From the other side comes a muffled, “No! You can’t do this to me!”
A different female voice adds from behind the splotchy-painted wood, “Just go home, Dave! Leave her alone!”
He growls, “Stay outta this, Melanie!”
Ralphie walks out from behind the bar, “What’s the problem over here!?” and I follow as backup, jumping off my barstool and taking a chili-covered fry with me.
The whole place is watching.
Dave jams his finger into unforgiving wood. “She took my fucking wallet!”
Ralphie tries to open the door but it won’t budge. “You girls holding this shut?”
“You bet your ass!”
He shakes his head and turns to me. “Can’t kick it open. If I hurt them they can sue me.”
“That’s a backward problem.”
Ralphie mutters, “Tell me about it,” pulling out his phone and dialing the police.
“Give me my fucking wallet!” Dave yells, banging on the wood.
A third female voice shouts, “She’s not gonna give you your wallet, Dave, so you’re shit out of luck, buddy!”
I cut a glance to the crowd silently munching their food and drinking beers as if a movie is taking place in real life.
Ralphie and I lock eyes, both of us wondering the same thing: Gina has two friends as backup. What’s the story? It’s not a normal robbery. They all know each other.
What the fuck?
As he talks to the police department, I ask Dave, “Why’d she take your wallet?”
Staring at the door like he wishes he could break it, Dave grumbles, “I broke up with her tonight.”
I head back to my food.
It’s gonna get cold.
Can’t have that.
I’d say about three quarters of the joint follows my lead, the other one-quarter still interested in the useless threats and nonsensical bullshit. Trouble is, girls are crossing their legs wanting to pee, and this place doesn’t have unisex bathrooms — the urinals don’t smell so great.
But Gina, Melanie, and whoever the third friend is, only care about one thing.
Typical heartbreak combined with admirable friendship loyalty.
Soon afterward, a cacophony of shuffled weight makes me aware the police must’ve arrived, drawing the collective attention of all present.
I glance over my shoulder, right cheek full like a half-committed squirrel, to watch two cops stroll in — one enormous and bald, the other…
Wyatt Cocker.
My chewing slows.
He’s focused on the bathroom, but his gaze slides over to me and holds. I feel the recognition, but he’s not sure where or why, yet, so he walks to my friend.
“Ralphie, what’s going on here?”
Dave thrusts his arm toward the barred door. “Gina took my wallet after I broke up with her!”
Wyatt’s big, bald partner speaks a low rumble, the kind you feel in your chest like sub-woofers. “Did you hit Gina?”
“No!”
“Did she hit you?”
Dave balks, “No! She just took my fuckin’ wallet and won’t give it back.”
Gina’s voice comes through the wood, “He took more than that!”
Wyatt holds up his hand. “Washington, let me handle this. Hey, Gina, am I to understand you got your heart broken?”
There’s silence.
Total.
Complete.
Everyone waiting.
He continues, “…so you decided to steal his wallet to make him stay here and pay more attention than he was paying? So he would literally pay?”
I swallow and frown.
Wyatt’s wiser than he looks. That was a quick jump yet he nailed it.
The door opens and a feminine hand juts out, ransom no longer wanted. “Here.”
Dave falters and takes it, “Thanks,” before he trudges off toward the back door.
Gina appears — this dark-haired slip of a girl — and shouts with both fists pointed at the scuffed floor, “You didn’t say you’re sorry!”
He spins around. “For what?”
Shaking she’s so mad, Gina snaps a disappointed, “Forget it!”
Dave stares at her, and walks out of her life. Maybe forever. I wouldn’t know. But it’s not a fun ending for the crowd to enjoy, and the despondent feeling is palpable.
Ralphie exhales another night of unpredictable bartending and tells the cops, “Lemme buy you guys a beer.”
Wyatt and Washington head over, the latter rumbling, “I wish we could take you up on that,” as the former locks eyes with me while Ralphie nods and strolls off to help customers who finished their drinks during the drama.
Wyatt Cocker has an easy humor in his eyes that makes me like him instantly. “You have that red Bronco, don’t you?”
I turn on the seat to face him. “That was me, yeah.”
“You were with my cousin.”
“I took her home after—”
“—I know. My brother and sister told me about it when I walked in. Saw the douche, too.” Wyatt shakes his head, muttering, “Can’t believe that’s the guy she’d been hiding all these years.”
“Hiding?”
Meeting my gaze, he notes that behind my feigned casualness I’m genuinely curious, and his brown eyes narrow on me.
I bet that, as a cop, Wyatt’s probably learned how to read people since most lie to him.
“What’s your name?”
“Gage Holbrook.”
He’s sizing me up, Washington waiting next to him until Wyatt says, “Hang on a sec.”
We both watch as he walks off, tapping away at his phone.
What’s he doing?
I glance to Washington, but he’s in the dark, too, with an amused smirk like his partner is unpredictable and that’s part of the fun.
Wyatt scans the crowd like he’s searching for something — or just biding his time. Suddenly his phone lights up and he inspects the message. Tucking it back into his pocket, he strolls up. “Nice to meet you, Gage.”
They leave with me wondering what the fuck was that about?
Chapter Twelve
GAGE
“A nother beer?” Ralphie picks up my empty one. “You nursed this bad boy pretty good.”
Over the loud conversations I tell him, “One’s enough. I gotta go home.”
“Already?” comes a female voice on my right. Ralphie’s eyes light up as Lexi mounts the empty barstool beside me with an all-too-casual smile. “I just got here. Keep me company? Ralphie, can I get a Transmigration draft?”
“You got it, Lex,” he grins, tapping the bar and glancing to me, wondering what’s up with us.
Ralphie also delivers a new bottle of mine without asking again.
Since
