Chapter 8
Julie got out of the car and watched the green truck loop back and speed down Old Mill Road. She had been sure it was following her. She must be getting paranoid, and who wouldn’t be with the way her life was going.
She looked skeptically at the door of the Roadhouse. Hell, she’d survived her first day in town. And it couldn’t be any worse than some of the neighborhood bars she’d frequented back in New York. It might even be fun. She went inside.
The bar and grill smelled like sawdust, spilled beer, and too many men. A jukebox was playing Patsy Cline and the room was pretty dark except for the hanging lamp over the pool table in a far corner. There was a crowd at the bar, but a few empty stools dotted the line of black motorcycle jackets. She could deal with bikers.
She headed toward them even as heads turned and a whistle or two drifted her way. She tugged at her T-shirt and stopped as she got a closer look at the back of the motorcycle jackets. All of them were new with bright red lettering. Julie shook her head and sat down at one of the empty stools.
“Hi,” said the bartender, a skinny woman with magenta hair swept up into a beehive.
“The Hellzapoppins?” asked Julie, grinning at the row of bikers.
The bartender laughed. “A crate fell off a truck from a road show that was passing through town. The jackets were inside. Hell, we didn’t even have a gang before that. What can I get you?”
“What d’you have on tap?” asked Julie.
The bartender didn’t answer, but broke into a smile. Then she began to slowly nod her head. “Julie Excelsior, right? I’d know you anywhere. Ain’t that a kick.”
In the pants, thought Julie and wondered who the hell she was.
“Foster’s, Bass, and Michelob on tap. Bud, Heineken, Coors, and Amstel Light in bottles. I’m Tilda Green.”
Julie followed her through the beer choices until she came to the name. Tilda Green. Tilda Green. Older than her. Cheerleader at Ex Falls High. Only then she didn’t have purple hair. Peroxided, Julie remembered. Skinny. She was still skinny. And the image of Tilda in her uniform popped into her head. Stick legs swallowed by a gold and blue felt skirt, the padded bra making her letter sweater jut straight out in front. She was voted Miss Most Likely to Succeed. Which at the time, Julie thought was a cruel joke, since Tilda lived in the adjacent trailer park. But then being poor if you were a Green wasn’t the same thing as being a poor Excelsior.
“Foster’s,” said Julie and when Tilda’s smile wavered, she added, “It’s really good to see you, Tilda,” thinking, I am such a hypocrite. I could have spent an eternity without seeing you stuck behind this bar, serving half-soused wombats. If becoming a bartender in the only bar in town was success, Tilda could have it. And then another memory snagged on her mind. Tilda walking past her house toward the trailer park the week after the “rescue,” and tapping on Julie’s bedroom window. “Don’t let ’em get to you,” she said and went on her way.
She smiled at Tilda and wondered how fast she could drink her beer and get out. Because she wasn’t up for any more walks down Memory Lane today.
Tilda’s smile widened. “I’ll just get your Foster’s.”
“Bet you don’t remember me.”
Julie turned to face the man sitting on the stool next to her. He was wearing one of the Hellzapoppin jackets and had really greasy Elvis hair. “Bet you’re right,” said Julie.
“Bet you don’t remember me, either,” said the man on the far side of the first.
“Nope.”
Tilda returned with Julie’s beer and leaned on the bar. “So are you staying long?”
Julie turned her attention to Tilda. “I’m just here for—”
A beefy hand landed on Julie’s back. “Julie Excelsior, huh. We all wondered where you disappeared to.”
“Ancient history, bub,” said Julie, channeling one of her better undercover personas.
“Name ain’t Bub. It’s Henley Baxter. Now do you remember me?”
Julie stifled a shiver; she remembered him all right, but wished she didn’t. The Bully of Ex Falls High. She shook her head. “’Fraid not.” She picked up her beer and Tilda said, “Leave her alone, Henley. You’re not my favorite person this week.”
Henley smiled. He was missing a right incisor. “I thought that was last week.”
“Last week,” his companion echoed.
“Every week,” said Tilda.
Henley’s hand began to creep down Julie’s back. “Well, I remember you. And I remember you were real pop’lar with certain people.”
She eased her shoulder away.
“Hey, Tilda, three Buds over here.”
