Page 44 of Wicked Pickle

Merrick pulls on an extra foamy pilsner. That tap is probably low, too. “Yeah, pick up my summer gown at the dry clearer and stop for that divine French cheese we sampled yester morn.”

I kick his boot out, making his leg collapse, one of our favorite ways to piss each other off.

He turns, fist in the air, like he can actually move fast enough to punch me.

I duck, spinning past him. “Too slow. Always so damn slow.”

He leaps at me, his knees on either side of my back, and grabs my hair.

Amateur. I lean over in a flash, dumping him onto the floor.

The bar roars with appreciation.

“Fuck him up, Diesel!”

“Really knock some sense into him!”

Merrick pops into the air and runs at me, dragging his arm around my neck. I should have seen the headlock coming. I’m shit at getting out of that.

“We need a beer, motherfuckers,” someone yells.

“We need women!” someone else cries.

“Bring back the bitches!”

This starts a chorus.

“Bring back the bitches! Bring back the bitches!”

Shit. We riled them back up.

Merrick lets go of me to grab a mug and fill the man’s order.

I stand, hands on my hips, glaring at each one of the motherfuckers who won’t shut up about the girls. Vicki is laughing her head off.

“The tap,” Merrick says. “Last thing I need right now is a lack of Guinness.”

Right. I head through the doors to the other side of the wall to switch out the keg. I lift the others. Yeah, the other one is nearly gone. I poke my head through the doorway. “Drain the pilsner.”

Merrick salutes and starts filling a pitcher.

I wait on the other side until it rattles three times. He’s done.

When they’re both switched out, I pause at the door to the bar to make sure nothing’s out of line.

The crowd has stopped yelling for the moment. I lock eyes with Merrick. He gives a nod.

Okay, I’ll get the girls out of here. I stride toward the office.

“You got the women back there?” Jose asks over the grill. “Keeping them all to yourself?”

“Something like that.”

I shove my key in the office lock. Time to figure out what to do with them.

Troublemakers. Both of them.

Fortunately, that’s my favorite kind of woman.

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