by J. P. Rice
I answered, “From my end, it did.”
“You said you would keep quiet about that,” Gareth blew up.
I’d almost forgotten about the embarrassing experience with the hooker. I was referring to the whole trip. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Well, good. Let’s keep it that way, sweetheart.” After opening up privately, the testosterone-filled exterior around Gareth had returned. He was a complex character. I could sympathize.
I took a much shorter shower than I would have liked—perhaps the theme of the night—but I had lives to save. I went to grab some fresh clothes and noticed the Morrigan had snatched up my most comfortable pair of jeans. That bitch. Then again, she would look strange in her raven feather cloak.
I threw on another pair of faded jeans and slid into a heavy beige sweater. I grabbed my dark blue winter jacket and headed for the door.
A normal investigation process didn’t involve taking a talking dagger out to the bar, but each case had its own fingerprint. I’d learned over the years that the word normal didn’t exist in this business.
Dealing with Gareth’s eccentricities was a case all to itself. I got dressed and we all said goodbye to Titania, who wasn’t very pleased she couldn’t go with us. Considering we were already going with a talking dagger, a magic dragonfly would attract too much attention.
As we got ready to leave, I checked out the crew. Justinian and Mo were both wearing all black and looked like they were ready to rob a bar, not drink at one. The Morrigan adjusted the studded belt holding up my black jeans and played with the buttons right below the V-Neck of my ribbed long-sleeved shirt. Her gear was much more acceptable for a night out than the wolf in black sweatpants and a hoodie.
Fashion be damned, we piled into my Jeep, and I drove to J.D.’s Silver Spittoon Saloon in Indianola. It was one of the few country bars in the area that had a karaoke machine. It also had a mechanical bull that I wanted to see Justinian ride.
I sheathed Gareth on my hip as we went to enter, leaving his ruby eyes on the outside so he could still see all the action. We went in and it surprised me how many people were out on a Tuesday night. Then I spotted a big sign hanging on the far wall flanked by mounted longhorns. Written in a blue sharpie, it said, ‘Half-priced mixed drinks. 6-Close’.
Bright Christmas lights lined the long bar off to our left, but the mechanical bull in the center of the room grabbed my attention. Looking around a little more, I noticed a self-serve chili bar in the back next to a small stage.
We grabbed a table near the mechanical bull and sat down. It felt good to kick back and relax after that intense journey to Sleepy Willow and the trip around town with Gareth. I ordered a glass of Jameson in remembrance of my father.
In a muffled voice, Gareth said, “Hey, let me out of here. I don’t even know this dame and I can barely breathe.”
I scanned the room and wondered if we would get thrown out for having a dagger on the table. I gave in to his demand and pulled Gareth from the sheath and set him on the tabletop. “That’s much better,” he exclaimed.
The server returned with our drinks, but before she handed them out, her gaze wouldn’t leave the dagger. I tried to explain, “I know this sounds weird, but we aren’t going to cause any trouble. This is a very special dagger.”
Gareth boasted, “I’m the greatest dagger there ever was.” Someone had found his mojo.
The server’s eyes widened and her hand trembled, sending the tray wobbling. She dipped her knees trying to balance the big oval tray. But the drinks slid to the right, tilting the tray on a steep angle. Glasses crashed down and broke, as a volcano of cocktails erupted into the air, only to splash back down on the hardwood floor.
Her eyes never left Gareth and her mouth hung wide open. “Did that? Did that knife just talk?”
“I’m a Scottish dagger. Get it straight,” Gareth said and guffawed.
“You mean a dirk?” the server asked with her head cocked to the side.
Gareth sighed in disgust. “No. Just a regular dagger. I’m double edged with a sharp point. At least it used to be sharp.”
“I need to talk to my manager about all this,” she said and helped the barback clean up the mess.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out four hundred-dollar bills. As I leaned down, I extended my hand and tapped the server with the notes. “Maybe this will help with the decision. And we’re really good tippers too.” Having gold reserves all over Pittsburgh sure had its perks.
