Women like her didn't come into Dubert's Bar. A lot of hookers, a lot of addicts, a lot of women ridden too hard by life to give much of a fuck if the guys grabbed their asses or groped their tits. But none like her. Never any like her.
No one else wore a costume that night. Dubert's wasn't exactly the place for it. But she did, and she drew every eye in the place, including mine. That plaid skirt showed off damn near every inch of her long, luscious legs, and her white chemise, necktie, and big glasses screamed "sexy schoolgirl," even if the women in the costume looked to be in her twenties. The hairstyle was worth more than some of the cars out under the neon glow of the bar signs. Honey-blonde at the roots, nearly platinum at the tips, and long, the kind of hair I loved to tug on back in the days when I was fucking cheerleaders and prom queens in high school and college, before life swallowed me up and spat me out, same as it did everyone else in town.
Yeah. She was trouble and I was the only guy in the place smart enough to feel it. I took one last drag on a half-smoked cigarette, the sexiest thing my lips touched these days. Smoking wasn't legal in bars anymore and hadn't been for the last couple decades, but who the fuck was going to come to Dubert's and complain?
I blew out the smoke and stubbed out the cigarette. The cross on my neck warmed, and the need to go pulsed in my blood. But the finger of Monkey Shoulder left in my filthy glass didn't want to let me go without a goodbye kiss and I took a minute to drain what was left. By the time I dropped the glass on the countertop, she was angling for the bar. We eyed each other -- she knew what I was, same as I knew what she was -- and she nodded just the tiniest bit. I nodded back -- no need for this to break out into anything. She was looking for someone with dirty hands, someone the world wouldn't miss, and I could respect that. We all need to eat.
I stood up, dug out my wallet, and ignored the lazy-eyed man next to me giving the few bills in the sleeve a quick appraisal, no doubt trying to figure out if it was worth the effort of putting a knife to my neck outside. It wasn't, and he refocused on the blonde, surprisingly tan for her kind. The sun didn't actually kill them, not right away, but it would leave their skin looking like Rice Krispies if they were outside for more than a few minutes. This one knew what she was doing. She knew her limits. She was experienced.
That made me harder than the big tits under the chemise. Almost.
I knew what was coming. Knew she didn't need my help. She could have killed half that bar faster than I could have changed the Merle Haggard song on the digital jukebox. I didn't think she would. She was out for a treat and a tease. A bit of Halloween fun. If I was on the clock, I'd probably be obligated to stop her, but I wouldn't have. I only kill them when they're out of control or nesting. A loner on the fringe, picking off the shitkicker wastes of society, shit, I should have bought her a drink.
Go, I told myself. I did, but I moved slow as honey waiting for someone to make a move on her.
It was Raymond who went for it first, Raymond who worked at the lumbermill and lamented what a whore his wife was in the same span of an hour that he'd drag Tina or Tracy, the bar's two hookers in residence, into the bathroom and pump them for a few minutes. When the blonde leaned against the counter, drawing Monte, the bartender, in a hurry, Raymond reached out to palm that tasty ass. I moved faster, grabbing his wrist.
"Don't," I said quietly.
"She's asking for it."
"No. She's advertising it. Doesn't mean you get to touch for free."
"Fuck you, Gardner."
Raymond had friends, and I had attention. Three of them stood up from a slim table, all of them bruisers. The blonde grabbed an empty glass someone left behind on the bar. She balanced on the foot rest and leaned over the counter, showing off her ass in a pink thong. She filled the glass with a tap beer to Monte's weak protest. The beer slopped over and she straightened up, grinning as she took a sip.
In as much time, I was moving. This fight was going to happen the moment I stopped Raymond from grabbing her ass so I struck first. Why waste time?
I still had a grip on him. My free hand came up hard, not so much a punch as a clothesline with my fist. Not the best blow, but enough to knock him off his stool and drive the fight out of him for the moment. The three guys charged me. Frank, Dulcy, and... Dumbass. Let's call him Dumbass. I stepped into their charge and brought up a sharp, swift elbow into Frank's jaw, sending him stumbling back. Dulcy hit me with a right to the forehead. He was a big boy, fat and muscular, and I'm not going to lie, that shit hurt. But it hurt him even more, and he winced just enough that I wondered if he fractured the knuckles or flat out broke them. Dumbass shoved me back against the bar and I rebounded off it, coming straight for him with a feint. He went for the left I teased and I snapped a right into his soft belly, doubling him over with the force of it.
I couldn't put everything I had into the punches or else Monte would be cleaning blood and gristle off the walls and floor and I'd be stuck in my boss's office for a few hours doing paperwork. I didn't care about Monte or his mop. I did care about the paperwork.
Raymond was just trying to get to his feet. I leaned out of reach of Dulcy's next two haymakers and gave Raymond a punt, soft as a kitten for me, but enough to send him sprawling again. From behind, Dulcy got me around the throat.
"Got you now, fucker. I've been wanting to dance wi-"
"Shut the hell up when you're in a fight," I said. I shoved backwards, slamming him against a stool. We went flying, me on top, him with a pretty satisfying grunt. I rose up just far enough to drop back down with an elbow. The breath exploded out of him and his cough was wet enough I think I ruptured something in him.
