Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

  "Are you going to get back to work?"

  Gwen swallowed hard and pushed herself up. "Yeah. Right now."

  Hadley nodded and said, "Come on, Kay." Keating finishing propping up the plywood and let Gwen slip past him.

  Unsure of what else to do, Lance stood and followed Gwen behind the bar. Seeing a narrow cubbyhole under the cash register, she took Boris' pistol from her belt and hid it in the cubby, pushing it back so the light of the room didn't reflect off the metal of the barrel. She looked at the Employees Only door through which Roy, Kay, and Hadley had appeared. She checked to make sure the men had left before she satisfied her curiosity. "What do they do in there, anyway?"

  "Business," Gwen said.

  Lance waited for an elaboration that didn't come. She finally shrugged and said, "All right. Business it is." She had no idea why a bar with no customers needed three men to do its business, but she wasn't there to make waves. She rested her elbows against the bar. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

  "No."

  "Maybe you ought to learn how to take care of yourself," Lance said. "Odds are I won't be around next time."

  Gwen looked up. "But...Roy just hired you."

  Lance smirked. "He hired me, sure, but I doubt I'm going to be around much longer than it takes for my car to be fixed."

  "You can't go."

  "I didn't know I was being hired for life," Lance said. "Besides, look at this place. If I did stay on, I'd just be wasting your husband's money. I can't protect you from people who aren't here." Gwen looked down at the bar top and said nothing. "But since your husband apparently knows people like Boris, you do need to learn how to take care of yourself."

  "I could never...d-do what you did." Gwen looked out into the room as if she could still see afterimages of the violence that had taken place right in front of her.

  "You wouldn't have to. You would just have to do what it takes to defend yourself. To keep bastards like that from owning you just because they have a gun."

  "I don't know."

  "Well, you'd better find out quick," Lance said.

  The door to the bar swung open and two men strode in. The man in the lead was a thin Hispanic with closely cropped hair and a flat face. He looked like he'd won just a few more fights than he'd lost, and bore the scars on his face like trophies. The other was staying a step behind and he appeared anxious. He was young, just out of high school if he was lucky, but he looked as worn out as Kay and the rest of Roy's cronies. Lance straightened, expecting them to be customers at last, but Gwen said, "Hi, guys. Roy's in the back."

  The Hispanic stared at Lance, even though his question was posed to Gwen. "You okay, Mrs. Morse? Garrett called and told us what happened."

  "I'm fine, Ben."

  "It was really Boris?" the younger man said.

  Gwen nodded and rested her elbows on the bar. She chewed on her thumbnail and closed her eyes as Ben and the unnamed kid went through the door. Lance watched the door close with increasing suspicion. Now there were five men in Roy's operation, plus Gwen. None of them looked like an accountant, and they were allegedly doing the business of a bar that had only one customer in the last couple of hours. No, not suspicious at all.

  But, for the moment, Lance didn't have anything better to do. She could think of worse ways to spend a hot afternoon than sitting in a bar with a pretty woman. There was a newspaper folded neatly in the trash can under the bar. Lance bent down and pulled it out, checking the date before she unfolded it on the bar. If Roy Morse wanted to pay her to keep the boogieman away, that was fine with her. Better taking care of someone else's ghosts than being haunted by her own.

  #

  Lance was focused on the crossword puzzle, which was already half solved, when Gwen suddenly walked out from behind the bar and went to the front door. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the floor of the bar as Gwen stepped outside to pull the swinging door shut and secure it with a small metal hook. Lance straightened and returned the newspaper to the trash. "End of the business day, I guess?"

  "I guess," Gwen said with a weak smile. "Thanks for being here. I felt a lot safer."

  Lance was sure that Gwen would need someone to lean on after the trauma of the day, and just as sure that she was unlikely to get that comfort from her husband. But she was already way too involved with these people for her own liking. She put on her jacket and picked up her duffel bag from where she had stowed it a few hours earlier. "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

  "Mm hmm," Gwen murmured. She looked at Lance. "Thank you for...for, well, everything."

