The bartender shook his head as the kid brought out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The bartender snatched it out of his hand at the protest of the guy.
“Hey, c’mon now!”
He stomped on it.
“First, you can’t smoke in here.”
“Give me a break.”
“Second, you’re under age.”
“Didn’t stop you before.”
“And third, you smell like you’ve already had enough.”
“Stop busting my chops, Rob, and just give me a drink.”
“Tyson, get out of here before I call security.”
“No you won’t. C’mon, just one drink.”
“Tyson.”
“For Nicky.”
The bartender stared around the room and off towards the clerk at the front desk. He sighed and reached under the bar and pulled out a Budweiser. He popped the cap off and put it in front of him. He jabbed his finger at him. “One, and then you’re outta here.”
“Good man. But aren’t you having one with me?”
“Gotta work.” He slung a towel over his shoulder and slid down to serve someone else. The kid cut Jack a glance and scowled before staring into his bottle, and then taking a hard chug on it. Jack might not have given the kid a second thought had it not been for the mixed crew of Hispanics and Caucasians in their early twenties who streamed in ten minutes later. The six of them swarmed him. None of them looked particularly threatening except for one who kept pulling at his weighted pant leg. It was a clear sign he was carrying a piece.
At first the conversation was quiet then one of them put a hand on his arm and gestured for him to step out. The black kid pulled his arm away and stepped off the stool full of liquid courage.
The bartender walked down.
“Tyson, everything okay here?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, just a small disagreement.”
“Look, take it outside, okay?”
Tyson nodded, thanked Rob for the drink and staggered out. It was clear he’d already had a few too many and the nature of the argument wasn’t going to be resolved with words. Jack turned on the stool away from it. He didn’t want to get involved. That was the last thing he needed. He had to stay level headed. He couldn’t get distracted or caught up in someone else’s problem. He had his own, and right now he was no closer to figuring out what Dana was involved in. In the reflection of the bar’s mirror he eyed the crew walk out the main doors. Just stay put, Jack. Don’t get involved.
He took another sip of his beer and stared at his phone for a second then said, “Ah fuck it.”
Chapter 7
They were gone. Jack stepped onto Cathedral Street and looked both ways. He stepped off the sidewalk to cross the road when he heard loud voices come from behind a wall. Adjacent to La Fonda was a parking lot for Loretto Chapel and Luminaria Restaurant. He darted between traffic, and launched himself up onto the wall. At the top he spotted them. Like a pack of wild wolves they formed a circle around Tyson and six thugs were taking turns shoving him back and forth. Jack studied them, aware that the short guy was carrying a piece. He could have pulled his and scared the shit out of them but he’d seen how fear made people erratic. The last thing he needed was to dodge bullets.
“Not exactly fair, now is it, guys?” Jack asked.
Two of them glanced his way and one jabbed his finger at him. “Fuck off or else.”
“Or else what?” Jack hopped off the wall and approached. There were a few vehicles in the lot, one high-end white BMW, a black 4 x 4 truck and a silver cube van. Only one streetlight cast minimal light on the darkened corner.
A couple of them started chuckling unable to believe his nerve. He heard one say, “This guy is loco.”
The one packing hung back with Tyson, keeping a firm grip on him. The other five guys fanned out in a semicircle and Jack sized them up. Their clothes were loose, jeans baggy and sneakers the kind worn by those trying too hard to impress. They were soft, sloppy and slow. These weren’t hired hands, the kind of men that handled business for anyone of repute. They were cheap, bottom of the rung opportunists. The kind of men that took offense if you looked at their girlfriend too long. Time wasters, bums who made their living off the scraps of society. The kind of lowlifes who puffed up in numbers but shrank back when singled out.
Jack kept moving to prevent them circling him. It was easier to gauge an attack, and control the situation when he had all of them in his field of vision.
Knives and guns were the immediate concern, and based on what he’d seen so far it appeared only one of them was brazen enough to carry, and since he hadn’t withdrawn it, Jack didn’t anticipate he would. It was nothing more than something to give him courage.
It was rare that a group like this would rush in all at once, though it did happen. More often than not two of the bravest would shuffle in while the others would jump in when the threat was on the ground. But he had no intentions of taking this to the ground. Instead of attacking one at a time, it was easier to use their attacking force against them. A fast jab, a quick pull of the collar and he’d use one of them like a human shield, wielding him to take the brunt of the next attack while he front kicked the next in the nuts. In his youth he just went wild, throwing out punches and hoping to God that one of them connected with a jaw but he soon learned that was a surefire way to a hospital bed. Eddie had taught him how to avoid being swarmed, use his environment, and take advantage of his attackers’ own energy.
“This is going to
