Summer 1992
“Did you hear me, boy? I said, what brings you to my town?”
Sam Hayes grit his teeth and kept his gaze focused forward. So much for a quiet drink after a hard day. He had been sitting at the bar in a small town north of Vancouver, minding his own business, when three country hicks strolled in and decided to stand right behind him.
He sipped his tequila in silence and stared at their reflections in the mirror behind the bar. He noted they were in their mid-to-late twenties. Judging by their restless demeanor, sweaty faces, and huge pupils, they were high on something. Worse than that, all three had the greasiest mullets he’d ever seen.
Sam didn’t want to turn around, and he sure as hell didn’t want to speak to them—especially when the leader’s onion breath made him want to puke. Apparently washing hair and brushing teeth wasn’t a regular part of their hygiene.
Instinct warned that he should face them. These types would probably stab a man in the back—especially a man with darker skin than their own. But after the day he had, Sam didn’t much care what childish antics they had in mind. All he wanted was a quiet drink and the bartender seemed friendly enough. Now, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice in coming here.
Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” lilted through the smoky interior.
Two guys got up, pounded the last of their beer, and took off through a side door. A few others decided to stick it out. Sam had a feeling these boys were well known for causing trouble.
The elderly bartender wiped a tall glass, his eyes darting between Sam and the men. He was nervous. Sam noticed his hands shook as he dried that glass, and he felt sorry for the poor fellow. He felt sorry for those boys, too. They probably didn’t have much to do other than cause havoc in a town with less than a thousand people.
“I said…what brings you to my—”
“I heard you the first time.” He glanced at the bartender and gave a brief nod. Clearly eager to be of some kind of service, the old fellow refilled his shot glace. “Don’t worry. I’m just passing through,” Sam added. He wanted to reassure the old man that he had no intention of causing trouble. But as he lifted the drink to his lips, one of the boys knocked it from his hand. Tequila spattered everywhere. The bartender jerked back and hit the row of bottles behind him. Sam’s shot glass bounced over the wooden counter top and smashed onto the wooden floorboards.
The bartender turned as pale as the whitewash Sam had just finished applying to a lady’s shed. The old guy shook his head, perhaps trying to warn him that messing with these boys wasn’t a smart idea. Sam didn’t care. The bartender had no idea what shit he’d already gone through in his young life.
Sam spun around on his stool and faced the three men. Even outnumbered, he wasn’t afraid of them in the slightest. “Are you going to clean up that mess you made?”
The trio shared an amused glance before the leader tipped his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. “Hell no. Are you gonna get out of my town?”
Sam shook his head. These boys didn’t seem all that smart. “Like I said, I’m just passing through.”
The shorter, heavyset boy looked at his pals. “Then pass through quicker.” His beady brown eyes locked on Sam and narrowed. “We don’t like strangers around here.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. This is the nineties after all. Strangers travel all the time.” Sam spun back around and smiled at the bartender. “I’ll have another shot, please, then I’ll leave.”
The bartender stood frozen to the spot. His terrified glance shifted from Sam to the leader of the pack. “This young man hasn’t caused any trouble, Joseph. Just leave him alone and then he’ll be on his way.”
“You know what my father will do to you, old man, if you don’t listen to me?” Joseph said in a low, threatening voice. “Don’t make me call him.”
The old man’s face turned ashen again. That’s when Sam had enough. All he wanted was a drink and now the poor old bartender was being harassed just for providing him service. He stood, handed a bill to the kind man, and faced the boys. “You’re a poor excuse of a man to threaten him like that. He’s just trying to earn a living like everyone else.”
Joseph snorted. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“How about we go outside and find out?”
“Sure. After you,” he sneered, gesturing with his hand for Sam to go ahead first.
Sam shook his head. He knew the second he turned his back to them, all three of them would be on him. He took a step back and balled his fists, holding them high to shield his face. The fight was going to happen right here whether the bartender liked it or not.
Joseph was the first to come forward. He was slightly taller than Sam and had long arms. He balled his right fist and struck his arm out. Sam dodged back, giving Joseph’s long reach no chance to get close.
One of the other boys grabbed a pool cue from the nearest pool table and held it like a baseball bat. So this is how it’s going to be, eh? He didn’t mind the challenge. As Joseph came at him again, this time with a left hook, Sam bent low and jammed a hard uppercut of his own right into the guy’s ribs.
Joseph stumbled back with a growl of pain. His body hunched forward. Sam knew he’d bruised his ribs, and he would be out of the fray for at least another minute while he caught his breath.
