Page 116 of Smooth Moves
“Uh, not a great idea,” she said and nodded to the group by the pool table, who looked tense and not at all happy at the idea of police.
“Fuck. Okay. No cops.” Everyone settled down. “I don’t suppose you could refuse the kids service if they showed up again?”
She nodded. “Oh, that we can do. We don’t like guns in the bar, you little assholes. That brings trouble.” A large bald man appeared from a room behind the bartender. “Lane will show you out.”
Cash frowned. “He’s not gonna hurt them, is he? I mean, they’re stupid, but they’re teenagers.”
She sighed. “Lane, don’t hurt them. But we will be keeping the guns and the baggie as collateral, should you idiots ever come here again.”
Cash couldn’t be sure she wasn’t including him in her warning. “I’m leaving too, no worries.”
She winked at him. “Nah, you can stay, sweetheart. I like ’em big.”
The guys at the bar laughed. The barfly whistled. “Me too.”
Lane hauled the kids by their collars outside. Someone collected the guns. And then the bar returned to normal.
Before Cash could leave, one of the big guys from the pool tables neared him. Just great.
“Hey, we want to talk to you in the alley.”
“Why?”
“Please.” The man who smiled showed a gold tooth.
Cash realized he wouldn’t be leaving without a fight. But not wanting to involve more people than he had to, he sighed and reached into his pocket. He’d left his phone ready should he need help. And it looked like he’d be needing that after all. He hit a button before turning his phone silent, alerting Ritter to send help, ASAP.
“Fine.” Cash followed Gold Tooth, aware the guy’s two large friends walked at his back. They pushed through the doorway, and he found himself shoved up against the wall getting patted down. They turned him around, each thug pinning one of his arms to the brick wall. A workingman’s crucifixion, he thought with ill humor.
At least he’d been smart enough not to bring his wallet. But he had his phone. Or he’dhadhis phone. Now Gold Tooth tried to scroll through it but got stuck at the authentication.
“Hey, what’s your password?”
The other two men had height and muscle, but nothing Cash couldn’t handle unless they turned out to be ninjas or MMA types. One was bald and wore a red shirt. The other had a cap of dirty brown hair and wore blue.
The alley was empty and dark, barely lit by an overhead streetlight. There was a dumpster to the right, and trash littered the tarmac; the scent of stale beer and vomit made the place altogether unpleasant.
“What is this about?”
Gold Tooth scowled. “I said I need your password.”
“No. I’m not a cop. Not gang-affiliated. I just came to deliver a message to some wannabes. So what’s the problem?”
Gold Tooth shook his head. “The problem, cowboy, is that this is our bar. And we like WSW. We didn’t like what you said about them being in jail or shot up. We want you to say you’re sorry.” He smiled.
Red Shirt. “Yeah, say you’re sorry.”
He had horrible breath. Cash cringed, and Blue Shirt laughed as well. “Scared?”
“Of his breath,” Cash muttered, to which Blue Shirt laughed again.
“I like this guy.”
“I don’t.” Red Shirt frowned.
Blue Shirt hit Cash in the gut. A love tap. “Better, Jim?”
“A little.” Jim—Red Shirt—grinned.
