Don’t rise to the bait. Don’t smack his head into the bar. And for Christsake, don’t shoot him.
“Don’t got nothin’ to say?” A mean smile distorted his mouth. “You’re just pissy I got the jump on you last year.”
Maybe just one small bullet. Right between the eyes.
“You know I could’ve killed you in your sleep.”
I leaned over the bar and pressed the tip of my index finger into the hollow of his throat. “And you know I could still kill you in yours.”
Cowboy Trey froze.
“Don’t got nothin’ to say?” I mimicked.
“Mercy?” John-John said, “Is there a problem here?”
Pressure-point training, what a beautiful thing. If I moved my finger an inch higher, I could put Trey on the floor, screaming in agony. Tempted, I pushed a littler harder. When he whimpered, I whispered, “Is there a problem?”
“Trey?” John-John asked.
“Ah. Nope. No problem. It’s all good.”
I backed off. Smiled. “Excuse me.”
Things slowed down. I restocked my station without fear it’d be overrun with thirsty customers. I was on my knees restacking napkins when I heard, “What’s it take to get a damn drink around here?”
I hoisted myself to my feet.
J-Hawk crouched over the bar, impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter. The man didn’t look good. If his glassy eyes and sallow complexion were an indication, the last thing he needed was another drink.
“You are working. Jim Beam and Coke. A double.”
“Jason, you okay?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“You seem… I dunno. Off.”
“If I’m ‘off,’ it’s because I’m sick of being stuck in buttfuck South Dakota.”
Was it my imagination or had he yelled that?
“Hey, buddy, watch your mouth,” Vinnie snapped, plunking an empty pitcher on the counter.
“Or what?” Jason sneered. “You gonna kick my ass?”
“Yep. And as soon as I’m done busting you up, there’ll be a line of guys waiting to get their shot in. No one wants you here, so maybe you oughta just leave.”
“Make me.”
Five guys crowded Jason. Three scrappy construction workers and one of Vinnie’s buddies.
Not good.
Jason laughed. “Am I supposed to feel threatened? You’re all a bunch of hillbilly douche bags.”
The surrounding area didn’t go silent, but he definitely got everyone’s attention.
“If you don’t like it here, go the fuck home,” Vinnie’s friend suggested.
“Better yet, why don’t you go back and tell the oil company greasing your dick and your hand that we ain’t like the pansy asses in North Dakota. We can say no. We don’t bend over for no one,” Vinnie said.
“You’re all so stupid. You think anything you do or say is gonna mean jack shit? This is big money. Your state will lay down and spread its legs like a money-grubbing whore, just like mine did. The pipeline is coming, whether or not you like it.” Jason grinned and invaded Vinnie’s space. “But I bet you like being bent over, doncha?”
Vinnie shoved Jason, and he flew backward.
Jason stumbled but righted himself, flashing the knife in his hand. “Gonna have to do better than that, cocksucker.”
For Christsake. A knife fight? Before I could jump in, Vinnie’s buddy dragged Vinnie from the fray, muttering about parole.
“That’s what I thought.” Jason closed the knife and clipped it to his belt. “Anyone else?”
Then two of the construction guys-Rocky and Mike-rushed him, getting him on the ground. Encouraging shouts from other patrons muted the sounds of flesh hitting flesh.
Enough.
I vaulted the bar and dragged their stupid, drunken asses away. Jason just lay there with his eyes closed, letting their punches land without fighting back.
When I turned, I was right in Rocky’s line of fire. His wild swing caught me in the face. My head snapped back. The vertebrae in my neck popped like someone had stomped on Bubble Wrap.
Goddammit, that hurt. I squinted through my dimmed vision, slamming my boot heel into Rocky’s knee, knocking him on his ass, and leveling a blow to Mike’s stomach so hard he doubled over.
“We done?” I asked, watching them both wheeze.
Mike nodded and backed off from me immediately, helping his limping friend to his feet.
“You’re throwing them out?” someone in the crowd yelled. “That’s bullshit!”
“Yeah.”
I heard a crash and whirled around to see beer cans and bottles flying at J-Hawk’s head. The dumbass lay there. Like he deserved it. God. And I thought I had self-loathing issues? At least mine were private.
John-John materialized beside me with a wooden Louisville Slugger baseball bat. He shouted to be heard above the din. “No more of that shit in here, or me ’n’ Louis will start busting heads.”
“But he started it,” Rocky complained, pointing to Jason.
“Jesus, Rocky. What are you? In third grade?” I demanded.
“I’m finishing it,” John-John said. “Any more questions?”
Muttering, background rumbles, but no one piped up to contradict John-John. No more bottles sailed through the smoke-clogged air.
“Mercy, doll, you okay?”
I touched my cheekbone and winced. “I’m fine.”
John-John loomed over Jason and spoke succinctly. “If I ever see you in here again, I’ll beat you bloody.”
Sometimes I forgot John-John wasn’t a pushover; he’d split his fair share of lips and heads. Any gay man who participated in the Sun Dance every year was truck tough. He’d forged this bar against all odds, building a place where past misdeeds didn’t matter as much as current cash.
“I’ll get him out of here.”
“No. He’ll either walk out or crawl out on his own, but either way he chooses to go, you ain’t helping him.”
That made no sense.
John-John met my confused gaze head on. “I can’t have you talking to him anymore, Mercy. Look around. My customers are pissed you didn’t let Mike and Rocky beat him to a pulp. Your job is to cater to the local folks who spend money in here week after week. You don’t owe this flight-by-night troublemaker nothin’.”
I owe him my life, danced on the tip of my tongue.
I ducked beneath the bar partition so John-John wouldn’t think I was helping J-Hawk to his feet.
He picked himself up off the floor and rested against the counter. “Looks like I’ll be drinking alone from here on out.” He slid me a twenty-dollar bill. “Can I get a bottle of Jim Beam to go?”
I brown-bagged the bottle and set it next to him. “What the hell were you thinking, spewing that shit? Were you looking for a fight?”
“Didn’t get much of one, did I?” he sneered.
I rolled my eyes at the former Army Ranger. “You against an entire bar? Did you whack your head on the concrete in your fall from grace?”
“I wish.” Jason grabbed the bottle, acting hesitant.
I didn’t want him to leave either, but I had no choice. “Where will you go?” I asked softly.
He shrugged. “Not far. But it’ll still feel like I’m light-years away from where I want to be.”
“Jason-”
“Go help your loyal local customers, Mercy. Forget about me.”
Although everyone stared at him, no one spoke to Jason as he walked out the door.
A bar fight put people in a drinking mood. John-John and I barely kept up. If he wasn’t out on the floor helping Winona take orders, he was behind the bar mixing drinks. I handled bottled and draft beer and poured straight shots. Even the traffic for off-sale booze stayed steady. At one point I had five customers in line.
Frazzled, I demanded, “IDs?” to a pair of underage punks.
“We’re buying beer for our dad. He’s out in the parking lot waitin’ for us.”