So. Long(209)

My attorney advised me to get someone to do my camera breaking, nose smashing, and ass kicking for me, to keep me out of jail, and to circumvent losing my hard earned money to some sue-happy lunatic. It was just two cameras—and one nose—though several asses, but those were without serious injuries. I really don’t see the big deal.

When Thug Two’s perpetual frown twitches into a grin, I turn to see what’s got him going.

My fucking gut lurches and a rush of adrenaline pours into my veins. “Holy shit. That’s no fucking Honey!”

In the span of a heart beat I’m out of my chair, ripping my T-shirt down the front and pulling it off. I bound onto the stage, arms out to catch her.

She dances topless with her eyes half closed. Lou dodges me, falling to her knees as her ankle twists under her.

I manage to toss the remnants of my shirt over her shoulders. Her hands push at me until we come face to face. She stills. Her eyes go wide, her mouth falling open.

I yell over the music, “What the fu—”

Two pairs of hands pull me away from her. I shake off one, my fist flying to connect with the other’s jaw. I spin to block a blow to my kidney from a third burly motherfucker.

Thug One and Thug Two each grab a bouncer, pulling them off me. But the oversized guy with the dull eyes is enough for me to deal with. He dodges my left hook, but fails to guard his gut as my fist connects. He grabs his torso as he staggers back.

Lou rolls to her hands and knees as I reach for her. Her camo Daisy Dukes reveal her tight ass.

“What the fuck, Lou?”

Strong hands grasp at my arms again. I twist and duck, using the momentum to break free. The music goes silent, but the pops and smacks coming from the Thugs and their opponents, along with the grunts and shuffling of feet, echo through the room.

Someone shouts. “Call the cops!”

Another answers, “Fuck the cops.”

The unmistakable sound of the pump action of a shotgun stops all movement. Hands grip my forearms, pulling them behind me.

Lou growls as she limps to me, her platform shoes in one hand, my ripped T in the other. She shoves the shirt into my chest and follows it with a solid punch to my gut. The air whooshes from my lungs as I double over. Damn, she got better at that.

“Buck, you’re an asshole.”

I suck in a gasp of air. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

This is not what she was supposed to end up doing.

She snatches her top and a lacy bra from the floor, covering her naked breasts. “I’m here not getting a job that I need, because now I can’t fucking dance, you jackass.”

She turns away, limping off the stage, mumbling, “Damned shoes. I knew I should’ve worn my combat boots.”

I take a step to follow her, but the hold on my arms tightens behind me.

“Oh, no you don’t.” The guy who has hold of me pushes me to the stairs leading off the stage.

At the bottom of the steps, the bouncer lets go of my arms. Probably because Lonnie-fucking-Fisher stands there with a sawed-off shotgun pointed at my crotch.

“Wow, it’s almost like a god damned class reunion  . All these blasts from the past.”

I spit in his face. “Fuck you, Fisher.”

He wipes his chin with the back of his arm and grins as he slams the butt of the gun into my gut. A sharp pain explodes all the way into my balls.

I snatch the weapon from him and flip it, popping him above the eye with the stock.

He staggers backward as his hands fly up to cover the cut seeping blood over his eyebrow. “What’d you do that for?”

“Shits and giggles and old time’s sake.”

Thugs One and Two flank me. Lonnie eyes the shotgun. My crew gathers around, trying to herd me to the door.

Trudi’s hand tugs on my arm. “C’mon. Let’s head on out before this makes the fucking news.”

I scan the room. She’s nowhere in sight.

I call, “Lou, where are you?”

Shuffling of feet and girls’ whispers are the only noise as I wait.

No answer.

I left her here to go to college, and she ends up on a stage, fucking taking her clothes off. I couldn’t have failed her more miserably.

I bellow. “Lou!”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Buck.”

She comes around a mirrored column, barefoot, her top in place, her bra hanging off her fingers. She favors her right foot, though she’s obviously trying to hide her pain. Her skyscraper shoes are missing; in their place is a purse.

Trudi tugs at my arm again. “Isn’t that your grandparents’ neighbor? Why do you give a shit if she dances?”

My eyes don’t leave Lou as she passes us on her way to the door. “Because, she’s my—”

Lou looks back, throwing a glare so hard it pricks my chest. “I’m no one.”