she headed for the door again.
But this time both tattoo guy and the Hispanic one with the earring were barring the door. “Bartender—call the police....” she called over her shoulder.
The bartender raised his hands in the same gesture he’d given her before. “I don’t want no cops. My policy is ‘see no evil.’ ”
Shit. She was really in over her head here. The two guys grabbed her again and crowded her. She should never have come into a place like this. And no one knew she was here except the old man at the dock. Not even Jane. Rape was about the least of what could happen. She kicked at their knees but tattoo-guy limped up to her and slapped her so hard it rattled her head. Her knees sagged. The room spun. They started pulling her toward the back. The pool table loomed. She couldn’t drag her feet. They just lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing. Up to me. She did the first thing she could think of. She leaned down and bit the hand that held her upper arm as hard as she could. The copper tang of Danny’s blood tasted like victory, as he let her go with a shout. The victory was short lived though. Danny hit her this time. Open handed, but it still knocked her to the floor. How could she fall? The black guy seemed to have let go of her for some reason.
Chaotic noise and shouting erupted all around her. On her hands and knees on the dirty floor, she could hardly see. Somebody kicked her or stumbled into her or something. The smell of piss and spilled beer and old cigarette butts on the floor made her gorge rise. She sucked in air, trying not to vomit, as her vision started to clear. Then, right in front of her, the guy with the tattoos fell onto the floor. His head bounced. His nose and mouth were bloody. She squealed in surprise and looked up, awareness back whether she wanted it or not.
The room was a flurry of motion. In the background, people were scurrying for the door. In the foreground, four guys were in a pounding, bloody, kicking and gouging fight.
One of them was Dowser. He must have taken on the four toughs. Now there were three, since Mr. Tattoo was down and out. The others didn’t look so good either. Wow. That guy could fight. But as he whirled around to take on one of the guys who had gotten behind him, he staggered. He was still drunk. He could just fight drunk really, really well.
Danny, the nearly bald guy, pulled a knife out of his boot. Drew shrieked. Dowser glanced over to where she pointed frantically. He turned back just as Danny lunged in. Dowser managed to kick the hand with the knife. He must have kicked it really hard, because Danny’s hand went limp and he dropped the knife. It spun away. Then the three of them were on Dowser at once, punching and kicking. They were bloodied and cursing. She wasn’t the one in trouble anymore. It was Dowser. She pulled herself up using the nearest barstool. Her safety wouldn’t last. As soon as they got done with him, they’d be back to her.
Dowser went down. “Shit!” she yelled. Some part of her was appalled at her behavior. She never yelled “shit.” The black guy grabbed a fistful of Dowser’s tee shirt to pull him up. She turned on the bartender. “Do something, you moron. They’re going to kill him.”
The bartender’s eyes were big, but he shrugged. That made Drew even madder.
“You telling me you don’t have a gun back there like every bar in the movies?” His eyes glanced under the bar. Oh, yeah. He had a gun. She scrambled over the bar, trying not to listen to the thumps and groans behind her. She stumbled to her feet and began fumbling among the bottles where the bartender had looked. Where was the damned thing? She pulled bottles over. The crash of glass and the rush of alcohol fumes added to the chaos.
Hot damn . A shotgun.
“Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?” The bartender grabbed her shoulder, but not before she grabbed the shotgun.
“Back off,” she hissed, turning it on him. “Get
But this time both tattoo guy and the Hispanic one with the earring were barring the door. “Bartender—call the police....” she called over her shoulder.
The bartender raised his hands in the same gesture he’d given her before. “I don’t want no cops. My policy is ‘see no evil.’ ”
Shit. She was really in over her head here. The two guys grabbed her again and crowded her. She should never have come into a place like this. And no one knew she was here except the old man at the dock. Not even Jane. Rape was about the least of what could happen. She kicked at their knees but tattoo-guy limped up to her and slapped her so hard it rattled her head. Her knees sagged. The room spun. They started pulling her toward the back. The pool table loomed. She couldn’t drag her feet. They just lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing. Up to me. She did the first thing she could think of. She leaned down and bit the hand that held her upper arm as hard as she could. The copper tang of Danny’s blood tasted like victory, as he let her go with a shout. The victory was short lived though. Danny hit her this time. Open handed, but it still knocked her to the floor. How could she fall? The black guy seemed to have let go of her for some reason.
Chaotic noise and shouting erupted all around her. On her hands and knees on the dirty floor, she could hardly see. Somebody kicked her or stumbled into her or something. The smell of piss and spilled beer and old cigarette butts on the floor made her gorge rise. She sucked in air, trying not to vomit, as her vision started to clear. Then, right in front of her, the guy with the tattoos fell onto the floor. His head bounced. His nose and mouth were bloody. She squealed in surprise and looked up, awareness back whether she wanted it or not.
The room was a flurry of motion. In the background, people were scurrying for the door. In the foreground, four guys were in a pounding, bloody, kicking and gouging fight.
One of them was Dowser. He must have taken on the four toughs. Now there were three, since Mr. Tattoo was down and out. The others didn’t look so good either. Wow. That guy could fight. But as he whirled around to take on one of the guys who had gotten behind him, he staggered. He was still drunk. He could just fight drunk really, really well.
Danny, the nearly bald guy, pulled a knife out of his boot. Drew shrieked. Dowser glanced over to where she pointed frantically. He turned back just as Danny lunged in. Dowser managed to kick the hand with the knife. He must have kicked it really hard, because Danny’s hand went limp and he dropped the knife. It spun away. Then the three of them were on Dowser at once, punching and kicking. They were bloodied and cursing. She wasn’t the one in trouble anymore. It was Dowser. She pulled herself up using the nearest barstool. Her safety wouldn’t last. As soon as they got done with him, they’d be back to her.
Dowser went down. “Shit!” she yelled. Some part of her was appalled at her behavior. She never yelled “shit.” The black guy grabbed a fistful of Dowser’s tee shirt to pull him up. She turned on the bartender. “Do something, you moron. They’re going to kill him.”
The bartender’s eyes were big, but he shrugged. That made Drew even madder.
“You telling me you don’t have a gun back there like every bar in the movies?” His eyes glanced under the bar. Oh, yeah. He had a gun. She scrambled over the bar, trying not to listen to the thumps and groans behind her. She stumbled to her feet and began fumbling among the bottles where the bartender had looked. Where was the damned thing? She pulled bottles over. The crash of glass and the rush of alcohol fumes added to the chaos.
Hot damn . A shotgun.
“Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?” The bartender grabbed her shoulder, but not before she grabbed the shotgun.
“Back off,” she hissed, turning it on him. “Get
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