Second and Short

by Michel Prince

  “Can I help you?” a man with a high and tight haircut asked from behind the bar. He was wearing a green plaid long sleeve shirt with a black t-shirt donning the bar name. “Wait, aren’t you that Grizzly?”

  “Dalton Gresham.” Dalton extended his hand to shake as he sat on a barstool.

  “Damn, you are big as shit,” the bartender replied as he tried to return a firm handshake. “I thought the TV was supposed to add ten pounds, you’re fucking huge, dude. What can I get you?”

  “You have any local beers on tap?”

  “I can get you a Leinenkugel’s, we don’t get much call for craft beer here, but Leine’s has a good Oktoberfest.”

  “Sounds good.” The bartender poured him a tall glass. “And can I get a couple burger baskets too?”

  “Awe, how sweet, I’d love one,” a woman’s voice made Dalton’s head turn to see a very wide woman. What was it about big women that turned him into a magnet?

  “I’ve got a big appetite, I’m pretty sure I won’t even have a fry left.”

  “Speaking of fries,” the bartender said. “Crosscut okay? Or do you want curds?”

  “One of each actually, you have ranch for the cheese curds?” The bartender gave him a look that made Dalton put his hands up. “Dumb question.”

  “Marinara would have been a dumb question.” The bartender input Dalton’s order on a touch screen register that stood out against the rustic décor and he could still feel the heat from his admirer.

  “Hey there, lumberjack,” the woman purred. “How long you in town for? There’s no way I missed you all these years.”

  “Not long enough,” he replied thinking there wasn’t enough alcohol in this bar to have him going down that road. Taking a long swallow of his beer, he nearly drained it in gulp. The tall glass was refreshing after his walk. “I’m gonna hit the john, can I get another when I come back?”

  Pushing past the woman, he saw all eyes on him as he found the door that said Bucks and hoped when he found his way back to the bar the woman would be gone. Splashing water on his face from the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror. The beard that had been shaggy was now evenly trimmed. His hair wasn’t anywhere near the shorn high and tight of the bartender, but it was starting to look more like his senior pictures. Thick, but not hanging past his shoulders. Was he just switching from the wild blood thirsty bear of the gridiron to the stock offensive linemen? Sure, they had a more conservative look than most, but which was him? Was there a hybrid between the two?

  “How you get so big?” a little boy asked as he stood mid thigh to Dalton. The boy’s neck craned all the way back to be able to look up at Dalton.

  “I ate my beans,” he replied almost robotically. He came up with the response when he was younger and the little kids would come to autograph day in college. “You eat yours, right?”

  The boy scanned Dalton from his feet to the top of his head. Probably trying to determine if being mutant sized was worth the offending legume. “What’s your name?”

  “Dalton, what’s yours?”

  “Ian.”

  “Is the food good here?” Dalton asked and headed for the door, holding it open for the youngster.

  “They have beans in the chili. Would that be enough?”

  “Gotta mix in some green ones too.”

  “Are you famous? My dad thinks you might be famous.”

  “Do you watch football?” Dalton got the same duh look from Ian the bartender had given him. “Well I play for the Grizzlies.”

  “I like the Badgers.”

  “That’s a good college team.”

  “Ian, stop bothering the man,” his mother scolded. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He’s fine, but I have a feeling my burger is coming up.”

  “Bye Dalton,” Ian called as he crawled back into the booth. He picked up a fry and held it up, then turned back to Dalton.

  Yeah fries were way better than beans, he couldn’t fault the kid on that choice. Besides, being a mutant hurt. Dalton’s joints ached and everything needed to be supersized.

  “You stayin’ at Bucky’s,” a man grumbled from the end of the bar.

  “Yes, I am,” Dalton said as he gave the bartender a nod after he placed another beer in front of him. “You know Bucky?”

  “Everyone knows Bucky, he buys me a beer…” the man slowed down and seemed to zone out. “Or two when he’s in town.”

  “Bucky’s a good guy.”

  The man got up and moved the two barstools over and sat next to Dalton. “Are you a good guy?”

  Stale beer drifted on the air between the two men. Taking a good look at the man, he appeared to be native with long shaggy hair. He wore a mechanic’s shirt with the name Randy on an oval patch. It being closer to five, Dalton wondered if this man really had been sitting on the stool since ten.

  “You left me stranded,” Dalton said. “I called roadside assistance and you didn’t come.”

  “My phone’s been messing up, my bad.” Randy slapped Dalton’s shoulder. Dalton couldn’t decide what was worse. Randy or his admirer draping themselves on him. Why can’t all fans be like the kid in the booth? “Either way, I could really use a drink.”

  Willie powered on her desktop computer. The satellite internet usually worked great on these clear nights. Clicking on the bookmarked spot she used for car parts, she went in search of a new transmission for Stanley. With it ordered, she went to the email she used with her mother. How she’d become a hacker that can send encrypted messages posing as spam for her mother she would never know. In that way, she had to be grateful for Hector. He forced her to be something she never imagined when she was in high school.

