“You’re a brave man walking into this bar and saying that.”
“Yeah?” The man slid off his bar stool and walked over to me. “Why would that be?”
Usually, I would’ve landed a left hook there and then. It was my favorite punch: closer to the target than the right hand when in an orthodox boxing stance, but a real power shot. I would’ve lined him up, asked him a question, whether real or frivolous, it didn’t matter, and then in that split second while his mind was processing the question and his response, I would have swung hard before he was ready. After all, it’s the punches you don’t see or expect that have the greatest effect. And then when he was sprawled on the ground, I would have turned to the bar tender and handed the situation over to him. He would have told the rest of them to drag him out of here, shot gun in his hand. And it wouldn’t have been the first time.
But I couldn’t risk an energy sapping fight. I still had a job to do.
I still had to go to the park and watch for the kidnapper at midnight, and if there was no sign of them, I had to plant the cameras in preparation for the next night. And I had to do this carefully with an attention to detail. I had to keep my mind on the job and my head in the game.
“I don’t know where you’ve blown in from, but in Chicago, we talk nicely to strangers.”
That made him smile. He was already missing a few teeth, and I would’ve happily knocked some more out, but turned back to the television.
“I’m not from around here, but I’ll happily drive you to the hospital after I beat you into the dirt.”
That pushed my buttons.
“Not in here.” The bartender could see my hand grip around the glass tighter. “Not tonight, boys. Not here. You.” He pointed to the guy picking the fight. “Go back to your friends and finish your drink, and then get out of here. This isn’t the place to be picking fights.”
The guy didn’t move.
“Did you hear me?” The bartender shouted. Everyone in the bar turned around.
The situation was on knife-edge.
I stood, towering over the man.
“Oi!” It was the bartender again. He was reaching for something. The shotgun, I would imagine. “I said, settle it down!”
The guy didn’t budge and nor did I.
Luckily, one of his friends came between us, and pushed him back. They walked back to the pool table at the end of the bar, knocking back their drinks.
I sat back down and indicated I wanted another drink.
“Not tonight, Jack.” The bartender said. “I could see it in your eyes the second you walked in here. You’re looking for a fight. You’re looking for someone to take the blame for whatever situation you’ve got yourself in to. I like you, Jack, but I don’t want any trouble in here. You’re cut-off tonight. Best if you take off now. Understand?”
I stared at him for a moment, part of me still wanted to make an issue out of it, but he was right.
I nodded and stood to leave.
“Not that way, pal. Not out the front.” It was the bartender again. “10 to 1 your buddy will be out there waiting for you, along with his buddies. I don’t need you two getting back into it, blocking my doorway with your fighting, interrupting everyone’s evening with a visit from the law. I’ll show you out the back.”
As I followed him down the dark staff corridor, my mind was getting back to work. I still had five hours until midnight, and that left me with time to kill, and anger to burn.
It was time to take a chance.
Chapter 21
With a few pints under my belt, my decision-making process wasn’t the best.
My decision making was never that good, but under the influence of beer, it was even worse than normal. I was too impulsive with drink in me. I didn’t think things through. And I took needless risks. But then sometimes that’s what’s needed. Sometimes who dares does win and you need to say ‘what the hell’ and throw it all into ‘who gives a damn gear’ and then wait to see where the chips fall.
Outside of the bar, I climbed on board my truck and decided it was time to take a chance. I fired up the engine, revved it twice until it screamed for mercy, as if a mirror to my mood, and hit the gas, screeching the tires out of the gravel parking lot, and hitting the highway. I was driving like a man possessed, weaving in and out of the late-night traffic, propelled forward by my determination and my resolution to see through the drastic action that I had in mind.
I had a goal and nothing was going to stop me.
I had to save that girl.
The longer it took to get to my destination, the more the rage inside me bubbled. Building and building until I felt ready to explode. When I pulled up to the sidewalk outside Tanya’s front door, I was fully wired, like a prize bull ready to burst out of the gates at a rodeo. I didn’t have time to formulate a coherent plan. This wasn’t the time to stop and think. But I knew the basics of what I was going to do and more importantly what I wanted to achieve.
I stormed out of my truck, slamming the door behind me, ran up to the front door of the Logan Square home, and banged on it hard with my fist. Waiting for a
