Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

Amy glanced around. “Slobag?”

“Maybe.” Probably. But until he were certain he ain’t wanted to say, and he were trying real fucking hard not to get mad thinking of it. Why the fuck all this shit starting up now? “Don’t need to be worryin on it, aye? No ghost.”

She nodded, but he could see the question starting behind her eyes, could see her wondering did he wish it were a ghost so’s he could call Chess, or was he saying weren’t a ghost causen he were already working with Chess.

He cut that off with, “Want me getting you a beer?”

“Aye.” She leaned back on the seat and folded her pale arms over her chest in a way that let him know she caught on that he were trying to change the subject. She wore a skimpy little pink dress, with thin straps and a short skirt. How she ain’t froze in that outside he didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny he ain’t minded at all when she looked mostly undressed.

Which kinda made him feel worse, causen they’d hang out there an hour or so, and then they’d go back to his and get that dress off her, and despite the fact that they never made any promises or aught like that—and he weren’t the only dude she saw, neither—he couldn’t help thinking he weren’t really treating her right. No. He didn’t think it. He knew it. And he knew why, which was worse.

The thought stuck in his head as he got up and pushed through to the bar. Thursday night, and especially crowded causen of the cold. Were hot inside Chuck’s; lots of people ain’t had heating, or tried to save what they had causen they couldn’t afford to use it all the time, so anyplace that were warm inside found itself awful fucking popular in winter. Just like places with air conditioning in summer.

But it meant a lot of people to shove aside, and feeling off like he was it only pissed him up more till he got to the bar and held up two fingers. Last time he’d been there he’d met Chess; they’d stood in the back then headed to her place, and he’d stayed til about four. That had been fun. A fuck of a lot more fun than he were having now, with Amy glowering from the booth and the memory of Sue’s face and ghost rumors and trouble from Slobag and the way Chess might think he ain’t trusting her …

Somebody banged into him, hard. On purpose; nobody hit that hard, that direct, without meaning to. He paused, turned around real slow.

He ain’t knew the dude. But he knew what the dude wanted, knew that look. Happened every once in a while, somebody got a few beers in em and decided they was gonna give him a try, prove to some dame or some gang of equally dumb fucks how tough they were.

The gang of equally dumb fucks stood behind him, off to the left, watching.

Normally he wouldn’t bother much. A stare and they backed down; if they did try to swing he caught it and knocked em over or something. Weren’t worth his time.

But this night … this night he were in a bad mood already, and that bad mood made his body feel tight and anxious. This night, instead of being bored or half-amused, heat started building in his chest the second he turned around, the kind of heat that turned into anger. The kind of heat that wanted to get out, like something living inside him, like an itch everywhere he could only scratch by hitting somebody.

The kid—he were a kid, maybe twenty or twenty-one, and big enough that he probably thought he were real hard causen he’d never tried to fight anybody his size, though he were still smaller than Terrible—gave him a smirk, lifting his chin the way dumbasses did before they got smart enough to know they were offering a target to somebody and making oncoming punches harder to see.

Terrible grinned back. The kid wanted to get beaten on? Fine with him. Better than fine; just what he were looking for. He could feel how ugly his grin was, saw it reflected in the way the kid dropped his and tried to take a step back.

Too late. His hand was on the back of the kid’s neck before the kid had a chance to get away, and the feel of the kid’s head slamming into the bar, the way all the bottles on the bar jumped, made his grin widen.

The kid made some sound; Terrible ain’t paid attention. He just grabbed the kid’s hair, yanked it to lift his head—weren’t really necessary since it bounced—and slammed it into the bar again. Then a third time for good measure.

The kid’s friends took off. Some fucking friends. Terrible let go and watched the kid slide to the floor. Then he grabbed the beers from the now-bloody bar and turned back to Amy. A few people were staring; they looked away fast when he met their eyes. The others just went on with whatany they were already doing. Weren’t like him beating on people were a surprise.

What was a surprise was seeing Roley sitting in the booth with Amy. Shit. The tension that had just left him started coming back. Aye, could be Roley just happened to be there and thought he’d say hey—Amy ain’t met him before, what Terrible could recall, but he’d probably have seen her and would know who she was. Iffen he wanted to talk to Terrible it’d make sense he’d go sit with her.

Or maybe he ain’t knew who she was and were tryna pick her up. Terrible ain’t could blame him. Amy were real cute, she were, with that blonde hair all curled and them big brown eyes. Not as pretty as Chess, but nobody were pretty like Chess. He ain’t could blame Roley, leastaways, much as he probably oughta be pissed.

Amy ain’t looked happy he were next to her, though, and the way she jumped up when he got close, the way she grabbed him … Roley were bugging her.

He slipped his arm around her and gave Roley a short half-nod. The kind let Roley know seeing him there weren’t a thrill. “Hey,” he said, and waited for a response.

Roley ain’t looked guilty or aught like that, so guessing he knew who Amy were after all. He nodded toward the bar. “Dude making trouble?”

Terrible shrugged. Weren’t something he wanted to explain, or talk about. He ain’t felt bad about it—the kid asked for it, and he couldn’t let people get away with that shit if he wanted to keep doing his job right—but he did feel … sort of exposed, like everybody knew the kid were just an excuse.

He looked back at Roley. Waiting, and letting Roley see he were waiting, until Roley finally spoke. “Hoping for a quick chatter, you got a minute?”

Funny. He ain’t really realized it til just then, but he didn’t think he liked Roley much. Something about him were just … he ain’t knew a word for it. Smug, maybe. Like he figured everybody owed him everything, everybody loved him, everybody’d do what he wanted.

Problem was it were sorta true. Bump dug Roley’s cousin Lacey; she’d been around longer than a lot of his women, though not as long as a few. But Bump wanted to keep her happy. And Roley’s other cousin Vole had worked with Bump seven years gone, were a good solid man to have around. Vole had proved heself more’n once. Meant Roley had some trust, some name , right up front.

Shit like that might go to a lot of dudes’s heads. Or Roley maybe were just one a them awkward people always seemed like he were being a dick when he weren’t.

None of that mattered iffen Roley had knowledge for him, which were the only reason Terrible could think on why he’d need to talk right then. So he gave Roley a nod, jerked his head toward the back of the room so Roley knew to follow. Roley maybe could have something good for him. Roley knew a lot of people, seemed like.

Or Roley were just a dickhead after all, because as soon as they got to the back, he said, “Were wondering on New Year’s, aye? Supposed to be workin, I am, but got asked to spend time with this dame I’m tryna fuck. Were thinking maybe you let me off, dig? Been tryna fuck she for weeks, see, thinking this might be my shot.”