by Harlow Stone
I allow a small smirk on my face, the most my lips have tipped up since I was taken to jail. I’m not worried about him running away—I’m faster. So I take a moment to survey his appearance.
Much the same as before he’s wearing a cheap suit. His hair is not as well kept as it once was and he looks as though he’s gained ten or twenty pounds. Judging by the amount of beer and takeout containers in his fridge I’m certain I know where it came from.
You see, meeting up with a side piece of ass at a bar while your wife is at home will do that to a man. Meaning he no longer has a nice home cooked meal and a good woman to iron his suits. No. Now he’s on his own, lacking the ability to properly care for himself.
I clear my throat and respond, “I’m offended Robert, you don’t remember me?”
He swallows, clearly caught off guard. I can’t imagine he gets much ass anymore but he’s not hideous. Therefor I think for a moment he may have thought I was one of his conquests after or during the time he was married. It seems as though as quick as that thought runs through his head it leaves him.
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
I have to hand it to him, he’s polite. He’s also incredibly dull. I located his pay stubs while in his bedroom. Therefor I know he works nine to five as an accountant for Westin & Young.
Boring.
He also looks mildly afraid which pleases me because I don’t plan to soothe that in any way.
At all.
I take a pull of my beer sitting on the table, completely at ease and not at all concerned. This day was coming, I knew it and now he will too.
“In total I think I spent around twenty-two thousand dollars that month.”
He’s confused, which he should be. To my delight he asks.
“For what exactly?”
My smug grin returns as I remove my feet from their propped position on the table.
“For surgery to fix my face and housing after my attack a year ago.”
I watch the recognition coming across his face before he slowly steps backward toward the door. I waste no time standing upright, moving at a speed Brock would be proud of as I dodge the table and swing my right leg out, connecting my foot to the back of his leg.
As expected, he goes down on one knee. I grab a handful of his suit, swinging his upper half backward as I quickly jab the outside of my hand into where his neck meets his shoulder. He curls right, and I take the opportunity to grab his left arm and rear it up behind him, forcing him to stay on his knees and double forward.
“What do you want? I’ll call the cops!”
This only makes me happier seeing as he and I both know there isn’t a fucking thing he can do right now. He’s weak, he’s gained weight, and I can smell the gin on his breath from his after-work cocktails from whatever waterhole he frequents now. He’d be stupid if he ever set foot into Frank’s again, and I know if Frank knew who he was he wouldn’t let him in there regardless.
I twist harder and force him to his feet, guiding him toward the kitchen chair. Once I have his ass planted there I pull the zip tie out that I found in his utility room and secure his hands behind his back. He fights me, but a quick flash of the knife I don’t plan to use makes him stay still.
“You know Robert, I’ve thought about this for a long time. What I was going to do with a man such as yourself. More specifically, one without any fucking balls.”
He lets out a grunt. I slap him on the backside of the head then move to the other side of the table; resuming my position with my feet on the table and beer in my hand.
I can see his distaste when I light up a cigarette. I know he doesn’t smoke because I didn’t find so much as a lighter in the house. I also never found an ashtray so I use the kitchen table. It’s ugly anyway, what’s a burn mark or two?
Character, that’s what I call it.
My comment clearly offends him, not that I give a shit but it’s nice to get a reaction out of people when you plan to beat the fuck out of them.
“There was nothing I could do!” he spits out. “He was bigger than I was and you were already in the van! I couldn’t help.”
His comment strikes the fire smoldering in my veins. After I was taken may be a bit foggy, thanks to the soaked cloth that covered my mouth, but prior to that my memory is pretty fucking vivid.
I slam my beer bottle down on the table, smashing it.
“Liar!”
I drop the bottle and swing my right arm out, connecting my fist to his cheek, loving the crack that follows.
His head snaps back and I follow with my left, catching him off guard. I might have been able to punch with my right before, but my left was weak.
Judging by the blood coming out of his mouth, it’s not anymore.
“Tell the truth!”
He spits, drool and blood running down the front of his shirt. I don’t at all feel sorry for him.
I feel nothing.
“I c-c-couldn’t help.”
I wipe my hand across the table, sending the newspaper and salt and pepper shakers flying before slamming my gloved fists on the table.
“Like fuck you couldn’t have. You could have made a scene. You could have called for help. You. Did. Nothing.”
I hit him again, square on; breaking his nose.
“You were twenty feet away. You could have jumped on his back. You could have used the keys in your hand to gouge his fucking eyes out. You COULD HAVE called the fucking cops after I was shoved against my will inside the van!”
I round the table, fed up with the obstacle. He starts singing like a fucking canary.
“Alright! Alright!”
His words come out jumbled. I assume I broke a tooth.