  "I'm glad I could be here for you." She cleared her throat and looked around the bar for a moment. "This may be a stupid question, but...is there a hotel in town? Or at least a place where I can rent a room?"

  Gwen shrugged. "The, um, the only place in town is Clara's. It's a bed-and-breakfast down the road...but it's not exactly the safest establishment in town."

  Lance stopped herself before she could scoff at the comment. What constituted an unsafe establishment in this town—a place where they had two shootings per day?

  Gwen continued, "Why don't you just stay here? Roy and I live upstairs, and there's a cot in the office down here. It's not the most comfortable..."

  Lance tried to think of a way to turn down the offer, but she came up empty. She nodded. "I'm sure I've had worse. Thank you."

  "It's in here," Gwen said. She went through the door to the office and, to Lance's surprise, the room was empty. She hadn't heard them leave, but she assumed Roy and the others had gone through the door marked Exit, the same one she assumed Hadley had used to go outside and find the plywood. There was another door on the opposite end of the room from the exit, and it was this door Gwen opened. She leaned inside and said, "Oh. I just need a second..." She went inside, leaving Lance alone in the office.

  She took the opportunity to examine the room. It was a regular office, with a couch against one wall and two chairs in front of a wide oak desk. The subtle funk of cigarette and cigar smoke hung in the air. Behind the desk was a row of small filing cabinets, topped with a fax machine and several in/out trays. On top of the desk was a brand new computer, new enough that it didn't even have dust on top of the monitor. Lance was impressed by the set-up. Maybe Roy had a second, more successful business running somewhere.

  Gwen came out of the storeroom and said, "Okay." Lance stepped into the doorway and found herself looking into a narrow supply closet. The shelves were filled with boxes of napkins, rows and rows of upside-down glasses, and towers of stacked coasters. A cot was pushed flush against the far wall. A folded blanket and a pillow sat in the middle of the bed and Gwen gestured at it self-consciously. "It's not much..."

  "Hey, if it's free, it's good enough," Lance said. She dumped her duffel bag on the floor by the bed. "I don't suppose there's a washing machine or a shower hiding behind one of these shelves?"

  "Sorry," Gwen said. "We take our stuff to the laundromat downtown, which is already closed this time of night. As for the shower, we have one upstairs, but Roy..."

  Lance shook her head. "It's all right. I can just wash up in the bathroom sink. Thanks for offering this, Gwen. I really appreciate it."

  "It's the least I can do. Well, um...I guess that's it. Good night, Miss Lance."

  "It's just Lance. And you're very welcome."

  Gwen walked to the door and stopped before stepping out. "I want to thank you for today. Boris was always insane, but...I never knew how far he could go."

  Lance knew this was her chance to get some answers. "He was kind of a wild card, huh?"

  "Yeah. He worked with my husband and the others until recently. They fired him. Kind of abruptly, obviously. I knew he was mad, but I...never would have thought..." She shook her head and closed her eyes, reliving the scene.

  Lance tried to change the subject, subtly. "What was that money he kept screaming about?"

  Gwen shook her head. "I don't know. Something to do with Roy
and his business."

  "The bar?"

  Gwen smiled and ducked her chin, like a little kid with a secret. "No, his other business. You're smart enough to know that this bar isn't, can't be, our main source of income."

  "So, what do he and Hadley and those other guys do in the back room while you're up front?"

  "No clue. They don't tell me details and I don't want to know."

  Lance was pretty sure that was a lie, but she didn't press it. Not knowing was probably the best way to survive. "That was a pretty serious weapon Boris came after you with."

  Gwen looked at the floor. "Yeah."

  Lance sat on the edge of the cot. "So maybe it's a good thing your husband hired me as your bodyguard."

  Gwen smiled and met Lance's eyes. "Really lucky. Good night, Miss Lance."

  "Just Lance. Good night, Gwen."

  #

  Gwen shut the door and hesitated with her hand on the knob. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out. You're an idiot, you know, she told herself. Roy will be angry that you let her stay here, but the fact that she is here is just so... So what? She couldn't finish the thought. She bit her bottom lip and stepped away from the door, as if distance would clear her mind. She knew Roy would ask her if she had double-checked the locks, so she paused behind the desk and tugged on each drawer. All locked. She shut off the light and left the office, thoughts of Claire Lance on her mind.

