* * * The Blackhawks * * *
The Reservation
Post-Bar Brawl
Seven P.M.
Oh, what a clusterfuck that had absolutely been. You’d think that with only one bar on the reservation, the patrons, and owners, would know how to behave.
Well, they didn’t.
Clearly.
Rayna was grateful they’d gotten to the bottom of it, but in true fashion, the Natives had been in rare form.
Was it a freaking full moon tonight?
Had someone said it was ‘quiet’ and jinxed them all?
Something had taken the crazy, stirred it up, and then threw it all over the place like a shit-flinging monkey.
It took two hours to get the men who wereINSIDEthe barOUTSIDEof the bar.
Each time they got one out, and went back in, the drunken Natives would head back in.
With only three of them, convincing four sloshed patrons to pay their tab, and keep the other fifteen drunks calm, wasn’t easy.
No one was cheaper than a piss-poor Native who was convinced they’d been told the beer was free after the cover charge to get in.
Finally, the brothers who owned the bar gave up, and let them just pay ten dollars each, in order to get them the hell out of there.
Hell!
She would have paid that two hours ago to end this jacked-up melee.
On top of that, she had to trespass them to never return again, and she knew that wouldn’t hold up.
In the morning, they’d forget how disorderly they’d been, and the brothers who owned the bar would want their money over a trespass ordinance.
At least no one was seriously hurt.
It could have been far worse.
When one swung at her, nearly punching her in the face, and one headbutted her deputy, the cuffs had come out.
So, they were going into the tank to sober up.
If you were going to act like a child, you were going to be treated like one.
That took the last thirty minutes to spit shield them with the cute little see-through bags so they didn’t get phlegm in their faces.
Now, she was tired.
God.
Her job sucked.
As she was trying to wrestle a belligerent Native to the ground, accepting a few days off to lay low with Caspian sounded like a good plan.
