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“You talk shit, and you start shit. I have no reason to serve belligerent customers,” he said.
“We aren’t here to start shit,” I said, cutting Jordan off from responding. “We’re here for beer. At least I am. Jordan?”
“Whiskey and soda,” Jordan said, his eyes not leaving the rather large roughneck in the corner. Whoever he was, he seemed ready to jump into the fray should there be one. I made a mental note to go after him first if things went south.
There were a few moments of silence after everyone asked for their beverage of choice and Danny handed them out without incident. Mine was last, and he placed it in front of me with just a little too much force, so it foamed up a bit and spilled over the edge.
“Whoops,” he said, deadpan.
With that, Danny left us to go serve other customers, and I began eyeing the rest of the crowd. There was the big guy in the corner, but he seemed like more of the fist-fighting bouncer type than an arsonist. Several other old drunks littered the remaining tables and booths. A haggard old woman sat at the bar several seats from me that I could only describe as a leather Barbie. At one time she might have been a very attractive woman, but what looked like sixty years of booze, cigarettes, and hard living had worn lines deep into her face, and her skin was orange with bronzer. She had a lit cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, and for the first time I noticed the bar wasn’t smoke-free.
I kept scanning the customers, looking for someone who stood out. Someone who maybe was uncomfortable seeing us there or seemed itchy to start something or run. But everyone there was minding their own business, only giving us the barest passing attention. I took a slug of my beer and grimaced. It was just a little too warm and right on the edge of being skunked. And mostly foam.
“Man, I got so drunk last week,” Jordan said beside me. I turned to respond to him but noticed he wasn’t talking to me. He was directing his words all the way across the bar to Danny, who looked over his shoulder at him. “I went right the hell home and passed out. Good thing I didn’t have a girl with me—I would have been no fun at all. What about you, Danny? What did you do that night?”
My lips pursed as I watched my brother walk right up the edge of starting a fight, draw a line in the sand, and then proceed to erase it immediately.
“What night?” Danny asked gruffly.
Jordan grinned, his teeth shining in the dim yellow light of the bar. He was turning on the asshole charm, being the sarcastic bastard that had annoyed me on so many occasions.
“You know, the night our bar burned down,” Jordan said, his smile never faltering. But his eyes were like daggers.
Danny’s face settled into an expression of hatred, and he lifted his head so his chin stuck out, and he looked down his long, pointy nose at Jordan.
“If you are here to accuse me of burning down your bar, I didn’t do it. Okay?”
The sound of chairs sliding across the wood filled the silent bar, and I shot both arms out, one to block Jordan from hopping over the bar and lighting into Danny and the other to ward off my other brothers from doing anything similar.
“That’s enough,” I said, and Danny’s gaze went to me.
“I think it might be time to roll out,” Tyler said behind me. “A man can only take so much warm beer and cheap cigarette smoke.”
“Better than god-awful costumes and fancy girl drinks,” Danny muttered behind the bar. I turned to lock eyes with Mason and stop him from jumping down Danny’s throat. Thankfully, Mason seemed almost amused at how ridiculous the statement was.
“Yeah, God forbid, a bar for people who aren’t the comic book definitions of the town drunk,” he said, and several pairs of eyes moved to him.
“Yeah, it’s time to go,” Jordan said, pushing his chair back into the table. He took his shot and slammed it down, placing the glass back on the table. “How much do we owe you?”
“I got it,” I said, cutting them all off. I didn’t want to give Danny the satisfaction of counting up all our tabs, or the argument and pettiness of my brothers arguing over prices or tip.
Instead, I opened my wallet and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. I folded it once and placed it in front of me. In my peripheral, I could see Jordan’s mouth turn up in a huge grin.
“This should cover it,” I said and stood.
“Get the hell out of my bar,” Danny muttered, but I watched him as he grabbed the bill and tucked it into his apron as we walked toward the door. I opened it to let my brothers out and then turned to face him one last time.
