Page 41 of Haunting the Hunter
The bartender stands in front of me in a low-cut black tank top. She appears to be chewing gum when she speaks.
“I’ll be with you in one sec, hun,” she says without looking at me.
An old man with a half-empty pitcher of beer sits to my right and an awkward-looking man with a water sits to my left. The woman standing next to him—clearly his girlfriend or wife—is flirting with a small group of women. This guy obviously doesn’t want to be here—hell, I’m second-guessing the decision myself.
“What are ya drinkin’?” the bartender asks as she leans over.
“Double shot of whiskey,” I yell over the music.
She nods and quickly pours my drink, and I toss a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
I don’t even get a sip in before a girl comes over, grabbing my arm. I immediately jerk away, looking her over. Her long brown hair is messy and she looks up at me with large blue eyes.
“Can I sit here?” she pleads with something almost like fear in her eyes. “Please.”
“Fine,” I respond flatly.
She sits close to me as she orders herself a whiskey and Coke. She leans in closer.
“Can I help you?”
My question is quickly answered when a tall, husky-looking guy with a cheap leather vest and a buzzcut approaches us.
“Hey! We’re leaving. Now!” the man says, clearly shit-faced.
I stand, pushing into his shoulder with enough force to keep him from getting closer.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t want to leave with you.”
The guy spits a cackling laugh. “How about you mind your fucking business? She’s leaving with me.” He puffs out his chest and flashes the handgun in his waistband. “Let’s go, Andrea.”
“You’re going to back the fuck off, or I’ll happily cut off your trigger-happy dick and shove it down your throat.”
The guy doesn’t hesitate before swinging at me. I catch his fist almost too easily as he throws another punch.
One of the bouncers quickly comes to investigate and the small girl—still clinging to my shirt—explains the situation. The man is pulled away, despite his protests, and I finally get to take a sip of my drink.
After a few minutes the confusion dies down and the girl speaks up.
“Thank you. My name is Andrea. What’s yours?” she asks shyly.
“Jack. Nice to meet you.” Sorry, Jack, I’m not giving her my real name.
“Would you like me to—”
“No,” I say coldly. My tone says everything she needs to know.
She shrinks into herself. “I was just going to offer to buy you a drink.” She turns her head and gestures to the bartender, requesting another round. “Relax, you’re not my type.”
Two drinks later, I’m feeling much better. Andrea’s been nursing the same drink the entire time, looking straight ahead and not making conversation. She’s nice enough company, quiet.
“You look like you might know the area,” I begin.
“You’d be right. You look like you don’t belong here.”
“I’m in town looking for someone.” I search for an excuse. “My uncle Allen. Short, balding gray hair, always in a pressed suit.”
“Oh yeah, drives a red truck. Saw him about forty-five minutes ago when the bouncers threw him out,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “The guy was wasted. Kept hitting on the bartender, screaming about taking his business elsewhere.”