  Ten Years Ago

  “I’m sorry, is there some part of your job that actually requires more than three brain cells?” the man asked as he sat across from his date. Willie knew he was trying to spray testosterone everywhere in a pathetic attempt to exude he was all mighty and powerful. The fact he was in a diner and not at one of the five star restaurants along the strip in Vegas showed exactly how powerful the man was. Did he expect the woman who looked one step up from a hooker to be impressed enough to not charge? Tamping down, she steeled herself for the barrage. It wasn’t the first she received and until she went away to college in three months, she would have a dozen more she expected. “I told you I wanted medium, not well done.”

  “I’m sorry sir, I can ask the cook to make you another.” He’d eaten over half the steak, all the potatoes and even a few pieces of broccoli. No way he wasn’t actually full.

  “If I wanted another one, I would have said that. I can’t trust that you’ll be able to carry the information from here into the kitchen. You might see a bright object that will distract you.” The man stood up and attempted to go nose to nose with Willie. When he discovered he was about an inch short it enraged him even more. Shoving her, she stumbled back and landed in the arms of a man who righted her, then moved her to the side.

  “Your temper tantrum is getting old,” the man who had to be in his twenties said. He was taller than Willeen and had a rough exterior, but warmth washed over her as he stood up for her. When he physically blocked the man’s exit, she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or getting the manager. “Pay the woman and don’t forget to tip.”

  “I’m not tipping that bit—” her hero’s hand went around the customer’s throat.

  “Were you going to say that beautiful woman?”

  At barely eighteen, Willeen couldn’t help the tingling from being called a woman multiple times. Everyone saw her as a girl. That girl there, excuse me girl, but this man saw her as a woman. At six four, broad shouldered and in a nice polo he wasn’t the t-shirt crowd she usually served in the diner. The dine and couldn’t dash guy was her normal asshole customer.

  “Willie,” her manager barked as he approached. “Is there a problem in your section again?”

  “There’s no problem here,” her hero assured as he smoothed out the concert t-shir
t of her customer. “Willie’s doing a great job.”

  “I doubt that,” her manager growled. “Sir, I’m sorry for what ever the inconvenience was. Let me comp your meal. I hope you dine with us again.”

  The man reached for his date and yanked her out of the booth. “I appreciate it, but don’t hold your breath.”

  Willie watched in disgust as the man got exactly what he wanted. She noticed her hero nodded to a few guys who wiped their mouths with their napkins and walked out after the man.

  “That’s the last meal I’m comping for you Willie, if you don’t have the ability to keep your customers happy I’m going to have to fire you.”

  “Yes sir,” she replied a bit defeated.

  “You don’t need to fire her,” her hero said as he set a hundred-dollar bill on the table where he’d been eating. “She quits.”

  Willie stepped back a bit, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her out of the diner. “What about my purse?”

  “I’ll send someone to get your personal items. You are too good for that place.” Once in the parking lot, he spun her in his arms and took her hands in his. “These hands were made for much more than carrying second rate food to third rate scum.”

  “You were eating in there.”

  A flicker of emotion shone in his eyes, but in her naïve teenage brain she couldn’t grasp her natural fight enraged and aroused him. “Oh, my sweet Willie, the fun we shall have together. I’m Hector Molina and as long as you are with me you shall never want for anything.”

  Her mind swung between Pretty Woman and Sleeping with the Enemy. For the first few years Pretty Woman won out as she put aside her studies and herself. She was Hector Molina’s woman and he yielded a power that kept her safe. He told her Latin men loved deeper and with more passion than she could even comprehend. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, she had been intoxicated by him and it has only been distance that let her know how toxic he truly was. The fool she had been can never be again.

  Present

  Shaking off the memory, she refocused herself enough to look forward. Her mother had responded to her last email. She missed seeing her, but since Hector knew she existed and Willeen couldn’t chance him finding her. Thankfully, her mother lived in a secure apartment building with neighbors who knew who she was. She had a routine, but it was one that she would be missed if she skipped any of her activities. Her mom updated Willeen on her job without breaking the confidentiality of her clients. The empathic heart of her mother hadn’t softened in all the years of social service work in Reno. Although she missed her mother, she didn’t understand how she could stay in Nevada. Hector had his claws in every inch of that state. I will never love another, Willie. You are my one and only. Words twisted his true intention. He would never let her love another. She was his and his alone. There were no friends or family outside of him. It hurt him too much to not have her by his side every minute of every day.

  The mouse of her computer clicked to Google to see about Dalton. She might as well know if he truly was a monster. The first item to come up was a video of a game from a sports news channel.

  “It’s clear Milton, the Infantry’s defensive end, chop blocked him,” the announcer explained as a yellow circle was drawn around a man diving for Dalton’s knee. “There’s a reason this is illegal. It’s a cheap shot. If this would have been twenty years ago, Gresham’s response would have been the Grizzly’s response. We would have had the whole offensive line ready to beat Milton’s ass.”

  “Haven’t we evolved from that,” the other commentator said. She had seen this show enough times to know each commentator takes a side and debates. “At some point, we need to say enough is enough when it comes to Dalton Gresham. He’s a rabid beast. He took his helmet off. That’s not a controlled professional. That is an uncontrollable child that is now sitting in a well-deserved time out.”

