Page 28 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter Eighteen

Annie

Gone: one problem.

After a day of fun, we decide to go to Knockout, and as we arrive, Brendan asks, “Have you been here before?”

I shake my head, looking around the bar.

“B-man!” the bartender calls out..

Brendan lets go of my lower back to shake the guy’s hand and introduce me. “Bobby, this is Annie. She owns the new bar up the street.”

Bobby’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh yeah? The one with the police tape? What happened?”

I smile ruefully, letting Brendan explain, “The last time I saw you? I went over to Annie’s bar, and we got robbed. I got shot.” Brendan pulls up his shirt and shows Bobby the bandage, but all I can see are his abs. Holy fuck.

With his eyes wide, Bobby puts both hands flat on the bar and stares at the taped-up gauze. “No way! Pull it up!”

Brendan laughs and shakes his head.

Bobby leans on his elbows. “You know, some girls came in here with T-shirt decals and tried to get me to take ‘em, but it’s a conflict of interest, you know? Sorry,” he says to me.

Brendan sits down on a bar stool and I follow suit, looking around the place. There’s a small stage with a local band playing loudly. It’s gritty. It’s small. All and all, I’d say this is a very laid-back, neighborhood, dive bar where things have the potential to get rowdy. I like it!

Brendan’s argument pulls me quickly back to the conversation. I want to listen to his skill, see if he can do what he said he could. It’ll be very fun to watch. As he presents his case, Brendan leans back sometimes, forward others; animated, serious, louder, quieter, working off his audience of one all the while. It’s like he trained in the art of persuasion. The whole time Bobby is leaning in, sucking it all up like a baby bear drinking his mother’s milk. Do bears have milk?

“Bobby. You’re making the classic, shortsighted mistake. You know when there are four gas stations on one corner? Why do they do that? Because that way, people know where the gas is! It’s a destination point. Look at The 5.”

“The freeway?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah. You ever drive it to Los Angeles?” Brendan jogs a thumb south through the air.

Bobby nods and picks up a bar towel to have something to hold onto, a common thing amongst us bar-folk. “Yeah. My sister lives down there. I’ve driven down it a bunch of times.”

“You know how when you’re coming up on one gas station, you wait for the next stop because you’d rather go where there are more? You know you’ll get a better choice in price, in convenience stores, coffee, more food places… all that stuff. That’s why the solo gas station charges more. They know you’re only stopping there because you’re about to run out of gas, and you have no other option. Given the option of more – people always choose more.”

Bobby drops the towel and scratches his growing beard like someone who loves how long it’s getting. “Oh, I’m catchin’ what you’re throwin’ down.”

Brendan sits back on his stool. “But this goes deeper. What I just said, well, that’s just smart capitalism. But get ready for this, Bobby. See, the way I’m thinking is… she’s the new kid on the block, and the new kid got bullied. If you come to the rescue, what does that make you?”

Bobby puts his arms over his head. “Holy shit. The hero!”

I grin from ear to ear and Brendan laughs. “Damn fuckin’ straight. You’ll be the hero. You and Knockout will have a shine that no one can tarnish. Excellent buzz for you, and more people coming down to Mission.”

I chime in, “We’re stronger together than we ever were apart. People forget that because society teaches fear. Fuck fear.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Fuck fear!! That’s fuckin’ right!” He turns and sweeps his arm through the air in front of the bottles. “What can I get for you guys? It’s on me.”

Brendan starts to order an Oban, but then stops and changes it to a Jameson, neat. I ask for the same and Brendan looks at me with respect, as men always do when you order whiskey and you’re not an alcoholic. “I’m going to text Taryn and Laura, see if they can come down.”

Brendan pulls out his phone, too. “I’ll see if Mark wants to come.”

As I key in a group text to the girls, I smile down at my phone. “Oh man, it’s too bad Mark is taken because Taryn would looooooove him.”

About forty-five minutes later, the only two people left to arrive are Laura and her husband. I texted Manny, too, and he arrived with his cousin, the two of them now sitting a few barstools down, watching the television with smiles on their faces over who knows what. And I was right; Taryn is talking to Mark with a look on her face like he’s Zeus and she’s thunder, waiting to do his bidding. I whisper into her ear, “He’s taken,” and she deflates.

“Of course he is,” she mumbles back, rolling her eyes. “Lucky girl. Have you met her?”

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