So a psychic and a ghost hunter walk into a bar.
Anjali stared warily at the man in a Confederate flag shirt exiting the Rockin’ Rodeo. She turned to Scott. “I think I’m too brown to feel comfortable in there. You know me and my redneck phobia.”
With his hand on her waist, he steered her through the entrance. “We’re in San Francisco. How red can their necks be?”
“You obviously didn’t see 48 Hours. Eddie Murphy walks into a country-western bar in San Francisco and the whole room screeches to a halt.”
“Don’t worry,” Scott said.
The sawdust crunched under her feet, she didn’t recognize what was playing on the jukebox, and everyone had a domestic beer in his hand.
Anjali didn’t feel very comforted.
Besides, how was she supposed to recognize this Coulter person anyway? There were a dozen blond-haired, blue-eyed men in the place. “Didn’t your friend Eddie have any other details about our guy?”
“All he knows is that Vivica’s lapdogs have checked out every Western dive in the city, save this one and the Sun dance Saloon. If we strike out here, we’ll head there next. Once Vivica gets her hands on this Coulter guy, I won’t be able to get within one foot of him. And the chance to talk to an actual telekinetic? I have so many questions!”
Anjali stared at him. He was practically glowing with excitement.
He’s like a kid in a clairvoyant candy store, she thought.
He maneuvered her toward the bar. “See if you can pick up anything.”
“I’ll try.”
Scott ordered two Millers and asked the bartender if he knew of a Coulter Marshall.
“Nope.” The bartender uncapped two bottles and set them on the counter. “Five bucks.” He turned away to take another order.
Anjali noticed the woman in a halter top and tight jeans seated on a bar stool next to them. She knew something about Coulter. Anjali couldn’t sense any information beyond that, but did notice the woman’s eyes sliding over Scott.
With one hand on his back, Anjali reached for her beer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Talk to Ms. Halter Top next to you. She knows something and thinks you’re cute.”
“And what will you do?”
“Investigate.”
She cut through the crowd and went to stand by the jukebox, scanning the titles. The next song cued up was by someone named Alison Krauss. She looked back to see Scott and the brunette deep in conversation.
Unsure of how exactly to go about investigating, she remained by the jukebox and tried to look like she belonged. She certainly stood out. Didn’t minorities go country line dancing? Or maybe she was being unnecessarily self-conscious.
After fifteen minutes she hadn’t picked up anything. But she’d become a fan of Alison Krauss and Gretchen Wilson.
Sipping on her beer she sat down on a bar stool at the opposite end of the bar from Scott and decided to people watch.
Since Anjali had started working as a psychic, actively using her abilities instead of trying to stifle them, she felt less like a victim and more in control of her life. She even contemplated writing a book. And inspired by the Rockin’ Rodeo, she’d come up with a title.
Even Mediums Get the Blues.
She was distracted from her literary musings (which included being an Oprah’s Book Club pick) by a couple on the dance floor.
The plump blond had her arms wrapped around her date’s muscular neck as they ground their lips and hips against each other, oblivious to all the people around them.
Meanwhile, the only guy paying attention to Anjali was the bald man with a beer belly hanging over his Bronco buckle, breathing all over her.
Across the room, Halter Top had her hand on Scott’s shoulder, and he was laughing, leaning in close to her. Anjali scowled. How long did it take to elicit information anyway?
A giggle caught her attention, and Anjali turned to see the horny humping couple walking by her. The man’s arm brushed against her shoulder, and Anjali felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.
His feelings came through dark and strong.
He was dangerous.
Perverse.
The woman was in trouble.
The couple headed out the back exit. Sliding off the stool, as if on automatic pilot, she followed them.
Anjali trailed the pair into a dark alley.
Now what? she thought.
They were directly in front of her. She had to do something. If she ran to get help, she’d lose them.
So she did the only thing a female with no martial arts training could do.
She threw back her head and screamed.
The couple whirled around and stared at her.