“Umm. Okay,” she said and took the money from me as a grin formed on her face.
I straightened in my chair and looked at Gareth. “You, sir, are an expensive date.”
“I’m classy. Deal with it,” he grumbled, and it made me smile. I was glad he could dust himself off and have a good time after having his heart ripped out.
The server returned a few minutes later with our drinks and a big smile. As she handed out the drinks, she explained, “Okay. My manager says that as long as the knife...”
“Dagger,” Gareth corrected her.
She rolled her blue eyes. “Isn’t a dagger a kind of knife?”
“Ooohhh, you come prepared to fight. I like you. What’s your name?”
“Erica.”
“Tell you what, Erica. You got a boyfriend?”
“Easy, buddy,” I warned him. I didn’t want to get kicked out.
“Who wants to know?” she asked, bobbing her head around and twirling her hair with her pinky.
Well, color me shocked.
“A certain dagger in the area,” Gareth said, deepening his voice.
“We’ll see what happens,” she said staring at the ruby eyes that glinted in reaction to the flirting. What the hell was going on? She turned her attention to the rest of us. “Okay. As long as the dagger stays on the table, you should be all right.”
“But how am I going to sing karaoke?” Gareth asked.
She shifted her eyes toward the kitchen. “Umm. Let me talk to my manager again and see if we can work something out.”
“Thank you,” I told her.
She lingered by the table, spinning her serving tray around and looking away. Oh, it appeared the karaoke would cost me more. I reached into my other back pocket and pulled out two more hundos and placed them in her eager hand.
She scurried away with a grin from ear to ear, and I sipped my Jameson. “Let’s get you up on that stage so we can get some answers finally.”
“Don’t forget I still have one demand left. Let’s get blasted and have some fun. Woooo,” Gareth screamed, and the people at the table next to us raised their glasses and joined in. “Wooo,” they yelled in return.
“I know how to get the party started,” Gareth bragged.
“Apparently,” Justinian said.
We raised our drinks to the middle of the table and gently bumped each other’s glasses. “Cheers,” I called out and swigged the whiskey.
“Salud,” Justinian added and tipped back his bottle of Coors Light. He choked on the beer because he wasn’t much of a drinker. I smirked. Werewolves were normally scared of silver bullets.
As the booze flowed and the night went on, the mechanical bull started to see some action. A young woman from the next table got up on the machine. Before the bull started moving, the Morrigan scoffed, “She’s gonna fall. She doesn’t have her feet hooked on the bottom. It’s so simple.”
“Why don’t you show her how it’s done?” Gareth egged her on.
“I don’t want to show everyone up. I mean, it’s just a stupid bull. I don’t need to show off for any of you,” she said defensively and swigged her Hurricane.
“Speaking of showing people how it’s done, are you ready for your performance, Gareth?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. It might not be the best venue.” He paused for a few moments and I couldn’t believe he was waffling. “You know what, what the hell,” the dagger said, and I realized his pause was for dramatic effect.
“What
song do you want to do?” Justinian asked.
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” Gareth stated proudly.
“Aw yeah,” screamed the Morrigan and slammed more of her Hurricane. Uh oh. She had that confused drunk look in her eyes. I needed to keep an eye on her.
Justinian went to talk to the DJ, and I sipped on my Jameson. About five minutes later, Gareth got called up. I took him up to the little stage and grabbed the microphone from the DJ. I held the two objects near each other and Gareth took it from there.
Chapter 23
“Is this thing on?” Gareth’s voice sounded over the speakers. “All right. Time to get up. Time for everyone to get the fuck up right now. No fucking excuses.”
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders at the DJ. Gareth exploded, “Let’s go. Get up and get loose.”
Table by table, people rose to their feet and migrated to the dance floor as his song started playing.
With the instrumental part of the song pumping, Gareth yelled into the microphone, “Are we here to party, or what?”
The crowd screamed ‘yeah’ in response. Gareth screamed, “Well, let’s go then. Shake a fucking tailfeather.”
