Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

“I leave town and my brother hooks up with my best friend,” Brendan said. “You think that’s normal?”

“You didn’t have any claim to me.” Her anger grew with each swallow of sugary tequila; Brendan could see it in her eyes. “We knew each other for years, and you never asked me out.”

“And I’m only back in town for three days before you ask me out?”

“Are you fucking serious, Brendan?” she snapped, adopting the overly loud voice of someone who’s had three margaritas in thirty minutes. Brendan gave no response, instead opting to take the last swig of his beer.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?” He knew he should just end this and go home. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. “Things must be going real well in Casa del Rhodes if you’re going on dates with your husband’s brother while he’s out of town.”

“I don’t need this.” She got up, grabbing her purse in the process. Brendan remained at the table for a moment, irritated with both himself and Michelle, but most of all furious at his brother for sins past and present. One look over his shoulder revealed a dozen pairs of eyes following Michelle from the bar.

Screw it. He couldn’t leave things like this. He drove the bottom of his clenched fist into the thick wooden tabletop and found both pain and relief. Instantly feeling more centered, he got out of the booth and followed Michelle towards the back of the bar, wondering where she was headed; her truck was parked out front at the diner. The patrons of the bar watched, some concerned, some smiling. Brendan dismissed them and pursued Michelle out through a backdoor positioned between the doors to the restrooms.

Now in the alley behind Trish’s, this little blowup had gone far enough. Brendan gently grabbed Michelle’s arm, trying to maintain his cool and not hurt her unintentionally. She was drunk, and still his friend, no matter what. Her face still prominently displayed all the fury such a small package could handle, but Brendan didn’t care. All of a sudden he just felt the need to hold her in his arms. When Michelle didn’t immediately recoil from him, he slowly wrapped his arms around her.

“Oy, you,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Brendan spun quickly, knowing immediately that despite his best intentions, someone was about to get hurt.

Chapter 16

Standing next to the bar’s dumpster was Mohawk, and Brendan wasted no time. Conditioning took over and he charged at the man, knowing he’d probably need to withstand at least one good smack from the man’s club. The man’s smirk turned upside down comically at Brendan’s rush, but Brendan wasn’t laughing. The club glanced off his shoulder as he drove the tattooed Englishman up, and then straight down into the dirt. If he’d stuck around in high school football, his coach would’ve been proud of him.

Michelle screamed behind him, but the bloodlust had taken over. Brendan ripped Mohawk off the ground and slammed the man’s face into the corner of the dumpster. The disgusting crack said it all. Brendan let Mohawk slump lifelessly to the ground, grabbing the club out of his limp grip.

Facing the other way now, Brendan got a good view of some thug struggling to contain Michelle, as three others approached Brendan warily. Seeing their leader’s head caved in probably sent an intimidating message, but two of these idiots hadn’t listened too well. They charged Brendan, but unlike Mohawk, he wasn’t skittish. His club cracked the first guy’s head across the path of the second, knocking both to the ground.

As the guy on top of the pile tried to get up, Brendan was on him, grasping the man’s head between his hands and then slamming his knee into the bridge of the thug’s nose. A muffled cry resounded from behind the man’s hands as he fell, covering his bleeding face.

Brendan turned to the man holding Michelle, who’d stopped thrashing about. Her wide eyes displayed shock at Brendan’s violence, but that was how shit got done. He wasn’t about to let these dickheads cheap-shot him again. Sensing movement to his left, he pivoted and connected his boot to the side of the head of the man he’d clubbed down moments ago.

The guy restraining Michelle started to drag her down the alley, saying, “Come on, Jasper.” The only other thug left on his feet looked from Brendan to the other guy a few times before hesitating, and then bolting. As he passed his counterpart, that dipshit let go of Michelle and followed suit, running like his life depended upon it.

That much was probably true, with the murderous rage coursing through Brendan’s veins. As he walked towards Michelle, who looked absolutely dazed and confused, he could feel the supreme tension that just begged for one more moron to come at him. Instead, he had to just grit his teeth and clench his fists in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

He watched the two fleeing men retreat all the way around the far corner before addressing Michelle.

“You okay?”

She stared past him at the two unconscious men, and the one still writhing, gripping his face. Brendan tapped her on the arm and repeated the question. This time she looked up at him.

“Uh, yeah,” she stammered. She rubbed her arm where the thug had grabbed her.

“You sure?”

“I’ll live.” Her eyes fell back on the unmoving bodies. “Are they dead?”

Brendan followed her gaze over his shoulder. “I don’t think so, but it’ll take more than Advil to cure those headaches.”

“You think this is funny?” She stared at him now the same way people did when he told some of his old war stories. In the past he’d tried to explain to them that he wasn’t insane, but civilians couldn’t understand that. All they saw was a guy who glorified violence, even when that violence was all that separated them from the realities of the real world. People just had no idea what life was like outside the soft, cushy boundaries of their bubblegum existences.

“No,” he responded evenly. “It’s not funny.”

She brushed past him and approached the three downed men cautiously. The one still conscious slowly got to his feet and started weaving his way past the crates strewn behind the bar. Every muscle in Brendan’s body wanted to chase him down and maul him unmercifully, to confirm the threat was contained, but one glance at Michelle’s face told him that was a bad idea. He let the guy go. Michelle didn’t seem to notice the man at all as she stared at the other two.

“Do you recognize them?” she asked.

“Just the one with the Mohawk,” he replied, standing next to her now. “You know him?”

“I’ve seen him around.” She crossed her arms tightly. “Kind of hard not to notice someone like him around here. I don’t know his name, but he hung around my cousin.”

“Good enough for me.”

Brendan ushered Michelle quietly back through the bar and out the front towards her truck. When she moved towards the driver’s side door, he gently redirected her to the passenger side.

“You look like you’re in shock,” he said. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

She nodded as he opened her door and helped her up. He walked back around the truck and got in behind the wheel. As soon as he turned the key in the ignition, the chair automatically started shifting forward to Michelle’s preferred position. With his knees jammed up against the dashboard, Brendan managed to reach over and shift the seat all the way back again. Feeling more comfortable now, Brendan backed the truck out and headed down the road.

Cruising silently towards Michelle’s house, the fight behind the bar replayed repeatedly through Brendan’s head. A couple of things didn’t really make sense, like how did they know he’d be there? Maybe they’d been spying on him and saw the two of them head into the bar. Hell, they could’ve had a guy inside the bar watching them and he’d never have known; he didn’t recognize most of these thugs at all from his previous life in Shallow Creek.