But all was forgiven when the stage at the bottom of the spiraled room came into view.
“Whoa,” Kydd uttered. The three recruits stared down at the platform, upon which a young woman with pink hair was dancing seductively. The largely male crowd roared with approval as her top came off and sailed through the air.
Harnack gleefully shoved the guys forward. “First round’s on me!”
That was when a scantily clad waitress wearing too much eye makeup appeared and led the threesome down one level to a recently vacated table. As they walked, Raynor noticed that most of the patrons were fellow recruits, along with a scattering of regular marines and noncoms.
The latter sat at their own cluster of tables, surrounded for the most part by empty seats. It appeared none of the boots wanted to party next to them.
“What’ll it be?” the waitress chirped as the guys sat down.
“Three shots of Scotty’s No. 8 plus beer chasers,” Harnack answered authoritatively as he patted her rump. If the waitress felt the contact she gave no sign of it and sashayed away.
“What is Scotty’s No. 8?” Kydd asked. His father was very particular about the liquor he kept in the house—this one apparently didn’t make the cut.
“Scotty Bolger’s Old No. 8 is the good stuff,” Harnack said. “Trust me … you’ll like it.”
“Uh-oh,” Raynor said ominously. “Look over there …” he indicated with a subtle nod of his head. “See the marines sitting at that table? Two of them were in the gang we fought on the Hydrus.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Harnack responded. “I do believe you’re right! Maybe this would be a good time to finish kicking their asses.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Raynor replied incredulously. “The way I remember it they were kicking our asses when the noncoms got there.”
“Look at that!” Kydd exclaimed. “One of them waved.”
Raynor snorted, shaking his head. “Kydd, you didn’t see what went on up there. Don’t make jokes … these guys are criminals.”
“Holy crap, the twerp isn’t lying!” Harnack declared, his eyes widening. “Those bastards are waving at us!”
Raynor peered across the room at the grinning ex-cons. “What the …?” He smiled and skeptically lifted his hand into a high sign. “You’ve got to hand it to the drill instructors … they did one helluva job with those guys—” Raynor suddenly realized Harnack had left his seat and looked up to find his friend casually strolling toward the marines, cracking his knuckles.
“Hank! Damn it!” Raynor called out as he leaped from his chair. He turned toward Kydd. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“I’ll wait for the drinks,” Kydd said.
“Good. Order another round. We need to sedate this sonofabitch before he gets himself in trouble.” Raynor turned and headed straight for Harnack.
“Hel-lo, ladies!” Harnack hollered as he approached the marines.
“Good evening,” one of them responded with a smile, nodding politely. The others followed suit.
“It seems you fellas don’t remember me too well. Let me refresh your memory,” Harnack said tauntingly as he leaned forward, fists on the table. “I’m the guy who drop-kicked your sorry asses and left you cryin’ for your mommas!”
Raynor jumped in, throwing his arm around Harnack. “Gentlemen, please pardon my friend here. He’s had a few too many, and we’re just gonna get on our way—”
“Nonsense,” one marine interrupted. “We’re all brothers here, fighting for a common cause. Whatever may have happened between us in the past … consider it long forgotten. Please …” He motioned to two empty seats. “Care to join us?”
“Hell no,” Harnack snarled.
With one hand, Raynor pinched a pressure point on the back of Harnack’s neck—a move he’d picked up in combat training—and steered him away from the table. “Again, sorry for the interruption,” he offered over his shoulder.
“Get off me!” Harnack shrugged his way out of Raynor’s grip. “Those guys are damn freaks. What the fekk happened to them?”
“I don’t know, Hank,” Raynor said as he guided Harnack back to his seat. “The reformatory must be really top-notch, or maybe they got their asses kicked into submission by some hardcore DI or something.” Even as he said it, Raynor couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on. Those marines were just too nice.
The waitress set down their drinks, and Raynor nodded his appreciation. “Anyway,” he continued, “I’m glad they were so understanding, because otherwise you’d have just gotten yourself into a shitstorm of trouble, Hank, and I ain’t in the mood to bail you out again. Consider yourself lucky.”
Hank offered Raynor a one-fingered salute by way of a response.
“Ugh!” Raynor cried after taking a sip of his drink. “This tastes like crap! Why do you drink this stuff?”
“Eh, you get used to it,” Harnack responded.
Just then the dancer kicked her panties out into the crowd, and five marines fought to take possession of them. A beefy corporal won the contest and jumped up onto a table to wave the trophy over his head. The crowd roared with laughter, inspiring the noncom to pull them onto his head like a hat.
“I’m gonna go see if I can buy those panties off him,” Harnack said excitedly, leaping out of his seat and jogging over to the corporal. Laughing, Raynor and Kydd shook their heads in disbelief, and the two watched with quiet amusement as Harnack offered money, got denied, and strode back to his seat wearing a mischievous smile.
“No luck?” Kydd asked.
“Nope. Looks like I’m gonna have to find my own pair of panties. What color are yours, Kydd?” he asked, winking. Kydd playfully shoved Harnack on the shoulder and all three guys cracked up.
As the dancer waved and the stage sank out of sight, two trapeze artists dropped from above and began a series of death-defying stunts. The fact that they were naked made the performance all the more interesting, and the whole crowd was mesmerized—even Harnack. In the meantime the second round of drinks arrived and went down smoothly—followed by another round twenty minutes later.
The Black Hole was full to overflowing by then, and even though Raynor was feeling a little light-headed, he did notice that the composition of the crowd had changed. There were more crewmen in the bar by then—all dressed in space-black uniforms and all apparently off the same ship.
The usual jibes could be heard as the eternal rivalry between the fleet and the grunts continued to play itself out, but things went well until a drunken swabbie spilled a drink on a belligerent recruit, and all hell broke loose.
Harnack uttered a whoop of joy as fists flew and the fight began to spread. Raynor noticed that the ex-cons were still sitting at their table as more people got up to take part in the mayhem.
In the meantime someone attacked Kydd as he was returning from the restroom, and Harnack jumped immediately to his friend’s defense. That brought more swabbies their way and Raynor suddenly found himself at the center of a brawl.
It wasn’t the first such fight to take place in the Black Hole, which was why all of the tables and chairs were bolted to the floor. That kept the furniture from being used as weapons, thereby limiting both the severity of injuries suffered and the amount of damage done to the bar.
The proprietors didn’t want to host a fight, however, so it wasn’t long before distant whistles were heard and the MPs arrived. Raynor, who was trading blows with a burly petty officer at that point, threw a right cross. As it connected with the swabbie’s jaw, the shock of the blow traveled all the way up Raynor’s arm. When he saw the noncom’s eyes roll back in his head, he knew that particular battle was won.