The guy holding the pool cue ran at Sam, holding the skinny end of the cue, and swung the thick end right at Sam’s ear. Sam sidestepped, ripping the cue from his hand. As he spun his body around, he belted the pool stick across his back with all of his strength. The stick cracked over his back as pieces of wood splintered and scattered across the floor. Sam hurled the guy forward with a boot to his ass.
“Save the Best for Last” by Vanessa Williams hummed pleasantly through the bar as Sam yanked on the hoodie of the third man, jerking him forward, and cracked him in the nose. Blood gushed down the man’s lips and chin.
“Fuck!” the guy screamed as Vanessa’s beautiful voice carried through the dismal space like a contradiction. Sam never liked that song but the face behind the voice sure had a lovely appeal.
He jerked to the side as a liquor bottle flew past his face and smashed against a wall.
The man with the broken nose apparently gave up and sat at a nearby seat, holding his bloody face, his terrified gaze sweeping through the room. The third man lunged at Sam, spearing him in the stomach. They flew back and collided against the wall right next to a dartboard. Sam cringed as his back banged hard against the wood paneling, but as the guy yanked back to swing up at him, he ripped a dart from the board and jammed it in the guy’s shoulder.
“Ah! Mother fucker!” He yanked the dart from his flesh and threw it on the floor.
Sam grabbed his bad arm, spun him around, and yanked his arm behind his back. The sharp sound of bone snapping and the guy’s ear-splitting scream echoed through the bar as the patrons stared, wide-eyed, still drinking their beer.
Sam shoved the idiot forward and went after Joseph.
The leader of the crew stood there panting, still holding his ribs. He lifted his hand, palm up, and cried, “Please, just stop! We don’t want any more trouble.”
Sam tipped his head back and let out a rumble of laughter. “Oh, really? I was under the impression that you own this town.”
“No. No, sir,” Joseph said. “I was just joking.” He cringed and lowered his head as Sam walked right up to him, grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the bar.
“You owe this man an apology.”
“I—I’m sorry, Fra-ankie.”
The old bartender looked surprised as Joseph begged for forgiveness like a pathetic child.
“And you’re going to come back and clean up this mess, aren’t you?” Sam added.
Joseph nodded his head fast. “Yes. Yes. I promise. We will. We’ll come back.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of here,” a sharp, dominant voice cut in. “Punks like you make me sick.”
Sam released Joseph and turned toward the commanding tone.
A man wearing a black fedora and matching three-piece suit stood inside the entryway. Two guys who looked close to Sam’s age stood on one side while a big bald guy with scars on his face stood on the other. He looked like he’d snap a neck and never blink.
But the man in the suit was the one who commanded Sam’s attention. He had a sharp stare, as if he could see all of Sam’s secrets. It made him feel as though he stood in the path of a spotlight.
“Mister McCoy,” the bartender said in a shaky voice. “I had no idea you’d be in town today. Let me get you your favorite drink.”
“That’s okay, Frankie. I’m not staying long. We were walking by and heard the commotion. I was beginning to think I’d have to send Benjamin in to finish the job.” McCoy turned his attention back to Sam and smiled. “Where did you learn to fight like that, son?”
Sam cleared his throat, embarrassed to admit it, but he didn’t want to lie to this man. He dipped his head slightly and looked at the floor. “My aunt.”
“Really?” McCoy chuckled. When Sam looked up again, the guys beside McCoy blinked as if in surprise, and the bald guy had yet to have an expression on his ugly face. McCoy ruffled the hair of one of the teenagers. “These are my boys, Terry and Gabriel. We could use a good man like you. How old are you?”
Sam glanced at the bartender and made an apologetic face. It wasn’t the old guy’s fault that Sam looked like an adult, and it wasn’t Sam’s fault the guy didn’t ask for ID. “Seventeen, sir.”
Something gleamed in McCoy’s eyes. “And you can fight like that. I’m impressed. Do you know who I am, son?”
Sam narrowed his eyes and looked the man over more thoroughly. He didn’t look familiar at all. “No, sir.”
“That’s all right.” The man stepped forward and lifted his hand. Sam noticed every finger had a gold ring on it. “I could offer you the world if you come with me. What do you say?”
Auntie Rose needed money and someone to care for her. The doctor said she needed meds to keep her head clear. Without her love and guidance, Sam knew he’d either be dead or in jail, or maybe wasting his life on drugs. It didn’t take much for him to make up his mind.
He looked McCoy straight in the eyes, and shook his hand.