Page 26 of Pretty Monsters

I set out on foot from the apartment, because I have no intention of being able to drive when I'm done. On our way to the store earlier, I saw an old dive bar a few blocks from our new place. A few more blocks past the bar is a community college, creating a convergence of the rough elements of the neighborhood and students looking for a place to unwind.

A thick haze of smoke hangs in the air inside the bar. There are laws against smoking indoors, but laws don't always reach deep in the bowels of society. Old rock spills out of the jukebox at the back and complements the crack of Billiard balls striking against each other. Conversations fill the gaps between songs and games of pool.

I step up to the bar and wrap my knuckles against the scarred wood surface.

"What'll it be?" asks the bartender. He's deceptively small, but I've been trained to assess opponents and I recognize the fluidity of his movements as someone who can more than handle himself in a fight.

"Beer, whatever you've got on tap," I reply. He nods and I slide money toward him.

After I down the first beer he sets a new one in front of me along with a shot. "You look like you could use that."

I nod. "Perceptive."

"Part of the job." He whips the bar towel off his shoulder and wipes up a spill further down the bar.

The guy who sits there stumbles off the stool. "Hey, Mikey, time to get your boy home," he calls out to one of the guys racking up a new game.

The guy, Mikey I assume, picks up the man from the floor. "Jesus, fuck! He pissed himself!"

"So get him the fuck outta my bar, yeah?" the bartender snaps.

"On it, Carlo," Mikey replies and practically drags the other man out of the bar.

"That's part of the job too, unfortunately," he says, putting another shot in front of me.

"Careful, too many of these and I'll likely piss myself too."

He smirks. "Something tells me you can hold your liquor. Some people come in here to get trashed like good ole Rick there. Some come in here because a beer is cheaper than therapy, especially when a bartender listens just as well. I'm guessing you aren't here for that, but looking for a distraction. How close am I?"

Really fucking close. Like nail on the head close. I scrutinize him further and notice the bottom half of an Army Ranger tattoo. He's as lethal as I guessed, but he isn't presenting himself as a threat.

"With Mikey gone, that group over there is going to need a fourth."

Looking into my beer, I shake my head. "I'm fine here."

Flipping the towel back over his shoulder, he levels me with a glare. "So you didn't come here prowling for pussy?"

My head snaps up. There were always a few women hanging around bars like this. They come to hook up with a bad boy, which they think will add some spice to their lives. Usually, they're down for a one and done sesh, which suits me fine. I have nothing else to offer anyway.

I re-examine the guys playing pool and see a group of girls hanging around them. Judging by the flirting going on, they aren't with any of the guys, but they want to be.

Carlo watches me and chuckles when I rise from the stool. "That's what I thought."

He fills a pitcher and hands it to me. "Bring this over there and they'll invite you to join them."

Grabbing a few more bills out of my pocket I slap them on the bar and take the pitcher.

I don't even have to walk away from the bar before one of the guys approaches me. "You up for playing some pool? We lost our fourth."

"Why not," I pretend I hadn't already been planning to join them.

"Here's a cue," one of the guys offers. He holds out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Ted."

Taking his hand, I squeeze just enough to size him up. He doesn't pull away, which means he doesn't recognize me as a threat. Everything about him reminds me of a puppy. Brown hair flops into his face, which wears an easy going grin. He's eager to socialize and play.

"Jackson," I reply, giving him the name I rarely use.

He points to a preppy guy leaning against the wall. "That's Shane, and the jock scowling at you is Ford."

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