Chapter Forty One

There’s a rhythm to nightlife. Ask any one who has worked in a bar, or in the evening entertainment world. Each night has its own regular rhythm -- Fridays aren’t the same as Tuesdays, Saturdays not the same as Fridays -- and part of that rhythm comes from the venue, and part of it from the regulars, and part of it from the crowd that shows up any particular night. Part of being successful at my job -- and I defined success as having a quiet night, not having to go hands on with anybody, and everybody having a good time -- is knowing how to read and feel that rhythm, know when to step in and when to let things alone.

Leaving things alone is a fine balancing act.

Do it too much, you lose control, of the situation and of the group perception of you, which in my line of work is fatal. Appearance of weakness is the same as weakness in the bar, because you don’t run into the sophisticated opponent (guys like Deon and some of the others a notable exception) that knows how to read past the surface. So you have to be firm, but not an asshole -- a diplomat with the capability to be a general.

A nice guy who can kick some ass when it comes down to it.

Tonight was one of those funny nights. Nothing wrong, in fact everything right; busy but not too busy, crowd happy and laughing, juke box playing some old classic blues -- Son House, one of my faves -- Little Dick making an appearance and holding court down at the waitress station, Thieu hustling drinks, and the quiet gal that had started as a weekend waitress making the rounds. Deon was in his corner, stacking up dead soldiers in front of him, taking the occasional call on his cell, nodding to acquaintances and, from time to time, doing a little bidness.

Me, I sat on my stool till I got tired, got up and prowled a little bit, sipped on a Dark Lady, watched.

Something felt funny, though.

Wasn’t quite the full moon, though that was coming. That’s something else that factors in, something any cop or paramedic or bartender or bouncer will tell you -- when Grandmother Moon is riding high and full, the bull loon crazies come out of the woodwork and they will find their way to the local watering hole. Lizzy had told me once that the two days building up to the full moon, and the two days after, were actually the most intense days. Great, a whole five days of crazy.

Of course, I had a whole lifetime of crazy, so it felt like home.

And then she walked right up to me.

“Hi there!” she said. Blond, short hair cut to her neck in an expensive haircut, grey jersey dress that looked sprayed on an athlete’s bod, firm breasts, the long legs and hard ass of a serious runner, light tan, blue eyes, spike heels -- oh she was a piece of work. And what the hell is she doing in Moby’s?

“Well, hello,” I said. “And what can I help you with, young lady?”

Dimpled. Oh hell yeah.

“Well, handsome man, I’m looking for a friendly place to have a drink and knock some balls around. Is this that kind of place?”

I laughed. “There’s some ball knocking available, that’s for sure. What kind did you have in mind?”

She punched my arm, a good punch, too. “Bad man! I heard that you have pool tables here.”

“We do.”

“So I want to work some stick. Can you help me out?”

Oh, this one knew just what she was doing. Nice smell, too. But something surely out of place when a woman of this measure showed up in Moby’s.

“And how did you find our fine establishment?”

“Looked in the phone book, handsome. From my hotel.”

“Just visiting?”

“Just business. So what’s a girl got to do to get some game?”

I pointed her to the four tables in the back. There was a desultory game going on with a couple of young guys from the welder’s shop down the block knocking some balls around, but the rest of the tables were free.

“Go on back,” I said. “You’ll get as much game as you can handle.”

“Thanks! How about you, like to knock the balls around?”

“Working, honey. But thanks for the offer. Maybe later.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing…”

She ambulated away, her hips and legs moving in erotic array on those high heels. She wasn’t a dancer, I could tell that. Serious jock, though, working out was serious business for her. And she was already working the room big time. Every male head swiveled to watch her cut a swath through the crowd. I couldn’t hear what she said to the boys at the table, but it started with laughter and ended with them racking the balls up, and her going through a long erotic evaluation of the available pool cues, running them through the O of her thumb and forefinger as thoughtfully and thoroughly as she probably handled a cock.

What a piece of work.

But something wasn’t right about her.

Deon caught my eye, tilted his head in her direction, and gave me a big grin. I shrugged, mouthed, “Go for it,” and turned to watch how the rhythm in the bar had changed. Like a shark had entered the water.

