Mad Sweeney shifted around in the back seat, his hat over his eyes. His knees were seizing up from his 6-foot-5-inch bulk being crammed into the yellow cab. He tried to stretch out enough to pop his joints but couldn't get very far, so instead he kicked the front seat a few times to maybe make the others in the car as uncomfortable as he was.
He could feel the dead wife, Laura's, withering gaze on him for a second, then heard the rasp of fabric on a seat as she turned back around. The cab driver, Saddiq-not-Saddiq, just went on talking - he didn't even stutter a syllable.
Sweeney could feel his coin just feet away, buried in that bitch's belly and powering the abomination - it was so close, yet so fucking far away. Everything would just be easier if he could have ripped it out of her at the motel. But no, she had to give it to him, not to mention she had that freak bitch strength going for her.
No, he was going to have to get her to Kentucky before he could get his coin, and his luck, back. So Sweeney settled in to his seat, trying in vain to get comfortable, and thought of the first, and only other time he'd lost his lucky coin - getting it back that time had been a hell of a lot more fun than this.
That time he'd been woken up, not by crash in a bathroom stall, but by a hand rooting around in his pants. Sweeney was groggy and a headache was already threatening to crack his skull open.
He tried to say something and roll over but it came out as more of an angry moan. The hand snatched itself away and Sweeney heard steps running off.
Sweeney lay there for a few minutes, gathering his strength and then finally pushed himself up. He was lying in an alley - mercifully shady at this time of the morning - surrounding by contents of a dumpster that had been turned over.
This was a new one for Sweeney - he always ended up on a bed or indoors at least.
He braced himself and stood up, but almost fell back over thanks to the headache that somehow managed to pound even harder. He looked to the left and right and chose to go right - the sun was shining bright to the left.
Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away - if it was really important it would present itself in time.
He looked around once he got out of the alley and it was the building just across the street that told him where he was. "Hair of the Dog" read the sign on the pub.
As he was watching, the "open" sign turned on.
"Why not," Sweeney said to himself. He ran a hand through his dull red hair, and back through his short beard of the same colour, brushing away any garbage that managed to tag along with him.
When he walked into the pub the middle-aged woman wiping down tables looked up.
"Hey, stranger. It's been a whole..." she looked at the clock above the bar behind her. "...eight hours since you were here last. Did you miss me?"
Sweeney rolled his eyes and waved his hand like he was batting her words away from him. "Rye" he said simply.
The smile slid off her face and she went to fix him his drink without a word. Sweeney followed to her to the bar.
Almost as soon as she set the rye down in front of him he picked it up and downed it one swallow. "Another"
She raised an eyebrow, but poured the drink and again Sweeney downed it immediately. Once the fire passed through his chest Sweeney started to feel better.
He asked for another, but she didn't move. "Show me your money first, that'll be eighteen dollars for the two."
"Fine," Sweeney said simply. He reached to his back pocket, but found nothing there. He patted his other pocket then, finding nothing there either. He felt all over then remembered the hands on him before he woke up.
Sweeney swore, and the waitress's face turned from incredulous to angry in a flash.
"You start shit up last night, now you're stealing drinks? Get the fuck out."
"Hey wait a minute," Sweeney started, but he didn't get any farther because the woman had pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under the bar.
"That's not going to work for you sweetheart. Pour me another drink and I'll show you a trick."
Her finger responded by pulled the trigger, making Sweeney's ears ring as the shot passed just over his left shoulder. That had never happened before, guns in his direction always misfired, or weren't loaded, or any number of things that meant they didn't fire at him.
This was bad.
Sweeney backed out of the pub slowly, his hands in front of him, watching the woman follow him out the door with the barrel of the gun.
He turned around when he walked out the door and started stomping "fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
Then the car hit him. It clipped his hip and sent him spinning and tumbling to the ground. He lay on the pavement and heard the squeal of tires as the car swerved and then the revving of an engine as it sped off.
This was very bad.
Sweeney got up gingerly, he was going to have a few bruises later, and he wiped the blood that was trickling down his face.
He got back on the sidewalk and started emptying out his "pockets", pulling the coins from everywhere, but the one he wanted didn't come.
Now he knew what had been gnawing at the back of his mind - his lucky coin was gone. This was the real deal, the one fit only for kings and gods.
Having figure out what it feeling was, Sweeney could follow it, the slight tug pulling him west - no, northwest.
He shouted another couple times for good measure, scaring a nearby tomcat in the process, then started walking toward the pull.
It must have been that woman from last night - a nice piece of ass. She was a redhead - dyed, but that didn't bother him. He bought her a drink and she seemed to warming up to him, she was laughing at everything he said and leaned in when he grabbed her. But it all got ruined when that fucking bruiser picked a fight. Sweeney couldn't remember anything after that.
He and the woman had made a bet, something about the pool game. He'd bet her a coin she couldn't make a shot - mostly to get to her bend as far over the table as she could - and when she made it he must have given her the wrong one.
By the time he got to the roadside motel just at the edge of the city it was getting dark again and Sweeney decided he would try to buy the coin back from her - he'd give her a hundred more if that's what it took.
The only room with a vehicle in front of it was number twelve so Sweeney knocked on the door.
A woman opened the door, the same woman from the night before. She looked confused and then surprised.