adorable Harley boots stepped into the realm of bikers and wannabe bikers. But this time she did not stop at the entrance and take note of how dirty the place was.
This time she walked straight toward the table with the four men closest to the dance floor and looked directly into the eyes of the man wearing the Don’t Screw with the Bear T-shirt.
I was halfway to the table, determined to deal with the bearded man, when another man stepped away from the bar and looked down at me with smiling brown eyes.
“How ’bout I buy you a drink?”
I almost pushed past him but then thought better of it. He looked like a regular here, sidled up to the bar as he’d been, and it occurred to me that he might be able to help me.
“A drink?”
“Sure. Just a friendly drink. You look like you could use one, darling.”
“Well, I guess that depends.”
“It does, does it? Depends on what? ’Cause I’d hate to see a pretty girl like you lost in a bar like this. Are you all right?”
“Of course I am. Do you know Bear?”
He cocked his head. “Bear? Can’t say that I do.”
“That man behind you in the bear T-shirt. You don’t know him?”
He threw a glance over his shoulder, saw that the man in the bear T-shirt was staring at us, and offered a curt nod. “Yup. That’s Bill.” He turned back to me. “Why, you know him?”
“Should I?”
A knowing smile slowly formed on his face. “Well that depends if you like three hundred pounds of man smothering you.”
“You ever see him wear that shirt before?”
He looked again and shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say that I have. You want him? Because I think he could be persuaded.”
“That depends.”
Without waiting for me to lead the conversation any further, the man turned and called out, “Hey, Bill, I think the pretty girl here likes you.”
The cacophony of background voices faded, leaving the sounds of AC/DC blaring alone.
“Well, heck, send her over,” Bear roared. “Come on over here, sugar.”
That was one way to approach Sicko’s test. I was now fully committed, and I let my impetuous nature lead me on. With only a moment’s hesitation, I stepped past the man who’d offered to buy me a drink and walked up to the table where Bear and his three friends sat, wearing impish grins. They needed baths, all of them. And, hairy as they were, they should have at least had the decency to trim the hair poking out of their ears.
“Are you Bear?” I asked.
The man scooted his chair back and patted a thigh as thick as an oak trunk. “Come to papa, sugar.”
Now, I could have told him where to shove his sugar, but I refused to let my disgust distract me from what I’d come to do.
“Actually, I’d rather dance,” I said.
That earned a chuckle from the man to his right, a thin fellow who looked half Bear’s age. “That’s right, Bear. She wants to dance for us. Honey, you can dance for me anytime you like.”
“Shut up, Steve. Don’t you listen to him, sugar.” He paused, eyeing me with round, bloodshot eyes, then spoke in a lower voice. “How much you charging?”
Heat washed over my face and it took all of my focus not to kick him in his shin and leave. But that didn’t stop me from helping him understand that I wasn’t a prostitute and that I hadn’t offered him a lap dance.
“On the floor, you buffoon.” What if he wasn’t the right man? “A friend told me I should dance with a man called Bear. Either you’re that man, in which case I would like to dance with you, or you’re not, and I can leave you to your beer.”
His smile softened, but he didn’t immediately acknowledge that he was in fact the bear. My patience was all but gone. I’d gotten the note and followed what I thought were the instructions. Either there was a bear in the bar or there wasn’t. I looked up and saw the whole room was now watching our exchange.
“Is anyone else here called the bear?”
They all just stared at me, some grinning, either pleased with my show of chutzpah or embarrassed for me.
“No? No one?”
Not a soul spoke up.
I turned back to the hairy man. “That leaves you. Now either you want to dance with me or you don’t. Your call.”
He nodded, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek. “Sure, sugar—”
“Can you please not call me that?”
Beside him, Steve stifled a laugh.
“You wanna dance, then let’s dance.” Bear started to push himself up, and seeing his lumbering form rise, I felt a sudden urgency to know without a doubt that this thug really was working with Sicko.
“You sure you’re the bear?”
“I am for you, sweet cakes.”
“Don’t call me that either,” I said.
He loomed over me, belly out like the nose of a submarine, and gave me half a bow. “If it’ll get me a dance.” To one of the men behind the bar, “Give us something romantic, Harry. Foreigner or something.”
“You sure you’re Bear?” I asked again, needing to be sure.
“Don’t worry, sugar, you’ve found your man.”
The music stopped midsong and then started with the intro to “I Want to Know What Love Is.” Satisfied, he pulled his oversized jeans up by the belt and walked out onto the dance floor. Spreading his legs, he waved his arms like a belly dancer and began gyrating his hips.
Hoots and whistles filled the bar. “Swing those hips, Big Bear. That’s right, show her what you got, Bill.”
I stood like a fence post, suddenly terrified by what I had gotten myself into. But this was exactly what Sicko wanted. He was testing me, leading me down a path to see if I would break. Dancing with Bear was the least of my concerns.
I walked out to Bear and stood three feet from him as he moved to the music. My jackknife was in my pocket. I could have it out in two seconds if he started slobbering in my ear. The wire was under my jeans, but I couldn’t see jumping on his back and strangling him out here on the dance floor. But I was overthinking the situation. He only wanted to dance.
“Come on, sugar, dance with the Bear. Show me what you got.”
I was tempted to slap him, but I didn’t. Instead, I began to shift my weight to the beat of the music as the chorus swelled.
“That’s it, baby. Ooo, yeah. Show me what you got.”
“Shut up,” I said, loud enough for only him to hear over the music.
He moved closer and reached for my hand. “Move that skinny little butt like you want it, baby.”
That was it. I stopped. “Okay. I’ve danced with you, now what?”
“You call that a dance? I don’t think so. You show me what you have or you don’t get what I have.”
“So you do have something for me?”
“Maybe. But you’re going to have to dance with me, sugar. And I do mean dance.”
“Is
He winked. “Melts in your mouth and in your hands.”
I couldn’t help thinking it would be pretty easy to poke him in one of those big eyeballs of his. But that wasn’t what Sicko had in mind, so I reluctantly let him take my hand and went through a few motions with his bulbous belly pressed against me.
Slow now. “That’s it. That’s the way you dance with the papa bear.” He pulled me closer and whispered into my ear. “I have what you want but not out here. Follow me after the song.”