***

Nina took a half-empty bottle of Cuervo Gold Especial from the cabinet above her refrigerator, a lucky shot glass with the crest of the Special Operations Command etched on the side, a cold lime from the fridge and a sharp knife from the drawer. Sliced up some limes, took down a salt shaker and arrayed the limes and the salt shaker on a small plate. Went back into the front room, still dark, walking with a sureness through her familiar room in the dark, blinking till her night vision came back. Poured a shot, licked the back of her hand and sprinkled salt on it, licked the salt, did the shot, bit the lime.

Again.

And again.

Three was a good start to the Gold Rush.

She let the tequila steam it’s way through her system, coil and burn in her empty stomach. Thought about…

No.

She didn’t think about him anymore.

Her lip curled, and she did another shot.

Looked out the window, the moon riding high.

Picked up her Glock 30 from the table, press checked it, saw the reassuring blink of fresh brass in the chamber. Lay back on the couch, her legs kicked akimbo, the pistol in her lap, stared up at the ceiling.

She didn’t want to work tonight.

She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

Stroked the pistol down her thigh, set it beside her on the cushion.

Thought about Nico, what he would look like naked. Hard muscled, with just the little edge of softness that comes with age, no matter how hard you worked the weights. Probably some grey in his body hair, since he wore no facial hair and kept his head shaved bald. Would he be shy about his body? Or bold?

The thought warmed her between her legs.

She smiled at that. It had been a long time.

Maybe it was time? Maybe she should just look at some uncomplicated fucking, just to see if she remembered all that? Her body did. Craved it, the hard rocking release, straining up against a man, or back against him, the shudder and shout of orgasm, that complete and thorough limpness that came over her after.

Right before she wanted it again.

Picked up her pistol, sighted it with one hand at the photograph of her and…

No.

Put the weapon down again, let her hand cup herself, felt the warmth there.

No. She didn’t want that emptiness. She wanted to be filled up.

But then, if she wanted that, why didn’t she just get it?

Nico, sure. He was divorced, had an on again off again girlfriend, some kind of aerobics or fitness teacher down at Gold’s Gym. But that wasn’t who she thought about.

Jimmy?

Sure, she’d do Jimmy. She remembered him running the carbine, the look on his face. She’d trusted him, and that was something she didn’t do lightly. She laughed to herself. Nina didn’t need to trust a man to fuck him. She just needed to trust herself. And something about Jimmy made her not trust herself. And there was LIzzy…Nina never let conventions stand in the way of getting something, or someone, that she wanted, but there was something very different about those two. Lizzy was surely not what she appeared to be, not just an exceptionally beautiful stripper and maybe part-time call girl; Jimmy was surely not what he appeared to be, a smarter than average bouncer in a rough bar.

Of course, Nina wasn’t what she appeared to be either, was she?

Were you, Nina?

Time for another drink.

And then, what the hell, go out to work. Better than sitting here alone in the dark with a bottle of tequila and a .45.

***

“Seen enough?” Marcus said.

“Hours ago.”

“Time spent in reconnaissance is never time wasted.”

“I saw that movie.”

“The one with Charley Sheen?”

“Har, har, har.”

“Lead on, SEAL. I like the way you crawl.”

They quietly stowed the optics in dark canvas drag bags, then made their way down the hill, slowly and stealthily crawling till they were on the far side of the hill away from the sprawling farm house. Stood, and walked quickly through the brush. They didn’t need the AN-PVS-5s they carried; the almost full moon shed more than enough light, and they had already cleared their egress trail before they had set up. They were silent, pausing every five to eight steps for a heartbeat or so to listen, to hear if there were any footsteps or rustling brush or hushed voices, and then continued. It took them almost forty five minutes to make their way back to the pull out where their Dodge Ram was parked. Discipline won out over the desire to snipe at each other; not a word was exchanged until they were in the truck, the engine running, and they were wiping their faces with baby wipes.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Marcus said.

“What do you think?” Joe said.

“Hmm. Won’t be a cake walk. But not insurmountable. Wish we had better intel about the layout inside. She’s only got eight shooters, and the two guys that do all the heavy lifting. So say ten. We’ve got six, but we have superior firepower. And we’re better looking. So I say we stealth in close and hit them long hard and continuous.”

“I don’t think we should do it that way.”

“So what the fuck else is new, Joe? You got a better idea, kick it out.”

“I think we should stealth in, take them out quietly, do it suppressed instead of heavy. That way we don’t run the risk of the people the next farm over hearing and calling the sheriff. Then we got plenty of time to clean out their warehouse, and if we leave some bodies to do the lifting, it’ll go even faster.”