  Exiting out of the video Willie went in search of other items when her phone rang. “This is Willie.”

  “I just had a charge for almost a thousand dollars,” Stan said without a greeting.

  “Yeah, I decided to go with a replacement part from this century.”

  “Did you actually look to see what’s wrong with my truck?”

  “I subtracted driver error and went off pure memory. What can I say, you’ve assaulted me with your vehicle’s engine block? It’s seared into my brain.”

  “A grand?”

  “Or a new truck. Come on, you know you want it.”

  “I’m gonna win one from the casino. Until then I’m not buying one.”

  “Lightening doesn’t strike twice Stan.” The truck he had was from when the casino first opened. A grand prize he won that had him buying lottery tickets and entering every drawing since.

  “I’ve had two Fire’s living in that cabin working for me for the dirt. You can’t deny I’m a lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I can do what ever I want. How about you move that alert on your card to five thousand so you can stop bitching at me.”

  “When’s the part coming in?”

  “Three days unless you want me to run up to Milwaukee and pick it up.”

  “Nah, it’s no rush, you’ll take me to the store if I need something between now and then.”

  “Or pick it up myself so I don’t have to hear you bitching about milk prices.”

  “Have you seen them lately? There’s a dairy every five feet in Wisconsin.”

  “Night Stan, shoot the list over to me and I’ll start first thing in the morning.”

  “Wait, who’s stayin’ at Bucky’s? Any chance it’s Bishop or Speed?”

  “Gresham, he’s a lineman.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was easy to tell. Offensive linemen were the invisible ones on the field. Not really the bright shining stars that get commercials, but for her, she was excited to have a large man towering over her. “Well stop by tomorrow sometime before you get too busy.”

  “Will do, I have some forms for you to submit to a few companies anyway.”

  “Randy still not picking up his dispatches?”

  “Nope.” She let out a little sigh. “It’s good for us, right?”

  “I’m glad your dad can’t see where you’re at right now.”

  Dalton stared straight ahead as he attempted to balance with one eye open. Not bringing his SUV was a good thing. Salty food, a flowing tap and no paparazzi is a recipe for Dalton getting smashed. He was upright, that’s a point in his favor. Now to remember if he turned left or right? The stand-alone buildings weren’t helping him get his bearings. The fact he’d passed, then went back again was another issue.

  “Come on Dalton,” he told himself a bit louder than he could register. “You graded out in the high seventies with a second-grade concussion. This shit is child’s play.” Taking a step forward, he stumbled and put his hands out to either side of him to help him balance. “Walking though, shit that’s hard. Okay sniff for water.”

  Olfactory senses failing him Dalton decided to flip a coin. The flash of the metal as it flew up in the air and caught the lone streetlight made him close both eyes. Blowing out a hard gust of air, he searched the ground around him. George Washington’s head stared up at him from the gravel below.

  “Heads, sweet…what the fuck does heads mean?”

  “The cabins are that way,” his bartender said as he placed his hand between Dalton’s shoulder blades and pointed him to the right. “You need a ride?”

  “No,” Dalton stupidly responded. “The coin was for if I should find old two ton in there for a blow job.”

  “You talking about Angie?” the man asked as he shook his head. “That would be a negative Ghost Rider. With all the practice, she gets you’d think she would be better. She watched a little too much Sex in the City during her formative years. Unless you like the feeling of your balls being ripped off, I’m not sure she understood the gentle tug theory.”

  “Well that settles that, I’m gonna head back t
o Bucky’s.” Dalton took a step, then spun back to the direction his bartender had pointed him. “Goodnight…what’s your name?”

  “My friends call me Trap.”

  “Night Trap,” Dalton said with an errant wave careful not to sway too much as he walked back toward the cabin. A mile of walking should help him sober up. As he approached the turn in for the lake, he found his second fork in the road. Where was Willie when he really needed her? His head pounded as he veered left and stumbled his way down the road counting cabins as he went. Lakes were round for the most part. He bet even if he took the long way he would eventually find his way to Bucky’s.

  A familiar looking vehicle was parked next to a small cabin. “There you are,” he said as he crawled on the little porch to curl into a ball and lay down. Soon as his eyes closed he felt the business end of a shotgun nudge his back. “That’s not nice,” he grumbled.

  “Dalton, that better be you or I’m pulling the trigger.”

  “Even if it wasn’t me I’d say I’m going with that option.”

  “Why are you at my cabin?” Willie asked. “More importantly, how did you find it?”

  “I swam straight from mine.”

  “You went to the Dry Dock, didn’t you?” The gun was still pressed against his kidney.

  “Any chance you could remove that thing before I end up on a transplant list?”

  “Not sure, why are you here?”

  “I must have turned the wrong way. I wouldn’t have if someone would have taken me for a tour.” He was starting to sober up by the headache stabbing him from behind his left eye.

  Willie removed the gun from his back. “Any chance you can get up or at least crawl inside my cabin?”