Anjali took a step toward the blond. “Don’t go with him,” she blurted. “He’s a sex criminal!”
She didn’t know what else to call him. Mr. Pervert seemed too lenient. Rapist was a possibility but she didn’t really know what his intentions were, just his depraved feelings behind them.
“Is she crazy or what?” Blond asked.
“Probably drunk,” Sex Criminal said smoothly.
Anjali made eye contact with the woman. “You have to believe me. The man you’re with is violent. You can’t leave with him.”
Sex Criminal tugged on his date’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Anjali focused on the blond, opening her mind to the other woman’s thoughts. “I know you just met him. You think he’s the one. You think he’s saved you from a string of Saturday nights spent with Häagen-Dazs and chick flicks. You’ve watched Cocktail so many times, you know the dialogue by heart. Which I can’t understand because although I liked the movie when I saw it the first time in high school, I saw it again years later and it really sucked.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “How…” She looked at the man beside her, then back at Anjali. “I…I need to get out of here.”
Anjali watched her go off with a sigh of relief.
Then she realized she was now alone in a dark alley with a sexual deviant.
She took a step backward, intending to break into a run.
He lunged, grabbing her arm and twisting it hard, dragging her toward him.
“I don’t know who you are, but you made a big mistake, sweetness.”
He began dragging her toward the end of the alley, his grip unbreakable.
“Now that’s no way to treat a lady,” a male voice purred from the darkness.
Sex Criminal’s fingers dug painfully into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Stay out of this. It’s none of your business.”
“Yes it is,” Anjali called out and winced as the bruising grip tightened on her arm.
As the stranger approached them, her skin began to tingle and tighten. There was now a crackle to the air, the sizzling charge of static electricity.
The stranger was the source. Anjali knew this as certainly as she knew the words to every Depeche Mode song ever written.
The man cruelly gripping her arm, however, seemed to be oblivious to the electrical current slicing through the air. That or he was too occupied with thoughts of a criminally sexual nature. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you,” he said.
The stranger’s lean form drew closer. “Well, there are things I don’t consider my concern. Politics for one. Proper etiquette for another. And what is or isn’t corrupting the tender youth of America today. But a cock monster like you…concerns me.”
Anjali was shoved out of the way as her would-be attacker charged and caught the stranger around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides.
The stranger struggled, trying to break the stronger man’s grip.
Desperate, Anjali looked around for someone to call, some way to help, when the Sex Criminal abruptly released the stranger and staggered back as if pushed. A look of astonishment passed over his face before he went flying back. His body slammed against the brick wall and crumpled to the pavement.
Anjali blinked, trying to process what she’d just seen.
The stranger walked forward into a dimly lit patch of light. Anjali blinked several more times and tried not to gape. She did not succeed.
Her rescuer had blond hair, blue eyes, and a face so perfect it was devastating.
Holy shit, the man was testosterone on two legs.
“Thank you,” she said, continuing to stare.
“De nada, sweetheart.” He leaned over and searched the limp man’s body, pulling out his wallet. Grabbing a wad of bills, he stuffed them into his pocket.
“Word of warning,” he said. “You can tell people about what you saw tonight, but you’ll come off looking crazier than a faith healer at a revival meeting.”
He started to walk away, and Anjali finally found her voice. “Wait! Coulter!”
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
She took a deep breath. “I’m psychic too.”
He walked back, stood in front of her, and gazed down at her face. “Well now.” He smiled. “Isn’t that interesting?”
The noise inside the bar had risen to extreme levels.
Anjali saw a giant in a wife-beater advancing on three men dressed in identical dark suits. “Which one of you stiffs called me a hick?”
Ignoring them, she walked up to Scott, overhearing him ask the brunette next to him, “So you think Coulter will come in tonight?”
“Pretty sure,” she said, her gaze warm with invitation. “Now, about your number?”
Anjali tapped Scott on the shoulder. He turned, and she gestured to the man beside her. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Marshall.”