Page 14 of Iron Hearts
That was fair. She’d been clocked into next week just last night. I’d be sick of shit, too.
“IPA,” I called back, and she set about getting me my pour, her face a mix of uninterested, weary, andwary.
“Thanks kindly, baby girl!” I called to her, and she made a face.
“Sweetheart?” I tried.
“Worse!” she called back.
“Beautiful?” I hazarded.
She snorted, clearly, but whatever indelicate sound accompanied her facial expression was drowned all the way out between the band and the din of customers.
“That’ll be eight dollars!” she called.
“Oh! Highway robbery!” I joked.
“Yeah, well, it’s a three-dollar charge just for putting up with you!” she called back. I put both hands over my heart and half stumbled back as Kash came up beside me and laughed at my getting shot down.
I handed her a ten and called back, “Keep the change, baby!”
She didn’t look at me, just rang me up and stuffed the extra bills into her back pocket, moving down the line to help the next paying customer.
“Watch this,” Pud said, tugging on his cut, and he moved in to shoot his shot with her.
“Ten dollars!” she called out.
“You just charged him eight!” he cried.
“Yeah, well, you’re worse!” she yelled back at him, and a bunch of us fell out laughing. He paid her with a twenty, and she gave him back the correct change – which was actually more than ten dollars. Kash stopped Pud before I could.
“C’mon, dude! Tip the lady!” Kash called.
“Here’s a tip,” Pud called over his shoulder, and the girl raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be such a bitch!”
A chorus ofooohswent up around us and she just waved the lot of us off, unimpressed.
I handed her a five and, raising my voice over the din, said, “Sorry about that. He can be a dick.”
“You mean I’m all dick!” Pud said, grabbing his crotch in my direction. I rolled my eyes and was looking forward to him throwing hands with someone who maybe went for his balls. I would let Karma sort my brother out.
I turned back to the pretty little bartender and looked her over.
“I have to guess you know what’s coming,” I said. I tried to keep my voice low and for her only. She leaned in to listen, and I said, “When shit gets started, I want you and the other girl to duck and cover. I don’t want you to come out until after the sirens get here and it’s gone quiet. You understand me?”
She looked up at me sharply, her blue eyes flashing keenly, but she gave a single curt nod.
“Good girl,” I said without thinking, and the prettiest blush worked its way across her nose and cheeks, and she got flustered. Her ears turned bright red as she pushed away from me and the bar and made her way to the other end.
I couldn’t help but grin as I watched her go, and I took a sip of my pale beer. It was crisp, hoppy, and dank as fuck, which is what I liked in an IPA. I would have to try and remember to ask what she’d poured me. It was some good shit.
I drifted on over to stand with some of my Royal Bastards brethren. We were scattered in knots among the varying bundles and micro-groups of Bloody Scorpions. The tension was so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife.
Dudes in plain clothes were scattered throughout all of us patched bikers in even smaller knots of twos and threes. They were all hugging the railing or edging toward the stairs, casting a watchful eye on the rest of us up here, rightfully waiting for the thing that’d make one of us snap and the free-for-all to begin.
They were victims of arriving here before the rest of the lot of us, their bikes blocked in, unable to flee like I know they wanted to.
Instead, they started making their way down to the food, lower bars, gift shop, and down where the heavy-duty sewing machines with all the patches were set up.
