“Let me do that,” Jack said behind me.
“Okay, thank you.” I handed over the bag. “Are you territorial about your kitchen? I know a lot of chefs are.”
“I consider this more of a safety hazard than a kitchen. I don’t want anyone hurting themselves in here, especially around the fryer.”
“Have you worked here a long time?”
“I guess you could say so. It’s a family business. I’ve had my hand in it since I was a kid.”
“Are you related to Hank?” I asked.
“He’s my grandpa.”
“Your grandpa?” I asked, hiding shock. “I don’t see the resemblance.”
“Not many people do.”
“Do you have a motorcycle?”
“Do you always ask a ton of questions?”
“I believe so.”
He grinned. “I think you’ll be around for a while. We’ve had a few women work here who were too bubble-brained to last more than a few days. You seem smart but don’t look the type to blend into these surroundings.”
“I can change my look if I want to. I bet you dated the bubble-brained girls, didn’t you?”
“It’s hard to resist a woman with a small IQ and a mountain of enthusiasm.”
“You sound like Evan . . . and probably half of the male population. I refuse to believe all men want a woman with an IQ smaller than her shoe size.”
“Are you dating Evan? He comes to the bar once in a while.”
“With a bubble-brained girl, no doubt.”
Jack smirked. “Or finds one here.”
“To answer your question, we’re friends.”
“Your onion rings are done.”
“Do you want to share? I have questions.”
He arched his brow as he piled onion rings on a plate. “What kind of questions?”
“I want to know how to stop a fight. Hank says I can’t do it. Honestly, I really don’t know what I’d be able to do. Some of those bikers are huge with thick leather.”
“You have to be quick. A single fistfight can domino into a brawl. Once it escalates it’s hard to control and you’re better off calling the police and estimating bar damage. Being quick is key. Being a girl will actually give you an advantage.”
“I don’t see how. There’s no way I could hold a man back from hitting someone.”
“Yes, but you can get away with more by playing dirty. All I can do is put the man in a hold and hope he cools. I try not to step between a fight. I’ve had several black eyes because of it.”
“What can I do?”
“Take a self defense class. My grandma is legendary at stopping fights. I can have her come in and talk to you.”
“That’d be wonderful.”
Jack dropped me off at Mrs. Janowski’s house. The sound of a rumbling motorcycle brought spies to the window. I called my thanks as he took off down the road. Five pairs of eyes retreated to the dining room as I walked up the path.
“Ladies,” I greeted the spies as I entered.
“Who’s the good looking man on the Harley?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“That’s Jack. He works at the bar and was nice enough to give me a ride. I’ll need a ride back for the night shift if someone can take me.”
“I’ll take you,” Ida said. “I have some business down there.”
“Like filling up your flask?” Sylvia asked disapprovingly.
“What happened with Evan? I thought she was dating Evan.” Edna asked.
“I’m not dating Evan. Even though I might want to, I don’t see him settling down to date. He’s only looking for a fling.”
I booted the computer.
“Does anyone know of a self defense class in the area?”
“There’s one at the senior center every week. I like to go in case someone is dumb enough to try to mug me. He’ll be sorry.” Mrs. Janowski punched her fist in her hand. “You can tag along tomorrow. It’s at ten o’clock.”
“Do you think they can teach me how to stop a bar fight?”
“Do you need help at the bar? We’ve all been through the class and can help you take down those rowdy hooligans,” Mrs. Janowski offered. “Even Edna brought the instructor to his knees by twisting his arm.”
“It’s true!” Edna beamed. “I didn’t think I could do it, but he asked so politely to twist his arm I couldn’t refuse.”
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I need to get the job myself. If I can’t learn how to stop a bar fight and protect myself then I don’t deserve the job.”
“You mean you don’t have the job yet?” Kym asked.
“Not until Hank is sure I won’t cower under the bar. I don’t blame him. Considering I’m forcing my way in, he’s being rather tolerant.”
“He’s giving you a cut of the tips, right?”
“Not yet. But Jack made me onion rings today, and I’m not drunk from my mistakes. I consider it a foot in the right direction.”
An instant message from Aaron popped on my screen.
I need help. Where do u live? Can I meet u?
The message caught me off guard. Why would he need to know where I live?
Do u need help with ur homework?
No. Something else. U said u live in Madison, right?
What kind of help?
I don’t want 2 tell u over the internet.
Then how do I know I can help?
Never mind. Forget it.
Reading his words sent my heart panicking. He must need help desperately to turn to a stranger on the internet.
I’ll help u. Just tell me what I’m helping u with.
I waited a long five minutes until I was sure he was gone.
“Mrs. J., I think there is something wrong with Aaron.”
Mrs. Janowski shuffled over to my chair. She squinted at the monitor. As she straightened, she gave a disapproving tisk.
“I think we have ourselves a WLMIRL.”
“Are you sure? He seems like a nice kid.”
“Ladies, please read the screen and let’s talk. From what I’m reading, there’s either a kid in trouble or an anxious predator. Either way, we might need police involvement.”
