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There wasn’t an empty parking space to be seen when they pulled into the lot. “This place is really jumping tonight,” Johnny observed.
“We won’t be that long,” Trey said and parked behind another vehicle near the door.
Entering the bar was like walking into a wall of noise. The jukebox was cranked up to its full volume, blasting out a honky-tonk, beer-drinking tune. Voices and laughter were loud, as folks tried to make themselves heard above the din, while the slot machines rattled and rang in the background.
Trey paused a few steps inside and surveyed the crowded area. He spotted dozens of familiar faces, but he didn’t see Tank sprawled anywhere.
“Where’s Tank?” Johnny spoke near his ear.
“We’ll check at the bar.” Trey said and struck out for it.
Donovan was working the far end of the bar, filling drink orders for the waitresses. The second man was closer. Trey shouldered his way between two customers and leaned an arm on the counter.
“Are you Al?” he asked.
“Yeah.” The man looked up from the mug he was filling with beer. “What’ll you have?”
“Where’s Tank? We’re here to pick him up?”
“Who?” The man frowned. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean the cowboy.” He jerked his thumb upward. “Top of the steps, second door on the right.”
Shoving himself back from the bar, Trey swung to Johnny. “Upstairs,” he said in a near shout and repeated the bartender’s thumb signal.
The staircase to the second floor was narrow and dimly lit. They climbed it single file, Trey going first. Bypassing the first door on the hall’s right side, he proceeded to the second. He knocked twice, but with all the noise filtering from downstairs, he doubted that anyone inside could have heard him, certainly not Tank if he was as drunk as the bartender claimed.
Turning the knob, he gave the door a push and followed it when it swung noiselessly inward. The only light in the small bedroom came from a bedside lamp with a scarlet shade that cast a diffused red glow over the room. There was Tank, sprawled across a satin coverlet, his shirt unbuttoned except for the last one.
Trey stopped short when he noticed the redhead crouched on all fours next to the bed, scrubbing at a spot on the rug. As if sensing the presence of someone else, she looked back in irritation.
“This room is occupied, mister,” she snapped.
“I know,” he said. “We’re here to take him home.”
“Too bad you didn’t get here before he threw up on my rug.” She gathered up the rag and a can of spot cleaner, then stood up, giving the hem of her red leather miniskirt a downward tug as she turned her back to both of them.
Johnny walked to the opposite side of the bed and jiggled Tank’s shoulder. “Up and at ’em, Tank.”
But Tank only groaned and flung a limp arm out in protest. “You’re gonna have to carry him out of here,” the girl declared.
“How’d he get this drunk?” Johnny grumbled in annoyance.
“He got into a chugalug contest.” A match made a raspy strike against a rough surface. A flame erupted, and the redhead held it against a candlewick on the bedside table. “Somebody bet him fifty dollars he couldn’t drink two pitchers of beer. Your friend won, so we came up here to celebrate. Then all that beer hit him.”
“Where’s his jacket?” Trey asked.
“In the corner, on the chair,” she answered without turning as a spicy and cloying fragrance drifted through the room. “His hat, too.”
“Time to go home, Tank.” Johnny put a knee on the bed for leverage and hoisted his friend into a sitting position, propping him up against the headboard’s brass posts.
Trey retrieved the coat and jacket from the corner chair, but it took both of them to get Tank into the jacket. Johnny added the final touch, shoving Tank’s hat on his head and pushing it down around his ears. Then he stepped back.
“I’ll carry him,” Trey said.
Johnny waved aside the offer. “I can manage. First we’d better dig those truck keys out of his pocket. I ain’t about to dump him in that cold pickup and have to start searching for the keys to start the thing.”
After a search of his jeans pockets failed to turn up the keys, they found them in his jacket pocket. Johnny tucked them in his own pocket, then rolled a semiconscious Tank onto his shoulder and straightened.
When Trey started to follow him out of the room, the redhead called out, “Wait.”
