Page 45 of Liquids

The bartender appears and slides a beer in front of Rig, and he nods at him, taking a sip. “You shouldn’t have any more visits,” he says.

“Why’s that?”

“Had a few words around town, and with Marco, and he sent some heavies to beat up those assholes.”

Why is everything here resolved by someone beating somebody else up? I sigh but say “Thank you” all the same.

He scowls. “Not you who should be thanking me, Carl. It was my problem to fix.”

I mean, yeah, it was, but it’s also kind of decent of him to come back and deal with it. “I presume because you’re back in the bar, you can walk around town and be seen again.”

“Yeah, Angelo’s put the word out that Marco doesn’t want any more trouble. Anyone who causes it will be banned from the fights … and the betting.”

“That’s good. I think.”

He frowns down at the table. “It’s good and it’s bad. Means I’m obliged to him, and I don’t want to be obliged to him. Don’t need him having any more leverage in persuading me to fight.”

My eyes roam over him again and regret burns up inside. “Probably shouldn’t have told you about it.”

He scowls. “Someone comes and threatens you, babe, I wanna know. This town is full of assholes who think they can ride roughshod.” He looks out across the bar at old Reg, who’s so drunk he’s dancing to what sounds like Frank Sinatra, waving his pint of beer in the air. Rig runs his hands through his mop of hair, making it stick up at all sorts of angles, and a sad softness burns through me. “Need to get out of this place,” he mutters.

“Why do you live here, Rig? You could be anywhere. Spend your weeks off in the Caribbean.”

He stares down at the table and draws a battered nail along where someone has carved their name. “I promised my dad.”

“What?”

“There’s a whole story behind the farm where my mom lives. My dad lost it in a gambling game.”

I nod. “One of my little old ladies, Mrs. McKinnon, told me about it.”

He shrugs. “It’s no secret. My dad was desperate to get the land back and did everything he could to get it back and made me promise to take care of my mom if anything happened to him. Then, of course, something did fucking happen to him. My stepfather, the asswipe, bought the farm by putting down a deposit and getting a mortgage on it. He put my mom’s name on the deeds. Then he decided he wanted his money out and got another loan on the property but it was for more than it was worth. Don’t know how he swung that. Probably got some friend to inflate the valuation and the bank accepted it. Not sure how or why my mom agreed to it: He either gave her false paperwork or forged her signature, or it could be my mom signed it without realizing what she was signin’. Anyway, he got the cash and took off, and now she owes more than the value of the land, so she can’t sell it.”

“Jesus, Rig.” I chew my lip. “He isn’t liable for the payments? Or the bank for its mistake?”

“Farm’s in her name. Of course, she thought it was amazing that he was giving her the farm. Little did she know. My mom’s been fighting for justice on this for a long time and getting nowhere. It would cost more in legal fees than the land’s worth. She’s managed to pull in some favors with lawyer friends to move it forward, but the case ain’t been going anywhere for a long time.”

“So why do you need to be here?”

“Gotta get it turning a profit so we can pay it off. She can handle the day-to-day work on the land with the farmhands, but I help her with the business side. My mom’s no businesswoman.”

“Holy shit, Rig, that’s a big burden.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s what you do for your family.”

I stare around at the people in the bar. I don’t think like that about family anymore. Not after my uncle, my brother, Mark.

“Speaking of visitors, someone else came looking for you at my apartment,” I say.

He lifts his head from where he’s picking at the label on his beer bottle. “Yeah? Who would that be?”

“Sadie.”

I study his face as I say her name, and he looks conflicted. Not a good look on a guy. And just as the word leaves my mouth, a dark-haired woman I’ve never seen before appears at the end of the booth. She’s dressed in tight ripped jeans and a black tank with a glittery Coca-Cola swirl on the front that’s molded to her curvy body, heavy makeup on her pretty face, and long pink nails. Her eyes are fixed on Rig.

“Rig, honey, you’re back!” And she launches herself over the table and envelops him in a perfumed hug.

He stands up as he tries to extricate himself. “Amanda.”