  It had been a long time since she'd let herself get blown away by another woman. There were occasional flirtatious glances in the supermarket, and she had once thought she was inches away from a proposition from a waitress the last time she and Roy went to Houston, but she had been a faithful wife since they took their wedding vows. And a faithful wife she would remain. Not because of their vows, but because she was afraid of what Roy would do if he found out.

  Gwen walked upstairs slowly and turned on the lamp next to the couch. Their apartment was tiny—three rooms flanking a combination living room-kitchen area. It was small, but it was home. It also made it easy to tell at a glance that Roy was still out. After the excitement of the day, there was doubt as to whether he would come home at all. Lots of tracks to cover, as Hadley liked to say.

  She went into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink. She cupped her hands under the spray and brought them to her face. Patting her cheeks lightly, she tried to remove the horrors of the day. She could still see Boris' crazy eyes, the barrel of the gun waving in front of her. She couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought of the gun. Both guns. If he had come an hour earlier, or a day earlier, Lance wouldn't have been there and...and, well, the alternatives weren't worth contemplating, were they?

  Maybe that's why she felt so drawn to Lance. Her mysterious new "bodyguard" was attractive, but maybe Gwen was just feeling hero worship for someone who had literally saved her life. If that was the case, then Gwen could definitely fight the attraction for as long as it took Jolly to fix Lance's car. If it was something more, well... She looked down at her wet hands and shut off the faucet.

  The bathroom light cast a warm yellow glow across the living room, so she left it on as she crossed to the kitchen. She passed by the front window and peered down at the street running in front of the bar. She recognized Hadley's truck rounding the corner, which meant Roy would be home in a few minutes. More than likely hungry and expecting dinner. Gwen hurried to the kitchen to see what she could whip together before he arrived. She had learned her lesson the last time he came home hungry and nothing was ready.

  #

  Lance waited until she heard Gwen's footsteps on the staircase before she got off the cot. She searched the room for anything that she could use as a washcloth and decided to just use the paper towels in the bathroom.

  She left the storage room and made her way across the dark office, the jukebox still glowing brightly in the corner, gave enough illumination for her to see. The bar had an abandoned look to it in the darkness, and she pushed back an uneasy feeling. She crossed to the bathroom and turned both handles. Water that smelled vaguely metallic began to trickle out of the faucet. While the basin filled, Lance gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dingy mirror.

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes with one hand and let it fall back into place. She hadn't had a place to call home in almost a year, but even so, she usually scored better accommodations than this. Still, a bed was a bed, even if it was a cot.

  She cupped her hands under the water and splashed it on her face. The heat from the day had left her skin feeling dried out and tight. The water helped it feel a little more lifelike. Another cupped handful of water on her face, and then she pushed her wet fingers into her hair. She could almost feel a soft, cool hand in the middle of her back, dancing along her spine, and a whispered, "Long day, baby?"

  Lance opened her eyes and the fantasy dispersed. It had been a year, and still she kept remembering little touches, little things like Elaine's voice or the way her eyelids fluttered when she first woke up in the morning. Lance looked down into the stained basin of the sink and focused on the falling water. She didn't want to lose the memories, couldn't bear to forget, but she needed distance. She'd needed to get away.

  When the phantom had fully faded, she returned to her makeshift bath. She was considering stripping off her tank top when she heard the bar's back door swing open and hit the wall. She turned off the water and, after a moment, also switched off the bathroom light. She didn't know why, exactly, she was hiding, but she knew that she didn't want Roy Morse to unexpectedly stumble across her in a dark bar.

  She pressed herself to the wall and opened the door a crack. The jukebox lit the main room of the bar with bizarre, wavy, carnival light. Roy Morse, Garrett Hadley, and the Hispanic man she knew only as Ben had entered the room. Roy had his back to the bar, arms crossed over his chest. The other two men stood with their backs to the main room, facing Roy.