Each lady took a turn and read the monitor as I thought back to the small various conversations I've had with Aaron. There was a time when he said a parent was making him do something he didn’t want to do. That’s normal for a kid; not many kids want to do chores.
What if Aaron is a predator? I stopped.
No. Nuh-uh. No way!
I pondered until the puzzled ladies returned to their seats.
“We’ve each read the screen. Do we think it’s a predator or a child reaching out for help?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
Edna twisted her hands. “I just don’t know. Everything I read tells me this could be a hasty predator and got scared off.”
“I think we should call the cops and let them decide,” Sylvia suggested.
“I say we lead him into a trap and find out ourselves. If it’s a kid, we can help. If it’s a predator, we can find him a concrete boot to go fishing in.” Ida said. “Either way, it’s more than a cop can do.”
Kym’s eyes widened.
“We’re not taking him fishing, you nincompoop,” Mrs. Janowski scolded. “Mars, you’ve been talking with him. Tell us what you think.”
“I’m really confused. I think he’s a kid, but this last conversation has me lost. Is there a way cops can track where he is? Maybe it’s a school computer or a computer located in a known predator’s house. It might help us determine how to proceed.”
“Once the cops are involved then we’ll have no jurisdiction on this case,” Ida argued.
Sylvia rolled her eyes.
“Let’s call the cops,” Edna urged. “Then no one will get hurt, and the cops can take care of it.”
“I have some cement mix in my trunk . . . that will take care of it,” Ida offered.
Edna gasped.
“The cement is for your garden step. I swear I�
��m going to take that whiskey away. You’re just egging Edna on until she’s in a tizzy,” Sylvia said.
Ida smirked.
“We could call a private detective,” Kym suggested.
Mrs. Janowski looked thoughtful. “It’d give us time to investigate without cop interference. Once we know what we’re dealing with we can bring them in. I like the idea.”
“Private detectives are expensive,” I said. “I have no money.”
“It’s my treat,” Kym said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll chip in too. Do we all agree?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
Everyone nodded their heads.
Chapter 8
Ida dropped me off at the bar. “I have to run a few errands, Mars. Don’t let the boys give you a hard time.”
I hopped out of the car and waved goodbye. I found Hank, Mac, Bob, and Jack all hanging around the same corner of the bar.
“Don’t you guys move?”
“I had to take a leak a few minutes ago,” Bob said.
“Besides going to the bathroom.”
“What else is there to do?”
“Mars, are you trying to run off my clientele?” Hank asked.
“Not at all. I’m just figuring out the dynamics.”
“That’s why you don’t fit in. There are no dynamics. It’s a bar. Just a plain old bar with guys who like to drink and talk.”
I shrugged. “Oh, by the way, I’m going to take a self defense class at the senior center tomorrow. I won’t be in until the night shift.”
“I think we can survive without you.” Hank rolled his eyes.
“No need to be snarky. I was just letting you know my absence does not mean I’m giving up.”
A rumble closed in on the building, shaking it worse than the day before.
“Sounds like the whole gang is here,” Jack said.
Bob and Mac picked up their drinks and moved to the furthest end of the bar. Hank began tapping beers. Jack tied his threadbare apron around his waist and disappeared into the kitchen. I flew behind the bar as bikers poured into the building. There were so many I was sure the walls would burst from capacity. The noise level rocketed from the jukebox kicking on and boisterous hollering.
I took money as Hank handed out beers.
“There are too many customers,” I yelped as a man ignored my outstretched hand and wedged the money between my cleavage. A toothless smile accompanied the manhandling. I shuttered as I retrieved the dollars.
Ooh . . . an extra dollar for me. The manhandling came with a reward. I shoved the dollar in my pocket and resumed helping Hank.
“It only becomes this busy when riders come to town,” Hank said, tapping beers.
“I bet the riders coming through here are what keeps this place open.”
A scowl replaced his usual frown. “We have loyal customers. This place is fine with or without the riders.”
My business senses were tingling. There was no way Bob and Mac, no matter how loyal, were keeping this place afloat. Even the weekend crowd dropped to a handful of bikers.
“I’m sure the extra money helps,” I said.
Hank grumbled something that sounded like “damn women” and moved to the other side of the bar. I was left to help the customers on my side of the bar.
“Can I have sex on the beach?” A woman asked.
Odd question, but she’s not from this area. Maybe she needs an area map. Customer skills 101: Give the customer what they want. “Of course you can. There are a few beaches in the area, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Sand is abrasive and people litter. Not to mention animal poop is probably all mixed in there too. Who knows what you might roll in. Plus, cops will ticket you. I might have a map back somewhere. Though, I don’t think Hank has tourist info.”
A laugh rolled behind me. I turned to find Jack with two plates of food. He dropped them at the customers next to me.
“Mars, she wants a mixed drink. She doesn’t literally want to have sex on the beach.”
“Oh!” I gulped, reddening quicker than Hank could tap. “I feel so stupid. I even had the drink before. It’s really good.”
Jack laughed again. My damn Irish blood spiraled to my scalp.