Marcus considered this. “You mean kill them later?”

“If at all. They’re in this for the bank. Make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

“You know, for a guy who’s never done nothing but swim and watch movies, you come up with some good ideas. We’ll run it by D and Jimmy, see what they got to say.”

“How come Jimmy don’t play with us on our game?”

Marcus shrugged. “Man goes his own way. That’s his business. I’m glad to have him take my back any time.”

“You got history with him?”

“No. We been to some of the same schools, played in some of the same sewers. He’s good people, just making his way differently.”

“What the fuck is he doing bouncing drunks?”

Marcus shrugged. “Not my problem.”

He turned the truck in the direction of Lake City, glowing in the distance beneath the moon.

“Moon’s coming full, my friend.”

***

“Eight ball in the side pocket,” Dee said. She leaned over the table, stroking the cue between thumb and forefinger slowly and lasciviously, then bridged the cue and rapped the cue ball sharply. The eight ball cracked into the side pocket, and she slowly straightened, every man’s gaze shifting from her ass and legs to her proud breasts and flat belly. “Pay up, cowboy.”

The lanky machinist in the straw cowboy hat laughed and shook his head, put a handful of wrinkled bills on the stack beside her.

“Guess I got took in a big way,” he said.

“You play, you pay, big boy,” Dee said. She leaned over and brushed her lips against his, her nipples brushing his arm. “Come back when you got some more money, honey.”

He strode off, his face red.

“So who’s next?” Dee said.

“You should give the boys a rest,” Deon said. He was leaning against the wall, watching the show. The other men laughed. She wasn’t getting any more takers. Dee looked him up and down, then picked up the stash of cash and riffled through it. At least a couple of hundred bucks in two hours. Not bad.

“You want to play?” Dee said.

“No, not my game,” Deon said. “I’ll buy you a drink, though.”

“Sure, handsome. Where’d you get that accent?” She put her cue back in the rack, struck a pose in front of him, hip cocked, fist on hip.

“Africa. South Africa.”

“I loved that movie!” she gushed. She tucked her hands around his arm and steered him back towards the table he’d been at. “You be Robert Redford and I’ll be Meryl Streep, okay?”

It was a good arm, she thought. Lean and very hard, not the bulky show muscle you got with a lot of gym rats in LA, but the long muscles of someone who earned his strength in doing something with his hands besides jerking off, pumping weights and injecting steroids. She bumped against something on the left side, just over the hip bone, a good sized pistol from the feel of it, primary? Maybe a secondary or a back up.

She steered him back to his seat, waited till he pulled the chair out for her, settled herself pertly in place, crossed her legs and pumped one foot restlessly.

“What would you like?”

“I’m warm. A beer, I think. Corona. Reminds me of the sun!”

Thieu came over, gave her the look. Brought back a beer.

“Cheers,” Deon said.

“Chin chin!” Dee said. Sipped her beer. And debated with herself about when and how to kill her date.

***

Deon and his new lady love left early, not quite midnight. The witching hour. I watched them go, New Girl hanging on his arm, laughing at all the right places, breast shoved firmly against him. Deon with his usual huge grin, a wink to me as he went by.

“Night, oke.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I said.

“I bet that leaves the door wide open,” New Girl said, winking at me.

“Yeah,” I said.

She shrugged. “Next time, honey. You got to step up you want to get to first base.”

“Sure.”

I stood out on the sidewalk, looked up at the night sky. Watched them disappear around the corner. Took out my cell phone and tapped out a quick text message: WATCH YOURSELF. SOMETHING NOT RIGHT WITH THIS PICTURE. Sent it.

Wondered.

Back inside on the stool, I felt for what was missing in the ambience, the feeling of the place. Something had gone out of it, something dangerous. Because that woman was not what she seemed.

I felt someone coming, turned to see.

Nina.

And she was hammered.

“Hey Jimmy,” she said. “How you doing?”

“How you doing? You been at it someplace else?”

She shook her head no. “Drinking alone. Bad habit I got. Looking for some company. You off yet?”

“Not till 2, Nina. But I can take a little break in place. You want something…maybe some coffee?”

She considered this. “Wide awake drunk? Probably a good idea, Jimmy. Coffee, black. IV drip.”

I laughed. “We can do that.”

I got her coffee in a giant to-go cup from the kitchen, almost a quart’s worth. She pulled a stool up beside me and held the cup between her hands.