  "Tell her whatever you want," Roy said in a near whisper.

  Lance could hear him clearly from her position, but only barely. He was toying with something with his hands, looking down at it instead of the men he was talking to.

  "If you think Boris was crazy," Ben said, "then you're gonna hate his momma."

  Roy looked up and pointed his middle finger at Ben. "You want to tell his mother something true? Tell her that her son got greedy and it got him killed."

  Hadley's voice was level and calm. "You did stiff him more than half what he was owed, Roy."

  Roy turned and looked at Hadley for a long moment. "Boris screwed up. Boris almost got us exposed. You want to pay full price to someone who puts you at risk? You think he deserved full price, Gar? Boris knew the rules. You break the rules, you get punished. It's simple as that."

  Hadley didn't say anything. He looked down at his feet, shuffled them across the dirty floor, and Lance could tell he wasn't going to risk arguing with his boss. The tension seemed to evaporate from the room once Hadley had capitulated.

  Roy said, "All right. Make sure no one stumbles over my boy Boris for at least a couple of days, long enough that people might forget he was pissed off at me. One thing that lady did right, shooting him with his own gun."

  "Yeah. About her," Ben said. "You sure she's safe to stay with Gwen all day, boss?"

  Roy laughed. "Who am I going to have watch her, Estevez? You? Then I'd have Hadley watch you to make sure you didn't rape her in the middle of the first day. And I'd have to have Garth watch Hadley... Seems like a lot of trouble to make sure no one touches my property."

  Lance bristled at the thought of a woman being considered property. She had seen far too many men who thought they owned their wives, and the result was never pretty. Her hand tightened on the doorknob before she knew what she was doing. Every instinct told her to go out there, knock Roy Morse flat on his ass, go upstairs, grab Gwen and get her the hell out of Saxe. But that would definitely mean calling the cops and getting the law involved. She was far too involved already. I
f there was any hope of getting out of this town with as few waves as possible, she would have to back off.

  She forced her fingers off the knob, uncurling them one at a time, and took a deep breath. Bastards like Morse always got their just desserts in the end. She didn't really believe that, she had seen the contrary evidence far too often, but it was a lie she had to tell herself in order to remain hidden.

  In the bar, Roy waved his hand at the front door. "Go on, you bastards, get out of here. We'll deal with what to tell Boris' mother tomorrow."

  He leaned against the bar until all the men were gone, then went around the edge of the bar to open the cash register. It took no time at all to tally up what they had made, and he folded the entire day's proceeds in half and stuck it into the pocket of his pants. He slapped the register closed and went to the stairs at the back of the room. Lance watched until he was out of sight on the stairs, then turned the bathroom light back on. She drained the sink, no longer caring whether she stank or not, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  Another fine mess, she thought to herself.

  #

  No longer feeling awkward about being naked in a strange place, Lance stripped down in the storage room and put on a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt from her bag. The cot creaked under her weight when she sat down, and the blanket was scratchy, but it was better than stretching out in the backseat of her Mustang, as she had done the past couple of nights.

  Through the ceiling, she could hear the muffled voices of Gwen and Roy as they talked. Apparently their bedroom was directly above her. She closed her eyes and tried to drown them out, but then she heard the unmistakable sound of a hand hitting flesh. She jerked and her eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling as if she could see through it. "Don't you ever," she heard Roy say, clear as a bell. "Do you hear me?"

  Gwen's answer was lost between the floor and her whimpering, but Lance doubted she was arguing.

  The sound of the slap had awakened some primal part of Lance's brain. Her muscles twitched, eager to jump up and go confront the bastard, but the sound of heavy footsteps moving across the floor told her the abuser was coming to her. She sat up and took her jeans from the duffel bag. By the time Roy reached the storage room door, Lance was standing next to the cot with her shirt on and her duffel bag over her shoulder. Roy swung the door open and took a step inside. He flinched slightly when he saw her standing and staring at him, as if he had hoped to roll her out of bed and literally kick her out. Or maybe he just wasn't used to seeing a woman standing up and staring him down.