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I’d been expecting to see nothing, so I had to look twice to catch the black cowboy hat as it moved away from the door and around the alley.
“Fudge!” I hissed, jumping up and slinging my bag over my shoulder as I grabbed my computer in one hand. I knocked into a few chairs, startling the other customers, but I couldn’t focus on it, needing to get outside before I lost the contact. While I’d been happy with my corner for privacy earlier, I cursed it now as I tried to make my way around bags and legs to get to the door.
The humid air hit me as I made it outside, and I dashed across the street as fast as possible, once again cursing my selected footwear. “Why do I keep insisting on wearing heels?” I muttered as I careened around the corner, catching sight of the man as he ducked into a door.
I clicked and clacked down the alley toward the door as fast as I could. Lurching forward, I grabbed the handle a millisecond before it closed. I stood with it in my grasp for a second, amazed it had worked. Realizing I was losing time, I pulled it back and slid in, stopping as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. It looked like the back of a bar or club, the kegs and boxes of beer along one side cluing me in. I began to make my way down the hall, watching for random boxes as I went.
Movement further down the hallway caught my eye, and I stepped around cases and bottles as I tried to catch up to him again. I didn’t know if I should make myself known and call out to him or just follow at a distance. I needed to get more information from Blackhawk next time.
“Next time?” I admonished myself, realizing how quickly I’d seemed to have lost the plot. I was here to stop him, not join his club of illegal activities.
Music and voices grew louder the further down the hall I went, so I wasn't surprised when I turned and found myself in a dive bar. The only problem, the bar was full of men with cowboy hats.
I stood there, mouth open, trying to find the one I’d been chasing. “What? How? Huh?”
“You okay there, darling?” a southern drawl asked. Turning, I found a woman dressed in short shorts and a flannel shirt tied at her waist.
“Um, I was meeting someone, and they came in here, but now I can’t find them. Is there something going on?”
“It’s Friday night,” she said, like that explained it.
“Right. Tourist,” I said, pointing. She laughed a little and then pointed at a sign that read “Friday Night Square Dancing.”
“If you’re staying, you better pair up quick before all the good ones are taken. You don’t want to get stuck with handsy Steve.” She pointed to a man who looked like he barely had any teeth and smiled over at us.
Doing a full-body shudder, I thanked the woman and made my way to the bar. Maybe if I sat there, I’d be able to find the one guy in a cowboy hat I was supposed to meet. Sounded plausible.
Shoving my laptop back into my bag, I zipped it and squeezed between two couples at the end. The only open stool was sticky, and I hoped it was only from spilled drinks. Perching on it carefully, I looked out into the crowd, surveying all the men with black hats.
After twenty minutes, I realized the futility of trying to find one person in a bar full of people who all looked alike. It was impossible. Especially when I didn’t even know his name or what he looked like. Sighing, I slumped off the stool, ignoring the squelching sound, and walked toward the door. I was only a few feet away when a waitress collided with me, spilling her tray of drinks all over me.
“Son of a biscuit!”
“I’m so sorry, hun. Here, let me help you.” She started to pat me dry with the cocktail napkins, but it was of no use. I was covered from head to toe in the sticky substance.
“Don’t bother.” Dropping my head, I sulked out of the bar as everyone watched me. I felt humiliated, but at least I had the good fortune that no one knew me. The biggest inconvenience was the fact that this was my last set of clean clothes. Looked like another long night at the laundromat. Sighing, I trudged along. Each step was crucifying as I made a sticky sound when my feet lifted from the pavement. I was so consumed with my situation I didn’t see the man outside the bar leaning against the wall until I practically ran into him.
“Ma’am,” he said, startling me. His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't make out any features with most of his face in the shadow, hidden below his cowboy hat.
“Sorry, sir. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I believe I’m to give you this.” He held out an envelope, placing it in my hand. “Good day.”
He was gone before I could call out to him, my body frozen to the spot at my luck. Had he seen me inside? How did he know who I was but not the other way around?
Opening my bag, I realized too late that the contents of it were now sodden and bright red. I was too upset to check my computer; the device's fate was pretty much guaranteed to be ruined.
Trudging back to the hotel, I tried to come up with possible outcomes and solutions. But I had to face the facts. I was woefully unprepared, and the only thing I had succeeded at was being covered in a sticky mess. Not even the fun kind.
Maybe it was time to call it quits. I’d been wrong. I wasn’t cut out for this. It was just another area of my life that I failed at.
I’d gotten so good at pretending I had it all together, I’d almost convinced myself the same, but the reality was, I had no idea what I was doing or where to go from here. It was time to throw in the towel and face the facts.
Finley Reyes was a loser. I’d known it at seventeen, and it was still true, six years later.
Eight
FINLEY