The talking dagger went into the lyrics for the song seamlessly and executed the song perfectly, even adding some flair of his own. I held Gareth with my mouth wide open and could barely believe his impressive performance. The patrons on the dance floor hooted and hollered in appreciation of the dagger’s performance.
Before giving up the mic, Gareth rambled, “Don’t worry, I’ll be here all week. Now let’s make this a night to remember and don’t forget to tip your servers and bartenders. Shit yeah.” The crowd responded with raucous cheering.
I extended the mic to the DJ, who asked, “Does he want to go again? I’ve never seen anyone rock it like that.”
“Maybe later. I want to hang out with my friends for a while,” Gareth said, suddenly modest.
The DJ shrugged his shoulders. “All right, man. Come back whenever you want. The stage is yours.”
“Thank you,” said Gareth, as I handed off the mic.
As we walked across the bar, I said, “Look at you. The life of the party.”
“It’s that reputation I told you about,” he explained, his eyes gleaming again. “Tonight’s been one hell of a roller coaster. I just want to say thanks.”
“My pleasure. Now that you got your wishes, I suppose you could make with the information.” I nudged him with my knuckle.
He giggled. “I still got one wish left. And I plan to make it a good one. And don’t worry, it’ll be quick too.”
I joked. “That’s your specialty, right?”
Gareth snapped, “Fuck off. Forget it. I’m not telling you shit.”
I probably could have chosen my words more carefully. “Aw come on. Don’t be like that. We’re having a good time. Don’t ruin it.”
He groaned. “You’re lucky you’ve been real nice to me other than that snide comment. You treated me first class so we’re cool.”
“Good,” I said as we returned to our friends and I set Gareth on the table.
Justinian exclaimed, “Dude. That was awesome. Quite a performance.”
“Were you taking any notes?” I asked the wolf, who smirked in response.
Mo said, “Yeah. That was pretty good. Not like this guy over here about to fall off the bull.” She thumbed toward the machine behind her.
Gareth said, “You like to criticize everyone who rides that bull. I think it’s time to put your money where your mouth is.”
Mo shifted around in her seat. “I already told you that I don’t need to prove anything to these people. That includes a stupid dagger who thinks he’s so cool.”
Gareth replied, “I think you gotta prove it to me. Sweetheart.” He made kissing sounds and giggled.
The Morrigan turned her head to the bar and mumbled, “Sorry, but I don’t have to prove anything to a talking dagger. Stupid piece of steel and brass.”
Gareth’s eyes flashed, sending a little beam of red light from the rubies. He seemed to be enjoying the repartee with the Goddess of Death. “Oh, I think you do if you want to find out about the death cards. For my seventh and final wish, I want to see the Morrigan ride the bull. For twenty seconds or more. Or my lips stay sealed.”
The Morrigan’s head bounced from Justinian to me. “Is this stinkin’ knife being serious?”
“Dagger,” Gareth corrected her.
Mo’s pale face turned deep burgundy, her lips pursed, and she exhaled audibly though her nose. Resorting to violence was the Goddess’s go-to move. Without it, she struggled in negotiation. She was the type of chess player who would knock all the pieces off the board before she lost.
I’d felt like the Morrigan had taken advantage of my fragile mental state when she had pumped me full of dark and pure magic. I got a little enjoyment out of seeing her being tested. Especially by something she couldn’t just smash to pieces if she got frustrated.
An evil smile developed on the Morrigan’s face, causing me to wonder what she was brewing up.
She said, “Twenty seconds. Then you spill all the facts you know. Deal?”
Gareth’s eyes twinkled. “It’s a deal. Hey, who’s a guy gotta sleep with to get a drink around here?”
I smirked and poured some of my Jameson on Gareth’s blade. He made a slurping sound, and said, “Jameson, huh? Not bad. Not bad. Hey, Junipher, my lady.”
“Yes, Sir Gareth.”
“I need to talk to the DJ real quick.”
I took Gareth over to the stage, held him next to the DJ’s ear and waited. The dagger screamed, “Okay, Junipher. Grab that microphone.”