“Two of us on the door tonight, huh?” she said.

“Best protected place in the city.”

“No shit.”

“How you doing, Nina? Don’t seem yourself tonight.”

“Very observant. That’s something I like about you. You always see what’s going on. Don’t always say something about it, but you always see what’s going on.”

“That’s a blessing and a curse. As you already know,” I said.

Nina took a long pull from her coffee cup, winced as the hot coffee burned her lip. “I already know.” She wrinkled her nose at the taste. “This is awful.”

“It’s free.”

“There’s that.” She sipped again. “Tell me something, Jimmy.”

“What?”

“What you doing in this place?”

“Working.”

“Don’t be cute. You know what I mean. Why this place? Why you?”

“Kinda personal, isn’t that?”

“We’ve killed together. That’s more intimate than fucking. Don’t you think?”

I was struck by how funny my life was. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with a beautiful, broken nosed cop on a bar stool in a bar in Lake City. The last time I’d had this conversation had been in the team room in the ‘Stan…

“It is more intimate. That’s something civilians don’t understand.”

She nodded sagely. “That’s right. They’re not in The Club.”

The Club.

Yeah.

That’s something they don’t tell you in the Police Academy, or in basic training. How killing together, trusting your life to another killer in the moment, is an act requiring the same kind of trust to be naked and vulnerable in front of another human in the act of love. Perverse, isn’t it? That’s why civilians don’t understand the bond between those of us in The Club. Why we would do anything for our brothers, or our sisters, in arms. Because the bond of blood in The Club is more than anything, more than anyone outside will ever understand.

So she deserved a straight answer.

“Because it’s easy,” I said. “I don’t want it to be complicated. I want it to be easy. I come in here, I keep the peace, have a drink, have some laughs. Keep it simple, keep it light.”

She stared into my eyes, and for the first time I noticed the flecks in her hazel eyes; in her left eye was one that was star shaped, a black fleck that distracted me. She was so beautiful…and the ruin of that nose made the rest of her seem almost angelic in comparison.

“What happened that you have to have simple now?” she said.

Such a simple question.

And impossible to answer.

I sighed. Thought of the mountains in Afghanistan, the bodies spilled in the snow, across the rocks…

“It’s a choice, Nina. Spend enough time, and maybe you won’t want the fast and the furious anymore. Maybe you’ll settle for simple. Quiet and easy.”

“Your life isn’t so quiet and easy, Jimmy. You got your fingers in some things that aren’t so quiet and easy. You still looking for the edge, Jimmy? Once you get that taste, it’s not so easy to leave it alone, is it? Thumping a drunk, having some laughs, banging a good looking stripper…it’s not enough, is it?”

The heat and anger in her voice took me off guard. She was pinning me with those eyes now.

“You working now, Nina?”

“Yeah. Tell me about what you’re into outside the bar, Jimmy.”

“Not a fucking thing.”

I give as good as I get when I’m pressed.

She looked away, drank more coffee. Her shoulders rose and fell with harsh breathing.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m having a night. You’re just an available target.”

“Somebody as handy with a shooter as you might consider staying home, cooling off,” I said lightly. “Wouldn’t do to go around killing people, even though they might deserve it. Might even be asking for it.”

“The bosses frown on that,” Nina agreed. “Though there is no shortage of people who are only alive because it’s against the law to kill them.”

“Now that’s an interesting thought.”

“Fuck you, Jimmy.”

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t have to do some work here and send you on your way, do I?”

She looked at me, incredulous, then laughed. “I’d like to see that shit.”

“You’d be a handful, that’s for sure.”

“More than a handful, boy friend. I got more than a handful.”

For a moment the heat off her was like an oven door, briefly opened and then slammed shut.

“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” I said.

“Why not? We’re practically fuck buddies.”

I let that slide. “What’s up with the nobody comes near me thing?”

She touched her nose, and then tapped her elbow against her pistol, hidden under her leather jacket. “You don’t know me well enough to ask.”

“Who does?”

“Nobody.” She stood up, set the unfinished coffee down. “Thanks for the coffee. See you around. Tell Lizzy I said hey. Me and her, we’re going to catch a drink some night. I like your woman.”

“She’s not my woman. She’s not anybody’s woman.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Jimmy Wylde. Remember you said that.”

I watched her march out, and wondered who was going to pay the toll on her dark highway tonight.