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One of the men turns around and holds his bottle in the air. “Fancy finding you here.”
“You know me, brother. I’m a ghost,” he says, patting him on the back. “Hey, bartender. Another one for Andy here, you lazy son of a bitch.”
“Rowan, I swear to God. If you keep talkin’ to me like that, I’ll have to pull my gun at you. It’s policy,” the bartender says, turning around and holding a fresh glass of beer.
When he sees me, his tone changes. “Well, well. You didn’t tell me you were with a lady. Nice to meet you, gorgeous. I’m Jeffco.”
“Jeffco?” I ask him, shaking his hand slowly.
“Yeah, don’t ask. Long story. Born as Jeff, added the ‘co’ ‘cause I liked how it sounded,” he says. “Okay, not too long of a story, but you get the point. You a drinker today?”
“No thanks,” I say, trying to be polite. Rowan stares at me heavily and shakes his head.
“She’ll take a whiskey Coke,” he says. He turns to me and whispers, “Live a little, baby. It’s on me.”
“Whiskey coke, coming right up,” Jeffco says. I’m still confused about the guy’s name, but I have to accept it.
To be honest, these guys are nicer than they look. Whenever they eye me, it’s with a smile and a nod.
Rowan, on the other hand, has turned serious. He walks behind the bar and whispers to Jeffco. I hear something
about a “package,” but that’s all I can make out.
I sip my drink and watch the two men talk. Every so often, Rowan looks out of the corner of his eyes at me to make sure I’m still here and satisfied.
Finally, Rowan nods confidently and puts his hand out. “It’s a deal,” he says.
Jeffco looks satisfied, although a little worried. I’m left to wonder what the hell is going on.
When Rowan meanders back, he clinks our bottles together. He acts like everything is good in the world. “Jeffco works on bikes too,” he says. “I mean, obviously. Look at the guy. He’s getting me some spare parts shipped in from Kentucky pretty soon.”
“In exchange for what?” I ask.
Rowan turns to me, looking more serious, and asks, “Caroline, why do you think I’m such a bad guy? Haven’t I been nice to you?”
“Today, maybe,” I say.
The other guys in the bar have their eyes directed at me, and I realize that maybe I should shut up and let my detective work go unfinished.
“I’m just being silly,” I say. “You’re fine.”
The men go back to their drinks.
A few drinks in, and I’m feeling perfect. All my cares suddenly go right out the window. And these guys, as terrifying as they look, aren’t that bad. They’re just lewd, loud, and live harder than anyone I know.
We take a booth, and Rowan is leaning in close when he talks. “Caroline. Caroline Peach,” he calls me. “You know how gorgeous you look today?”
“Rowan, you’re drunk,” I say, slurring my speech.
“And you’re not?” He laughs, waving at Jeffco to grab us another drink.
“I’m really drunk,” I admit. “And we should get out of here. It’s getting late.”
He glances at a neon clock on the wall and shrugs. “Ain’t got no phone. No watch. Time is an illusion, ma’am,” he says.
“Sure it is, hon,” I say.
Hon? The word grosses me out, and I regret using it. I’m not as carefree as these guys, but I’m trying. I’m trying to learn about who I really am.