I plucked the mic from the DJ’s hand and we went back to the table. Gareth said, “Whenever you’re ready, Mo.”
The Morrigan stared at the dagger, her raging red pupils dilating. “Hey. You aren’t allowed to call me that. Only she is. And she’s lucky I let her get away with it.”
Gareth spoke properly, “Greatest of apologies, Lady Morrigan. Shall I drop to a knee to show proper respect?”
“Shut up, you stupid knife,” said Mo, shaking her head.
“Dagger,” Gareth corrected her.
“Whatever. Twenty seconds,” the red-faced Morrigan said, rising to her feet. She widened her stance and stretched out her hamstrings by bouncing up and down and leaning to both sides.
As she strolled toward the mechanical bull, Gareth said, “Turn the mic on. Now.”
I flipped the little switch and held it close to Gareth. “Is everyone ready for the main attraction?”
The bar erupted with cheering, as Gareth continued, “The woman headed toward that bull says she can stay on for twenty seconds. We might need help counting it out. Can you guys help out?”
The bar screamed their support.
Gareth said, “DJ. Hit me.”
In an instant, a new song came blasting through the speakers and bass pumping vibrations reverberated around the bar and centered in my chest. Justinian put five dollars into the machine and waited for the Morrigan to get ready, so he could activate the bull. The Morrigan circled the machine, leaning down to inspect it.
“Keep Your Hands to Yourself” by The Georgia Satellites blared through the bar, and everyone got onto their feet, clapping and stomping, waiting for the Morrigan’s ride. The Morrigan spun around in a circle, appearing overwhelmed by the crowd forming around her.
The strobe lights kicked on and the Christmas lights began blinking. A smile came onto my face as I bobbed my head and clapped my hands to the rhythm of the beat. “Wooo. Let’s go, Mo. Kick his ass,” I shrieked over the music.
The Goddess hooked her thick, long leg over the bull and tested her grip on the pommel. The saddleless brown bull with white spotting had a head with red eyes and golden longhorns. The words Bucking Bronco had been etched into its prominent left and right buttock respectively.
Gareth screamed into the microphone, “Get ready, people. Take a drink and
get ready. We start counting as soon as the bull starts moving.”
I noticed beads of sweat glistening on the Morrigan’s forehead. A rare sight indeed. She gazed around the bar nervously and nodded to Justinian.
The wolf pressed the start button, and the bull began bucking around. The Morrigan had her thunder thighs locked to the machine as the crowd started chanting.
Chapter 24
With the music thumping and Gareth leading the way on the mic, the crowd counted together. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
As the crowd continued counting, I noticed the Morrigan’s grip was faltering and her upper body listed to the right. The uneven motion of the bull jerked in the other direction, and she righted the ship. The bull bucked again, and her hand slipped from the pommel. As the machine rocked around, she stabbed her hand at the pommel to grab it again while trying desperately to remain on the bull.
“Nine. Ten. Eleven.”
The machine did a quick one-eighty and the Morrigan slid on the bull, her body being thrown to the left. As the music blared, and the Goddess struggled to stay on the robotic beast, I thought there was no way she would last twenty seconds.
Golden bits of enchantment escaped from the Morrigan’s nostrils and sprinkled down the side of the bull. The gold dust worked its way into the underside of the bull and up into the mechanics. Was she using magic to stay on the bull?
Over the raucous cheering, the crowd chanted, “Twelve. Thirteen.”
Just as the Morrigan shifted violently and was about to fall off the bull, the harsh sound of grinding gears cut through the music. The herky-jerky bull coasted to a stop with the Morrigan still on top. Barely. The DJ cut the music, and the bar went silent. Hanging off to the side, the Morrigan clawed her way back on top.
The Morrigan straightened herself, smiled, and counted, “Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. And twenty.”
The Goddess swung her leg over the bull as the disappointed patrons returned to their tables. She spun in a circle with her arms at her sides. “Are you not entertained?” she wailed in her best Russell Crowe voice.
