Ooh, another blogfest! This time it’s BAR SCENES, hosted by Tara over at Secret Story
Well, now. A Bar Scene. Oh, yes….goody, goody. Joe likes his booze, that he does. Below is my entry, an excerpt from the first chapter of Seeing Red: Set ‘Em Up, Joe. Set-up – Joe’s taking it easy, enjoying his fine single-malt scotch, basking in the beauty of his favorite bartender and regular gal Pamela. Enter the bad guys.
I raised my drink and took a sip; the hint of smoke and sea salt teased my tongue. I took a few more, letting the booze work to quiet my senses. I leaned forward and set my glass down on the smooth oak bar. Our eyes met, and Pamela gave me one of her half smiles.
She picked up the bottle, her soft, amber hair slowly falling across her shoulder as she leaned forward to fill my glass. As she topped off my drink, the front door banged open. The bottle trembled in her hand, and I watched as a drop of thirty-two-year-old single malt missed my glass and hit the bar.
I looked up. Pamela’s head was turned towards the front of the bar; her hand gripped the bottle, her knuckles white. Worry flashed across her deep blue eyes.
Two goth looking wannabes had walked in, accompanied by a late summer breeze and a scent that seemed oddly familiar. Cloves, maybe. One of them sniffed the air and then looked at his buddy. If they were human, I’d drink a Cosmopolitan.
I looked back at Pamela, who was still holding the bottle. “Easy now, angel.”
She looked at me, and then set the bottle down. “Those are the kids I told you about. They had trouble taking no for an answer when I refused to serve them beers earlier today. I could’ve sworn one of them growled at me when I threatened to call the cops.”
The first one walked up to the bar. Just on the outside of sixteen, I’d bet. Tallish, with blazing green eyes and spiked reddish-blond hair. Looked like a damn rooster. The second one stood close behind—appeared to be about two years younger and an inch shorter, with jagged jet black hair and eyes to match. There was something grimy about the air around them. And while their scent was familiar, their faces were not. Didn’t think they knew me, but if they were trying to cause trouble, it was time I got to know them. And if they were in any way involved with the reason I came to this town, then yeah—introductions were in order. I was back on full alert.
“We’re starving. Make it two burgers,” the older one said.
I looked back at my glass of scotch, contemplating the drop that got away. “Heard of a thing called manners?”
The second one snickered; the first one didn’t do a thing.
“I said two burgers. Rare. And two beers.”
I looked up at Pamela, who stood motionless behind the bar. Still looking at her, I coughed lightly and said, “And I said, how about some manners?”
The one with the green eyes turned to look at me. I returned the courtesy. That’s when I noticed something wrong with his eyes. They were on fire. Not because of his true nature, not because he was probably full on human blood, but for another reason. Sick? Not very likely, not for our kind. Had to be drugs.
“Keep it to yourself, old man.”
Mr. Jet Black hair snickered again, sniffed, and then put his arms around himself and shivered. Drugs. What the hell were these two thinking? Drugs and our kind don’t usually mix.
“The kitchen’s already closed. Besides, you know I can’t serve minors,” Pamela said. “You’ll have to leave.”
Green eyes stared at her for a long moment, like he was cataloguing her image for later. And that, I didn’t like.
When they didn’t move, I said, “So you don’t do polite, but maybe you also got a hearing problem? The lady asked you to leave. Why don’t I show you the way out?”
His sidekick shivered again, then said, “Let’s go, Jeff.”
The first one stared at me, this funny look on his face. Like he wanted to bite me. Well, hell—let him try. I laughed at the thought.
“Laughing at me, old man?” That was twice now. When you’re blessed with immortality, age is irrelevant. I hated being reminded of that fact.
“Maybe I am, Jeff. Now, be a good boy and listen to your friend.” I looked at the other one. “Your name’s not Mutt, I suppose?”
“No, I suppose not.” I set my glass down on the bar, pushed back my barstool, and stood up. “Guess you do need help finding your way out.”
Just then, the double door that separated the bar and restaurant from the kitchen swung open. A young waitress by the name of Daisy sauntered through and worked her way up to the bar. Though at least a decade younger, Daisy was one of Pamela’s closest friends. She was a cute young thing, a brunette with cocoa eyes, though a bit too cheerful for my tastes.
“I forgot my gym bag in the break area.” She walked over to my side, stopping right in front of the two punks. “I heard voices up front.” She smiled at me. “I’m not suprised to find you here, but who are the kids? Friends of yours?”
I heard a low gutteral sound from Green eyes, and in less than a second he grabbed Daisy’s wrist and sniffed it. As he was about to lick her wrist, I moved between them and grabbed his arm. I squeezed quick and tight, and said, “Let go. Now.”
He let out a deep growl, like a dog makes when he’s about to lose his bone.
I squeezed tighter and heard bones snap.
He growled again, though it was more of a wimper, and let go. As I pushed Daisy behind me, Pamela rushed over to her side.
He looked at me and I started to see the tips of something white and sharp poke out from under his upper lip. What the hell was wrong with this one? Pulling that kind of crap in front of humans was not only stupid—it was dangerous for all our kind. Don’t call attention to yourself unless you need to use it. Vampires fare best when following that rule.
Yeah, that’s what I am. Vampire. And it was time for my own fangs to come out.