Once again, not that I care.
“I didn’t want my wife to know where I was! She couldn’t know!”
This sorry excuse of a man is anything but a man, that is.
“A good man doesn’t cheat on his wife. A good man goes home to her after he’s done work. A good man would not have watched an innocent fucking women being kidnapped. A good man would not have waited two fucking days before he went to the cops.”
I get down in front of him, my face inches from his. My voice low, determined.
“You, are not a good man. You’re not a man at all.”
The blood is pumping through my veins, the visions of what happened to me running rampant in my head. The nightmares are fighting to get out, fighting to have some purpose after the fucked up mess that has been the last year.
So I let them.
They flow from my mind, down through my arms and out through my fists. One nightmare at a time.
What’s left is bloody, slightly broken, but still breathing when I cut the zip tie off his hands. I grab the neck of my broken beer bottle along with my cigarette butt off the table and exit the back door.
I don’t lock it behind me, I don’t look back.
Chapter Twelve
I walk through the front door, completing a quick scan of the patrons, recognizing a few but not bothering to say hello. There’s an old friend of my dad’s in the corner, where he always used to sit. One of the town sluts that Jimmy used to fuck, and maybe he still does, sits along the far wall. I’m only here to see one person and that’s Frank. He stands behind the bar in his usual garb of jeans and a worn out plaid shirt. I notice his short hair is now completely grey and briefly wonder if life has been hard to him.
I walk to my once familiar barstool toward the end of the bar where I can see the rest of the place with my back to the small stage. He’s rinsing a few beer mugs in the sink and asks, “what can I get ya?” as he turns around.
The mug that’s in his hands nearly drops to the floor, but the old man catches it in time. “Sweet Jesus, woman,” he says while his eyes roam my face, “you look good Jayne, different but good. About time you came back to see me, I’ve missed you girl. Missed your smart mouth too.”
He’s rambling, and I give him a little smile. I made sure to che
ck myself in the mirror of the truck to make sure there was no blood on me after I ditched my sweater and gloves. I still have my hat on because I needed the privacy.
“Good to see you too, Frank.”
His smile falters. My voice is not the same as it used to be, along with my face and dark hair I’m sure it’s a lot for him to take in.
“Double vodka and Perrier with lime, please?”
Like the good man he is, he wastes no time in making my drink. He also knows I prefer the liquor on his top shelf so he pours the Grey Goose and takes a shot for himself. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared for my visit.
After setting my drink down in front of me I take over. “How’s business Frank?” he sees right through my bullshit and like the straight shooter he is he calls me on it. “Don’t you bloody well think you’re gettin’ off that easy. You’re lucky the wife ain’t here or she’d be all over you like that cheap perfume Prissy wears.”
I can’t help but let out a small laugh. Prissy is Priscilla, the tramp in this very bar tonight who Jimmy used to fuck (maybe still does), and who wears so much perfume Frank once told her if she wanted to keep drinking here she had to tone it down because he didn’t like coughing while mixing drinks.
“Can I finish some of my drink first?” I ask him, not quite ready for questions, just wanting to enjoy my five minutes of freedom. I also respect the man enough to not just get up and walk out the minute I want to close myself off.
“Half of it,” he barks, shaking his head. “Things are the same around here as they’ve always been. People come, people go, some of ‘em stay.”
Frank’s easy, and I love that about him. Every answer is simple and there’s no need to argue over anything else or make it complicated.
“Heard you were back. Your partner in crime was down here a few nights ago after work and didn’t leave ‘til Brad pulled her ass off her stool at eleven.”
I shake my head at him. “Tequila in her hand and Moody Blues on the jukebox?”
Tossing back a swig of Guinness he says, “tequila nights never finished in that woman’s eyes until she sings ‘nights in white satin’ at the top of ‘er lungs. She still can’t carry a tune for shit.”
I chuckle at my old friend, thankful in the moment for useless banter like old times before he pulls me out of memory lane. “What’s goin’ on with ya girl? I know ya better than ya think. You ain’t back here ‘cause ya missed home. Longing ain’t the expression on your face right now.”
I’d be shocked, but Frank is bartender. Has been for decades. He’s over sixty and has run this place since I was a baby. He’s had all that time to read people and study them from the other side of the bar top.
He’s damn good at it too.
It also helps that he’s known me since I was a kid because my father was one of his regulars who stopped by for a cold beer after work. I don’t waste time beating around the bush or giving him the long story because he doesn’t need it. “There were two people involved in my attack. One is dead. The other needs to be found.”
“Shittin’ Christ,” he curses. “I knew somethin’ wasn’t right. Laura blubbered in here one night after you left about you being scared and takin’ off. Never asked her more and she never supplied.”