Tilda moved away to get the beers.
“They said you could be real friendly.” Henley moved in closer and Julie got a sickening whiff of hair oil and stale beer.
“They must have meant someone else,” said Julie, leaning away from him.
Henley followed her until she was sandwiched between him and the man on the other side of her.
“Back off,” she said and nudged him away.
“I can show you a good time.”
The man next to her threw some bills on the bar and left. She was about to shift over to his seat when a huge, scruffy bear of a man sat down.
“Hey, babe,” he said in a deep booming voice.
Julie groaned. This had been a big mistake. She’d had enough. She turned on the newcomer. “Who are you calling babe, asshole?”
The man’s head jerked toward her, his bushy eyebrows making two half circles above deep set eyes.
“Me,” said Tilda as she hoisted herself over the bar and planted a kiss somewhere in his beard.
“Oh, sorry,” said Julie, wondering if Tilda had actually found his mouth.
“That’s okay,” the bear said in a voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a well. “I’m sure you’re a babe, too, but Tilda would kill me if I said so. Wouldn’t you, babykins?” He began to rumble and it took a second for Julie to realize he was laughing.
“This is Terrence. My significant smoochums,” said Tilda, smiling at full wattage.
“Hi, Terrence,” Julie said. The guy was the Yeti of the Adirondacks. He towered over Julie and most of the other men at the bar. His shoulder span was incredible and every thickset inch of him was brawn. This was someone Julie would never consider calling smoochums. If she was ever inclined to call anyone smoochums, which she wasn’t. “Nice to meet you,” she said, feeling an irrational surge of envy as Tilda and Terrence made goofy faces at each other. She took another sip of beer.
“I’ll show you significant.” Henley leered at her and his fingers started crawling up her spine again.
“In your dreams,” said Julie.
She knew better than to incite a belligerent psycho like Henley, but she couldn’t help herself. She was on emotional overload. Seeing Tilda and Terrence hadn’t helped and being fondled by this jerk made her want to throw up.
“C’mon, Julie. I bet you know how to have a real good time. I heard you used to.”
Tilda slapped her hand down on the bar. “Henley, you ignoramus. If you don’t stop driving away my female customers, I’m gonna ban you from the bar.”
Henley just smiled at her. His fingers reached Julie’s shoulder blade and began sneaking around to her front. Julie flicked her shoulder back and dislodged his hand.
It also uncovered her midriff.
“Would you look at that,” said Henley. “She’s got one of those navel rings.”
His companion, a little toad if Julie had ever seen one, said, “Hey, a navel ring.”
Henley flicked the ring with his finger before Julie could move away. “C’mon Julie, give it to me the way you used to give it to Cas Reynolds.”
“That’s it, asshole.” Julie swung around; pulled back her fist and let it fly just as Henley was yanked backwards off the stool. Her fist connected to a jaw, but it wasn’t Henley’s. The impact cracked in the air and the wrong man went down, dragging Henley with him.
Henley’s friend slid off his stool and jumped on top of the two men.
Damn, thought Julie. My second day back and I’ve started a brawl. She shoved a five dollar bill across the bar. “I’m sorry,” she yelled to Tilda. “And apologize to the other guy for me.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” said Tilda, grinning at the men on the floor.
“You got a great right hook,” said Terrence and ducked as someone’s beer mug flew by him. “Hey, uncool.” Terrence hoisted himself off the bar stool. “Who the hell did that?”
Julie ran for the door as applause burst out around her. Someone yelled, “Nice going, Cas. You just got decked by Barbie.”
Julie froze.
“Three cheers for the she-e-e-r ...” A body flew across the doorway, knocking Julie outside.
She stood in the parking lot, her breath coming out in clouds, wondering if she could pick up Smitty, pack and get out of town before she got arrested. Then she thought of Cas, who had come to her rescue only to have her deck him. And God knew what was happening inside the bar now.
The sound of splintering wood. Then a cheer.
He’ll never want to see me again. I’ve humiliated him in public. She took a step toward her car. But he might be getting hurt. She took a step back. What could she do about it? She stepped toward the car. Run in, call out “Police!” and bust a few heads. She stepped back. Neither Tilda nor Cas would appreciate that.
