“Listen, I need you to buy me a drink.”
Henry Ward put his beer bottle back on the bar’s top and glanced at the couple next to him. Well, considering what the woman just told the man, he guessed they weren’t a couple at all. It was well past the afternoon, but the bar hadn’t yet filled up. If he hadn’t been so focused on mentally prepping for what he had to do the next day, he probably would have noticed that he and his bar stool companion weren’t alone.
“Say what?” the man next to Henry asked. He had a slight slur that sounded like he was trying to talk through a coat of syrup. That wasn’t exactly surprising considering Henry had watched him down four very potent drinks within the last hour. Ones that had no color other than dark brown and could be smelled a few feet away. The woman must not have had the chance to catch on to the fumes yet or just hadn’t registered the slur. Or maybe she didn’t care. Either way, it wasn’t his business.
Yet he couldn’t help keeping an ear turned to the conversation.
“I need you to pretend that you bought me a drink, I should say,” the woman was quick to add. There was some hesitation in her words, but she took the bar stool on the other side of the man, three seats down from Henry.
He glanced over to see the blond of her hair, curled and running down the length of her back, but couldn’t get a good angle on her face. He turned his gaze back to the TV over the bar area and fingered the label on his bottle.
“My, uh, sister Kristen just told me she’s bringing one of her coworkers over to meet me. She’s been trying to set us up for a while now and...well, she won’t take no for an answer. So I thought I’d take the option off the table.” The woman waited for him to respond. When a moment stretched on, she laid it out simply. “Can I just sit here and talk to you for a few minutes? Maybe throw in some fake laughing every once in a while for show?”
Henry snorted but then covered it up by taking another pull of his beer. Even though he’d been sitting in the Eagle longer than the man a stool over from him had been, he’d only had the one drink. The only reason he’d even left his hotel for the bar was nerves. He had a job interview the next day.
An important one at that.
“Sure thing, hon,” the man finally answered. The slur went past the subtle side and right to blatantly obvious. “I’ll be your shoulder to lean on all night long. You’re such a pretty little thing.”
Henry glanced over at the two again in time to see the woman’s hand, rising to grab the bartender’s attention most likely, stall in midair. There was no denying the man between them was drunk now. Henry knew she’d heard it clear as day.
And it had bothered her.
“Oh, you know, thank you for that,” she hurriedly said, hand already back on the bar’s top. “Really. But I just...well, you know I just realized how rude it would be to lie to my sister. I mean, she’s a pain, believe me, but I should just be honest with her. So thank you again, but I don’t think this was the best idea.” She was off the bar stool faster than the drunk man could probably process the movement. “I’m sorry for the interruption. Enjoy the rest of your night!”
“I don’t think so, sweetie,” the man managed to rasp.
Henry tensed as his neighbor started to turn around.
“You can’t just leave me hanging like that. It isn’t nice.”
Henry was a second away from making the man turn around on his stool, with more than a few stern words, but the woman beat him to the punch. Her voice, sweet as honey moments before, took on a sharp edge.
“If you think I’m not nice, then you wouldn’t like my Taser,” she said simply.
It did the trick.
The man mumbled and then was facing his empty glass again.
Henry smirked as the woman walked away. He didn’t look after her. He didn’t need to be doing anything other than worrying about his interview. Though admittedly he wanted the man next to him dealt with. Instead of minding his own business again, he caught the bartender’s eye and waved him over. He pointed his thumb at the man now cursing all women beneath his breath.
“I think this one needs a cab called in right about now,” Henry said.
The bartender, an older gentlemAn with no hair on his scalp but at least a year’s worth of hair on his chin, nodded. Without looking at the man in question, he sighed.
“One’s already on the way,” he said. “Gary gets pretty foul after four of his drinks. If I don’t send him off after that, he won’t pay the cabdriver when they get him to his place.”
“Good policy,” Henry admitted, impressed.
The man named Gary swore at the two of them but nothing that made sense.
“If you get him into the cab so I don’t have to, next drink is on the house,” the bartender added, annoyance clear in his voice. “I’d rather not deal with him tonight.”
Henry felt the now-room-temperature beer between his hands. It would be nice if he had a cold one. “Deal.”
He spent the next five minutes or so trying to get Gary to calm down. Even without the woman coming over, Henry would bet Gary could still have managed to get riled up all on his lonesome.
During the last two years, Henry had worked alongside men like Gary, known them like he knew himself. They were angry no matter the drink in their hand or the people at their side. The way they held themselves, the way they dressed, spoke and even held their glasses or bottles showed Henry men who were unhappy and, for whatever reason, wanted to stay that way.
Being around them was more than a job. It was an exercise. One that had worn him down to the point of exhaustion.
Which