Sad, light blue eyes meet mine and he continues. “Never in all my life did I feel like a failure for not havin’ a good security system around here Jayne, never in my life. You know we don’t get much trouble being on the outskirts of the city, never thought I needed it.”
I shake my head at him. “It’s not your fault that there’s fucked up people in this world Frank, you can’t change that and neither can I.” After taking a swig of my drink I reach out and put my hand on his. “It’s great what you’ve done out back, it is Frank. But even those cameras wouldn’t guarantee that you’d get a license plate number or a clear picture of the man taking someone. It was out of all our hands.”
Angrily wiping his hands on his towel he says, “that prick out there in the parking lot shoulda’ helped ya. I never found out about it ‘til two days later. Detective came in here and gave me his name, asked me how much he had to drink. Then he told me he’d seen you being taken, breaks my fuckin’ heart girl that he didn’t help you. Breaks my heart.”
Not liking where the conversation is going, but also knowing Frank would probably buy the entire bar a round of drinks if he knew what I did to the man we’re speaking of, I move the conversation along.
“I met someone,” I say, not hiding the small smile on my face. Frank takes this news well.
“I’m happy for ya girl, I am. He happen to be the one walking into the bar with his eyes lasered on your back?”
I turn my head and watch my Viking of a protector stalking toward me. He must have changed and showered before he noticed I was missing because he doesn’t look like the sweaty mess he should after beating a bag.
“Nope, that’s just a friend,” I say as Denny reaches me, sliding onto the stool beside me.
“MGD if you got it, please,” he says.
Frank reaches blindly into the beer fridge, knowing it better than he knows the back of his hand. He doesn’t take his eyes off us as he un-caps the beer and places it in front of Denny. Giving me a nod he heads to the other end of the bar to refill a beer and Denny faces me after he pounds back half of his own.
“You should’ve told me you were leaving. I don’t like being skipped out on, Elle. That was a shit move and you know Ryder’s going to have both our asses when he gets back. You put me in a tough fucking position.”
Slightly ashamed but not remorseful, I nod my head. “Sorry, it had to be done. I needed out of there.”
Downing the rest of his beer in two big gulps he says, “Next time you’re going to go all Mata fuckin’ Hari again let someone know. I wasn’t even out of the shower when Cabe called to tell me your cell signal was coming up on the other side of town. I was two steps away from barging into Wallace’s house to stop you, Elle. Two steps.”
I nearly choke on my vodka. “Fuck Denny!”
“Don’t ‘fuck Denny’ me! You could have been hurt, Elle. What if you got there and he wasn’t the useless fuck you remember? What if he spent the last year doing what you did? Training to fight, to protect himself. You didn’t know what you were walking into, you do something like that you figure him out first. You don’t ambush someone you know nothing about in his fuckin’ kitchen and hope to shit you make it out alive.”
Feeling slightly embarrassed, because he’s right, I ask myself what if Robert Wallace was a bigger man now? Not the pussy I met in the parking lot? Who knows what would’ve happened. I don’t think about it and I don’t dwell on it any longer because I’d rather not talk about it.
“It’s done,” I say, knowing nothing can be changed and nothing can be taken back.
“Damn right it’s done. Ivan’s been sitting outside watching you while I cleaned up a mess I didn’t want to clean up, Elle.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He leans close, speaking low. “It means, that not only did I make sure he wouldn’t talk, I gave the prick a phone to call an ambulance. I knew you didn’t want to kill him, if you did, he’d be dead. But he needed a little help after your fists got ahold of him.”
Nodding my head in thanks, I push my glass toward Frank’s side of the bar and he picks up the signal to come and refill it. “Frank, this is my friend Denny. Denny, Frank.”
Frank gives his hand a shake. “Nice to meet ya. Stay away from Prissy.” I look in the mirror behind the bar and see the hookers hawk eyes zeroed in on my friend. Denny looks confused so I say, “she’s on par with that waitress from the pub you took me too Jacksonville.” Recognition hits but he semi-ignores me to dive into the second beer Frank set in front of him.
“Which one of ya caused trouble?” Frank asks, but immediately looks to me. I don’t know what he’s talking about until Ryder and Ivan slide up to the bar. Ryder takes a seat beside me, and I
van takes the one next to him.
Ryder’s eyes are furious as he spins me around on the stool, prepared for a tongue lashing I’m sure. Frank’s eyes dance over us all until they settle behind me. “Wasn’t talking about those two Jayne.”
He clears his throat.
“Detective, what can I do for you tonight?”
Fuck.
Chapter Thirteen
“Just need to talk to Jayne and the security crew here,” Detective Miller says.
