Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [18]
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Indian earned a genuine smile from me. “What can I get you?”
“A double shot of Crown and a glass of water.”
“Coming right up.”
I felt his gaze on me as I poured the whiskey. He hadn’t been in before; I definitely would’ve remembered him. “You want to start a tab or settle up now?”
“A tab.”
“No problem.” I busied myself at the other end of the bar. Chatting up customers wasn’t my thing. Luckily, the majority of our clientele were loners who came in to knock back a drink or ten without the social niceties.
Winona did a double take seeing the brooding male sexpot classing up the joint. She turned her head, mouthing “Oh my God,” and fanned herself with the tray.
I muttered, “Tell me about it. So whatcha need?”
“A pitcher of Coors Light and three double shots of Chivas. Pronto.” She scowled. “What kind of asshole says pronto? I wish they’d stop coming in here.”
“Who? Those matching-jacket guys?”
She nodded.
“First time I’ve seen them.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
Winona didn’t flirt with our good-looking stranger while I filled her order—another reason I liked her. She wasn’t working as a cocktail waitress to pick up guys.
I kept an eye on the door to see what respectable citizens deigned to cross our dirty threshold in support of Bill. A few of my neighbors ducked in. The bar filled with people I didn’t know. Twenty years can change the makeup of a community entirely.
John-John scooted next to me. “How’s the meeting going?”
“The guest of honor hasn’t shown up yet.”
“It’s probably past old Bill’s bedtime.” He frowned. “Don’t know how I feel about Clementine’s becoming a meeting place. Don’t any of those people know that Dawson is a regular customer?”
“I guess not.”
“Be funny as hell if he walked in and saw exactly who was plotting his downfall, eh?”
I bumped him with my shoulder. “Hey, don’t be wishing for trouble, since I’m the bouncer tonight.”
John-John gave me a sly look. “Neither of us would mind bouncing on the hot dude at the end of the bar, who is trying very hard not to listen to our conversation.”
“And you know that . . . how?”
“Years of experience, doll.”
“Wanna start touting your blow-job expertise again?”
He smoothed his hands down his leather vest. “I’ve never been one to brag. Besides, he’d rather have a blow job from you than from me.”
I laughed. Hard. I shot Mr. Indian Hottie a sideways glance. He was not so amused.
Bill O’Neil came in, bolting into the back room without so much as a friendly wave.
And the night was just getting weirder and weirder.
With the sundry mix of clientele, Trey’s appearance shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did piss me off. I said, “Kit’s in the back room.”
“So? I’m off duty.” He parked his ass on the stool in front of me. Threw his keys and his can of Skoal on the bar. “Bottle of Bud Light.”
I rooted in the cooler, snapped the cap off with the opener, and slid it in front of him. “Three bucks.”
“I’ll start a tab.” He took a drink. “You know I’m good for it.”
“’Bout the only goddamn thing you’re good for,” I muttered, moving away before I said something I’d regret. Or he said something that’d make me punch him in the face.
When I had to return to his section, he said, “Busy night.”
I ignored him.
“Ain’t talking to me?”
“I’ll serve you, but I don’t have to talk to you.”
Cowboy Trey lifted his head, peering at me from beneath the brim of his hat. “Afraid you might have to defend yourself ?”
“Against what?”
“This and that. Mostly about who’s keeping you company some nights.”
Trey knew nothing. But his smug attitude burned my ass. “Wanna know what I think?”
“You ain’t paid to think.”
Ooh. This was gonna be fun.
Trey eased his lanky frame back. “Look how the mighty have fallen. Got no other options besides servicing drunks in this dive? Sad commentary on your skills after your years of military service.”
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