Page 6 of Gotta Dig Deep
He elbowed Junkyard again, harder, aiming at his ribs this time. “Stop it.”
“Ow. Shit, man, you stop it. What’d I do to deserve that?”
“Don’t drool over the waitress. She’s likely got a half a dozen protectors in this bar tonight, and the last thing I want is to pack up my tent in the dark to get back on the road because you offended the locals.” He sighed. “Again.” Shaking his head, he scrubbed a palm across his jaw. “Seriously, man. Reel it in, yeah? I just want a beer and food.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Yeah, and so were the last dozen women who got you into trouble.” He gestured around them. “I like this place, brother. Don’t fuck it up for us just to see if you can get your dick wet.”
“It ain’t like that, man.” Junkyard’s protest fell flat between them as Horse glared at him. “Okay, maybe it is like that. But I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s too bad, because I did.” Two coasters flicked to the bar in front of them, followed by a pair of beers, glasses already wet with condensation. “You’re cute, and I don’t have a ring.” The bartender flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “But if you’re not interested…”
“Oh, he’s interested.” Horse narrowed his eyes as he stared between the two. “But I for one don’t want to get thrown out on my ass. At least not before I have my supper.”
Laughing, she thrust out a hand towards Junkyard. “Laura. Laura McGonnell. Half-owner and bartender of this choice establishment.” They shook, then she extended her hand to Horse. “And I get a say who gets thrown out, which means my vote is it’s not gonna be you two.”
“How the hell does he do this?” Rhetorical question aside, he gestured towards Junkyard. “His mouth seems sealed shut, so I’ll do the introductions. Junkyard, meet Laura. Laura, this asshole is Shepherd Kelmer, aka Junkyard.” He picked up his beer and took a long sip. “And by the silence surrounding us, I’m guessing this is going to be a long evening. I’m Graeme Nass. Not that anyone cares.”
Emptying half his glass down his throat, Junkyard shook himself like his namesake. “Laura’s a really pretty name.”
“So is Shepherd.” She winked. “I need to get to work, but if you stay right here, I’ll come back, and we can chat.”
Junkyard gave an exaggerated wiggle of his ass on the stool. “Not goin’ anywhere, pretty Laura. I’ll be riiiiiight here.”
“Jesus,” Horse muttered, taking another sip of his beer as he looked around the bar. Predictably, there were dozens of eyes fixed on them. Not expected were the smiles and friendly nods sent his way by those same strangers.Maybe Laura is like Dorothy, where what she says goes.“I’m going to see if I can get a game of pool going. I’m guessing you’re out?” Junkyard nodded without looking away from where Laura stood down the bar. “Okay. Keep my seat then, and I’ll be back when the food shows up.”
He slid off the stool and made his way past clumps of men and women clustered around the tall tables, excusing himself and getting mumbled acceptances as he went. There were two pool tables near the back of the bar, both in use and as he got closer, he realized the groups around each table wore vests and patches. The bikers who’d ridden in as he and Junkyard sat outside had taken up residence here, evidently.
“Hey.” He offered one of the men a chin lift. “Can I buy into a game?” Normally all it would take was putting change along the rail to hold his spot for a game, but there wasn’t a single coin in sight here, which told him the rules were different.Now to see how I navigate things.“Just a friendly game.”
“Blackie.” The man’s call wasn’t loud but carried well as he stepped backwards to give someone a clearer line of sight to where Horse stood.
Near the back wall was a stout man with sun-darkened skin, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from staring into the sky, and more wrinkles at the sides of his mouth from laughing. His long beard covered his throat. Not tall but broad through the chest and shoulders, the man exuded a sense of power. Clearly the commander of this mixed group of clubs, he handed off his pool stick without a sideways glance, just expecting someone would be there to anticipate his need. They were.
Big dog.
Blackie stopped in front of Horse and made a slow show of looking him up and down. “Where you from, boy?”
The mannerisms were so like Medric’s Horse couldn’t kill his smile in response. “East coast—Jersey.” He shrugged. “Came here by way of the Carolinas, Minnesota, and Colorado, and all points in between. Just rollin’ through. Thought I’d see if I could play a friendly game of pool.”
“You see something funny?” All humor had fled Blackie’s features and Horse stilled. “Something worth laughing about?”
“No, man. You remind me of a good friend back in Jersey. Helped me rebuild my ride. Good man, good memories. Just stirred up pleasant associations for a minute.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grimaced. “No offense meant.”
“In that case, none taken. And as far as a game goes, we’re starting a new one as of now. Teams.” Blackie held out one hand and two pool sticks appeared out of nowhere. “You’re on mine.”
Grasping the length of wood thrust at him, Horse frowned. “Teams?”
“Yeah. I’m always lookin’ to build my tribe. You feel me?” Blackie rubbed blue chalk on both tips, steadying Horse’s stick as he did so. “So we’ll play a game, see if you gel.”
“See if I gel with what?”
Sweeping his arms wide, Blackie grinned, showing those deep creases in his skin were earned honestly. “With us, brother.”
The next several hours became a blur, game after friendly game paired with glasses of beer. Laura had brought his food to him at some point, and he’d glanced at Junkyard to get a thumbs-up as if he were scoping out the ladies. He’d shaken his head, then eaten his burger and fries in between playing and cheering on Blackie’s turn.
By the time the lights brightened in the bar, Horse realized he might not be three sheets to the wind, but he wasn’t sober enough to ride off into the darkness.