The woman giggled. Her giggle sounded so girly and silly I’d have mistaken her for a ten year-old. It didn’t fit with her black leather outfit. “I was talking about a drink, but I wouldn’t mind the real thing if it was with a man like Jack.”
My eyes popped wide open as Jack smirked.
“I know you’re not riding alone, Brandy,” Jack said. “We already had this conversation. It’s too bad. I’d take you up on your offer otherwise. I have to get back to the grill.” With a quick wink he was off to the kitchen.
“I’ve had my eye on him for two summers,” she confided. “Each year he gets hotter and I get older. It’s not fair.”
I wasn’t about to have the life’s not fair contest at the moment. I grabbed a glass and filled it with ice. I poured liquid from a clear bottle and filled the rest of the glass with coke. I topped it off with a lemon, lime, and a cherry . . . for good measure.
“Next year come alone and he’ll be all yours,” I said, handing her the concoction.
“What’s this?”
“Hank said girly drinks weren’t allowed in the bar. This is as girly as they come.”
She huffed. “This is why some of the girls hate coming here. But it’s the only dive within driving distance that will take us all.”
Business senses were tingling again. “Tell me what the girls are looking for.”
“Okay, but then you have to tell me about Jack.”
“Deal,” I agreed while uncapping a beer. “Can you tell me about bar fights?”
“What do you want to know?”
“I guess I want to know how they start, and if you know a good way to stop them.”
“Are you afraid the Blue Thunderballs will start a fight?”
“I’m afraid of being unprepared.”
“You don’t have to worry about us. We might be a little rowdy but we don’t usually fight amongst ourselves . . . except on rare occasions when Bull thinks someone’s flirting with his girl. There’s a reason his nickname is Bull.”
“Which one is he?” I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
She turned and scanned the room. “He’s the one by the pool table with the red bandana.”
He was the same man who pulled me on his lap the day before. If both he and his girlfriend have short fuses, I was going to keep my eye on them.
“Do fights ever spiral completely out of control?”
She nodded. Her face screwed and puckered as she sipped her drink. “This is disgusting!”
“Would you rather have a beer?”
“God yes! I’m not much of a beer drinker but anything’s better than this.”
I tossed the drink in the sink and tapped a beer while she told me stories of fights she witnessed.
“Once I was caught in the middle of an all-out bar fight. I even have a scar when I was pushed through the window. See? It’s along my jaw. The Wild Boars were after Bull. He was caught in bed with a Wild Boar girl. She’s not pretty if you ask me, but Rumble was ticked because he had his eye on her.”
“Rumble is a person?”
She nodded. “Head of the Wild Boars. He’s not cute either. I guess they'd have made a good pair. It’s too bad because now we’re sworn enemies. I had my eye on one of the guys in the Wild Boars. There’s no way I can see him now.”
“How did they break up the fight?”
“The cops were called. Everyone fled except for a few injured."
“Other than your outfit, I don’t see you as the biker type. How did you get involved with them?”
She looked at her outfit. “I barely fit in, but they tolerate me. I’ve become sort of a pet they can’t get rid of.” She chuckled. “I met one of the riders while I was on vacation. Let’s just say my vacation never stopped.”
“I
s that who you’re riding with now?”
“No, he no longer rides with us. I hooked up with Steel before he left so I stayed on.”
“So, you’re with Steel now?”
“Oh, no. Bull ran him off for touching his girl. I’m with Rider now. He’s the cute one by Bull.”
I caught a glimpse of a man near Bull. With all the leather and scruff, I couldn’t judge one way or the other. “I’m hearing a pattern in your life,” I said.
“What kind of pattern?”
“That you switch partners faster than I can pour beer. Though, I should clarify I can’t pour beer very fast,” I added. It wasn’t meant to be cynical, but I should keep my thoughts to myself.
She smirked. “I consider myself a sampler. Some people sample wine and cheese; I sample men. I keep the rich and satisfying around longer.”
“I just want one.”
“You have to sample to find the right one. That’s what I’m doing. And why not? When men sample ladies, no one thinks anything of it. When a woman samples, she’s a slut.”
“I don’t think I have much of an appetite for sampling either way.”
It sparked a faraway thought. Why should I keep Brett’s number? I met him, we enjoyed each other’s company, and now he’s in another state and we haven’t spoken all summer. That means we’re done, right? He’s sampled and moved on. So should I.
I hesitated before my hand resolutely slid into my pocket. I should’ve had the courage to do this a month ago. I set my phone on the bar. “Will you do me a favor and erase a phone number?” I asked.
I don’t know what possessed me to hand my phone to a stranger. She seemed a little lost like me. But when it came to men, she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after them . . . all of them.
“Hung up on a guy?”
“We left things open ended when he left. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s never leave things open ended. They feel it’s a license to go off and have fun. They only remember to call when they need a hook up. Never give a man that much power. It’ll come back and bite you in the ass every time.”
“I figured as much, but it’s too late now. It’s better if his phone number is erased. Then I’ll have no way to contact him if I become emotionally off balanced.”
Predator Patrol (Mars Cannon Novel #2) Page 6