What You Need(22)
“What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?”
No less than five guys rushed me. Boz, a burly biker from the Wastrels motorcycle club. DJ, who used to host a morning show on KXRX. Fatso, a rail-thin guy who worked as a mechanic. Dickie, who was almost short enough to be considered a midget and worked at the same body shop as Fatso. Pistol, who managed a gun range.
Hugo, the bartender who’d been tending bar here even before it was Maxie’s, waited behind the bar for his hug. “Lenni, girl, how you doin’?”
Before I could answer, Pistol said, “We thought you forgot about us.”
Dickie chimed in with, “You still drinkin’ beer, or you switch to champagne now that you’re workin’ bankers’ hours?”
Hugo shushed them all. “Let her catch her breath, assholes.”
“Thanks, Hugo.”
“You got it, doll—Maxie’s missed you. She’s gonna act like a tough old bitch, but the truth is—”
“She’s got a heart as soft as a Moon Pie.”
“What’s an old broad gotta do to get a hug around here?” Maxie said behind me.
I didn’t hold back when I saw her. I squealed and nearly knocked her over.
She must’ve been prepared, because she didn’t have a lit cigarette between her fingers the way she usually did. “Lord, girl, I thought I wouldn’t recognize you.” She eased back and checked me out, a smile kicking up one corner of her mouth. “But you’re still my same Lenni.” She hollered at Hugo. “Where’s her beer? Make it two, one for each hand.”
And just like that, it was as if I’d never left.
Chapter Six
Brady
‡
“Damn, Walker. Are you sure we won’t get stabbed in there?”
My brother looked at me and shrugged. “When was the last time you used your medical insurance?”
Hardly reassuring.
“Quit being a pussy,” Nolan said to me. “See the rougher edges of our city.”
The insult combined with a dare should’ve sent me through the door first. But I let Walker and Nolan lead the way; I’m nothing if not cautious. I looked over my shoulder at Ash just to make sure he wasn’t about to bail and cool his loafers in the car.
“Get going. The sooner I don’t have my back to the door, the better.”
“We should’ve brought Jensen with us,” I grumbled. “He’s a bigger target and he can run faster.”
“Hell, they’d all want his autograph and they’d ignore us completely.”
“Exactly. It’d give us a chance to get away.”
Ash laughed.
We were finally in this “great dive bar” Walker loved. I watched as he got a chin dip of acknowledgment from the heavily bearded bartender. No one else paid attention to us, or at least if they were sizing us up they did it discreetly as we headed to a table in the back. I didn’t look around until we all had seats.
The bar back was enormous. Bottles lined the wall from the counter level to the crown molding around the tin ceiling. Bar signs—some vintage, some new, all neon—were hung on the walls above the tables and in some places were attached to the pillars covered in more elaborately carved molding. The tables and chairs were relics, backless chrome barstools with Naugahyde seats and heavy wooden tables, the tops scarred from years of use.
A dark-haired cocktail waitress paused at the edge of our table. “What’ll it be, boys? And remember—we don’t take American Express.”
Sure, we didn’t look out of place in here.
“A pitcher of—what kind of Leinie are you pouring this week?” Walker asked.
The cocktail waitress took an interest in Walker. “Honey Weiss.”
“What the hell happened to the Red you served last week?”
“Uh, the customers drank it all.”
Walker stared at her and smoothed a hand over his beard. “We’ll take a pitcher of MGD.”
“Four glasses?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Coming right up.”
Nolan leaned in. “MGD? Dude. That tastes like horse piss.”
“I’ll refrain from asking when you’ve sipped horse piss,” Ash said with a smirk.
“Ha-fucking-ha.”
“This is the kind of place where you drink the cheap American stuff,” Walker said. He looked at Nolan and mimicked, “Dude. You order wine and I’m throwing the first punch.”
“Bring it. I’ve been training at an MMA gym. I’ll knock you on your ass.”
Typical. Walker and Nolan fought more than I ever did with Walker—you’d think they were brothers instead of cousins.
The jukebox kicked on. Classic rock drifted to us. Not loud enough to be annoying—the benefit of sitting in the back of the bar.