Page 41 of Princess's Revenge

“You look like aFranky. Can I call you Franky?”

“Sure,” he gives me smile.

“Franky, can we go to a bar?”

“What?” He looks surprised, “Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“You sure? I mean, we’re almost home, we can drink there.”

“I’m sure. The first shitty bar you find please.”

We drive on for a few minutes and it seems like we’re moving back into our own territory. I don’t know exactly where the lines are, but I’ll find out—Later.For now, I need to get a buzz going.

I need a mind eraser—with no chaser.

We get to a nice-looking place as the sun is about to set. It’s called,Bobby’s,according to the big neon sign outside.

As soon as Franky parks, I open the door and set off at a trot.

“Hey,” he yells at me. I don’t bother turning around.

I’ve got a pocket full of a dead man’s cash and I need to burn out the memory of him…at least for now.

I’m going to have to have to become a ruthless killer if I’m going to take back what is mine. Till I adjust to the blood and gore, I’ll need a coping mechanism.

I push through the saloon doors and find a bar like any other—A dank, dingy little hole in the wall.A few tables and chairs, maybe twelve patrons and a blonde in her thirties behind the counter.

I take a stool in front of her and say, “Five tequila shots please,” putting down a crisp, hundred-dollar-bill.

“Boyfriend trouble?” she gives me a smile, then looks to my left, “Oh.” Francis sits down and it seems like she’s waiting for his permission.

“Come on!” I snap at her, “What are you looking at him for?”

Franky nods and she starts pouring. He leans close to me and whispers, “Would you take it easy?”

I shrug him off and knock back the first shot. I don’t bother with the salt and lemon.

Blech.

That’s one. Maybe if that fat bastard was a little nicer and hadn’t told me to fuck off, I wouldn’t have shot him.

I take shot number two.

Ick.

Nope, I’d have still shot him. That’s what we were there to do.

Shot number three.

To hell with him.

“Maybe you want to slow down there?” Franky looks at me with concern. “At least wash it down with something?”

“Almost done.” I grab number four, down it and quickly take number five before I can change my mind.

Five is my limit.

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