story,” Jesse said, pointing to my bruised cheek.
“I was going to kill the guy,” I started, and filled him in on the previous night’s events.
We spent the rest of the morning finishing our own tasks and projects. It was quiet except for the classic rock blaring throughout the large warehouse space. My thoughts replayed last night’s events, and Annie with that shotgun. I’ve lived my entire life around violence. I came here to get away from all of it. What did it say about me that a woman with a criminal father and a shotgun pushes all of my buttons? I’d have to come back and think about that.
When I came here last year to work with Jesse, I wasn’t sure if I would stick around. I had to get out of Texas, and I drifted, driving up and down the East Coast for close to a year. I worked at places here and there for a month or two at a time. Landscaping, dishwashing, whatever work I could get to get me by, I didn’t care. When I heard about a body mechanic needed in a town called Song, Pennsylvania, I just had to check it out. I’ve been here ever since.
I liked it here, and I planned on sticking around. The work was good, I’ve made some great friends, and I liked the pace of life. I still had a lot of loose ends to clear up, but I wasn’t ready to deal with all the bullshit that was my life in Texas.
Annie made it perfectly clear she wasn’t interested in me, but it was the first time in a long time I wanted to be more than what I was at the moment. She had something to fight for and I admired her for it. I did know she was raised by her father, a no-good MC president, who was now in jail with most of his entire crew. That left Annie with a bar to run, manage, and defend all on her own.
I’d never seen her not working. I didn’t know if she ever left the building. I didn’t even know where she lived. It was clear she needed help but was too stubborn to admit it. She had two girls on wait staff, a day and evening cook, and now some gangly kid running barback for her on weekends when it was busy. With her behind the bar, she had nobody else keeping an eye out for trouble. If the near winter months were this busy, spring and summer were going to get worse.
I suddenly had an idea. A crazy, it might get me shot idea. But if it involved Annie standing holding a shotgun like last night, looking like she could eat, chew, and spit out any man alive, it was wo
rth the bullet. I cleaned out my workstation and packed my things. I needed to head home, shower and get a few hours' sleep. It was going to be a long night.
I got to O’Dell’s early. It was Saturday night and the John Smiths would be playing. Their gritty rock style and love of performing covers would draw a crowd for sure. O’Dell’s had a reputation for a fun night out, good music and was the only bar for miles. They also served your typical evening bar fare, an assortment of deep fried everything with a few burgers and sandwiches. They also had a decent lunch menu, now that they were open in the afternoons.
Annie was cleaning and stocking the bar when I entered the building early that evening. She pulled six frosty mugs out of the cooler, three fisted in each hand. Her nipples strained against her navy tank top. I swallowed hard, willing my growing erection down as I approached her. Filling the mugs at the tap and placing them on a waitress tray, I watched how her tight blue jeans accentuated every curve. Stop it. I had to keep my desires in check, but damn she looked hot.
“Hi, Annie,” I tried with my best winning smile.
“Steve,” Annie replied with her trademark scowl aimed directly at me.
“You doing all right? Last night. Shit.”
“I’m fine. Those assholes broke one of my bar stools. You broke one of my bar stools.” She pointed at me.
“Oh fuck. I did! I’ll pay for it. I was just trying to help.”
“I know you were. I suppose I should thank you, really. Don’t worry about the stool.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Why are you here so early? Where’s the rest of the crew?” She looked around the room. “Want to get some food?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Hey, um, so I’m going to be your security tonight.”
She straightened, instantly defensive, her eyebrows narrowed inward and glared at me. “What?”
I held my hands up. “Now hear me out. You have no eyes on this place. It’s getting busier and busier, and the only extra help I see is that scrawny kid running cases of beer for you, and he cowered in the corner last night. The way I see it, you can’t afford to have more fights like that in here. You certainly cannot pull a shotgun out. You got lucky last night that the cops didn’t come and arrest you.”