She couldn’t keep cha-cha-ing in the parking lot while all hell broke lose in the bar because of her. She started it, she’d finish it. She turned on her heel and pushed back through the door.
The bar was bedlam. A knot of flailing blue jeans and work boots writhed in the center of the floor. An even larger group of spectators crowded around them, taking bets and egging the participants on. Across the room, Terrence had three men up against the wall, and Cas was hauling another to his feet.
Julie pushed through the crowd and stood at the fringe of fighting men. “Hey,” she yelled. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.
Then she reached into the gaggle of fighters and pulled out the first body she could lay her hands on. It was Henley’s goon. She dragged him out of the pile, thunked him up against the nearest wall and twisted his arm behind him.
“Ow,” he yelled and tried to wriggle free. “You’re hurting me. Le’ go.”
“I’ll let go when you call off the fight and apologize to Tilda.” Julie twisted his wrist for emphasis.
But it was unnecessary because she had everyone’s attention. The onlookers were all looking at her. The fighters disentangled themselves and slowly got up from the floor. Terrence waved at her from across the room, and Cas turned around and stared.
Julie swallowed. He did not look happy. Then he turned away and pushed the miscreant he was holding into Terrence’s waiting arms.
When he turned around to face the crowd, Julie could see his shoulders heaving as he got his breath. “If I had a big enough jail ... I’d lock up every damn one of you. But as it is, clean this place up and Henley ... you’ll turn over a hundred bucks to Tilda for damages and then get out.”
“Aw, Cas,” griped Henley. “We were just having fun. You got no sense of humor.”
“You have no idea,” said Cas in a voice that made even Terrence’s eyes widen. He crossed a suddenly silent room to where Julie held her captive to the wall. He barely looked at her as he eased the man out of her grasp. “You know, Bo. You want to be so much like Henley. You can pay Tilda a hundred, too.”
“I ain’t got a hundred.”
“Well, get it,” said Cas and shoved him toward the bar.
Julie was just thinking, not bad for a banker, when Bo said, “You can’t even break up a fight without getting a girl to do it for you.”
Terrence grabbed him by his jacket collar and lifted him off the ground. “And you’re going to be in deep shit if you don’t shut up.”
Bo shut up. Terrence lowered him to the floor and waited while he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “All I got.”
“Tilda will take an IOU,” said Cass. “You too, Henley. And don’t come back until you can pay.”
Henley glared at him, his fists clenched, his jaw jutting forward. “One day, Cas,” he muttered. “One day.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Cas. “One day.”
He waited at the bar while Henley counted out his money and the rest of the patrons cleaned up the fallen tables and chairs. Then he walked Bo and Henley out the door, passing Julie like she didn’t exist.
But everyone else was watching her. She caught Tilda’s eye and shrugged apologetically. Tilda just shook her head and grinned.
When Julie reached the parking lot, two motorcycles were pulling out onto the highway, and Cas was standing with his back to her, watching them leave.
“Cas?”
“Hm,” he said, not turning around.
“I didn’t know you were there.”
“Hm.”
“I’m sorry I caused so much trouble. Are you okay?”
“Mmm.”
“I’m really sorry. Say something.” Julie took his elbow and turned him around. There was blood on his lip and one eye was partially closed. There was a lump forming on his jaw. She’d seen Smitty look better after a dog fight.
“Which one did I do?” she asked.
“The jaw.”
“I’ll just ask Tilda for some ice.”
He shook his head, winced.
“Can I do anything?”
His mouth twisted in what could have been a smile but probably wasn’t.
“Are your teeth okay? Do you need a dentist? Ribs. Anything broken? Can I drive you to the emergency room?”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t sound fine. He sounded pissed as hell.
“Good night,” he said. And touching his fingers to his eye, he walked away and opened the door to a ... rusty green pickup truck.
Julie stared, then hurried after him.
Cas pulled himself into the truck. Missed. Tried again. On the third attempt, Julie grabbed his butt and pushed him inside. “I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure you’re okay. You could have a concussion. Or internal bleeding.”
This time she was sure he smiled.
“It was a bar fight, not a car wreck. But you can follow me home.” Cas shut the door and started the engine.
Julie raced to the VW and took off after him.