Highways & Hostages

by Jax Abbey

  Julian may have offered Finn the job on a whim, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been working his ass off ever since. So because Stella barely made an “honest living” as a bar waitress, she thought she was better than him? Fuck her and her strawberry shampoo.

  Finn leaned back in his chair, a sneer on his lips. “Ah! So that’s why you’re marrying this Derek guy.” He paused to take a sip of his drink when he knew he had her undivided attention.

  “He’s your white knight riding in to scoop you out of your white-trash life. No more slumming it as a waitress, right? Sell the trailer, get a big house with a white picket fence and a golden retriever?” Finn knew he’d struck a nerve when Stella’s face paled and her knuckles whitened around her water glass. He immediately regretted going so far, but she had really pissed him off.

  In the blink of an eye, Stella shot out of her chair and threw her half-full glass of water in Finn’s face. “Fuck you. I’m out of here.” She spun on her heel and stalked out of the restaurant. Just before she exited, she turned around and called, “Don’t worry about taking that Viagra. I plan on being out late.”

  As he watched her leave, he felt another tiny flicker of that unidentified emotion. Not even a minute later, the waiter appeared next to Finn’s chair with a dishtowel. “I’m guessing you want that dessert to go?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Finn was back in the hotel room alone. After Stella left the restaurant, he’d forced himself to finish his meal, though he felt queasy. He was pretty sure it was his body’s way of telling him he was a complete idiot.

  He’d thought about getting up and running after her, worried she might take off—but she couldn’t get far without a key to the car, the room, or her phone.

  Besides, chasing women wasn’t his style.

  When he left the restaurant, Rachel ran from behind the front desk to inform him “Mrs. Gilroy” seemed really upset, and said she was going to check out the karaoke bar a couple blocks down the street. Finn thanked her and bypassed the elevator to race up the stairs to their room. He figured he would change his wet shirt, put in a call to Billy, and go to the bar to apologize to Stella. He didn’t know what it was about her that riled him up.

  Finn quickly pulled on one of his customary V-necks, and then dialed Billy. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail.

  “Dammit, Billy!” Finn exclaimed. He put the phone back in his pocket and went to find Stella.

  BILLY, 9:48 P.M.

  Billy reclined on Finn’s couch and balanced a nearly overflowing bowl of Lucky Charms on his knee as he watched Family Guy. A tinny rap song drifted from his phone, which was resting on the couch next to him. He glanced at the caller ID. Finn. He immediately turned back to the TV. He didn’t need Finn’s know-it-all attitude and instructions bringing him down. Things had been going to plan…then they took a slight detour, but everything was good now.

  Billy was still in agony from Phoebe’s perfectly placed kick to his crotch. He readjusted the frozen broccoli to better cover his balls and glanced at her. He’d managed to power through the pain and pull his gun from his waistband. She was a lot more cooperative after that. As a preventative measure, he’d duct-taped her to one of the dining chairs, where she’d been ever since.

  Billy finished his last spoonful of cereal and sat up. He put the milk-filled bowl next to the pistol on the coffee table and regarded Phoebe.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked, smirking.

  Phoebe blew her bangs out of her eyes and gave him a dirty look. “I can tell you what I definitely don’t want to do. I don’t want to watch this dumb-ass show anymore.”

  “What’s wrong with Family Guy? Seth MacFarlane is a genius,” Billy said.

  “You’ve been watching this for three hours. Every episode is basically the same joke.”

  “That’s what someone with no sense of humor would say,” Billy turned his attention back to the TV.

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  Billy narrowed his eyes at her and cocked his head to the side. The movement slid the broccoli onto his leg, causing him to wince. He couldn’t believe this teenage bitch had kicked him in the family jewels. And he hadn’t even done anything to deserve it! He was just trying to talk to her when she went psycho and tried to bolt for the door. Finn would blame it all on him, and he was having none of that.

  “I have a freakin’ small bladder, dude!”

  Billy didn’t move.

  “I will pee on this chair,” Phoebe hissed.

  Billy’s face contorted in disgust. “Jesus Christ, that’s disgusting. Fine.” With a shudder, Billy stood and tucked the gun in the back of his jeans. After cutting through Phoebe’s duct tape, he hoisted her up by the arm and marched her to the half bath at the far end of the room. “Don’t try any funny business.”

  Phoebe slammed the door in his face. It was such bullshit that he was forced to resort to babysitting some girl for Finn to acknowledge him as his peer. And even then, Finn acted like he couldn’t do anything on his own, and gave him all these rules. Fuck Finn’s rules. Finn wasn’t here.

  Speaking of people who were driving Billy crazy, his father hadn’t called him about going on a solo job in weeks. Okay, so the last job his father sent him on didn’t end so well. Billy had gone on a run to Los Angeles to pick up a bronze effigy of St. Vincent that also happened to be a flask. It wasn’t Billy’s fault he met a girl, and flew her and the effigy to Seattle for a foam party. It was fate. He hadn’t purposely set out to use St. Vincent’s effigy to hold his liquor, but if you couldn’t use a flask in the shape of the patron saint of winemakers, then what the hell was it for?

  Billy rapped on the door impatiently. “Hurry up!”

  “I haven’t even been in here for one minute,” Phoebe replied.

  “You come out on the count of three or I’m coming in. One…two…three!”

  As Billy turned the knob and threw open the door, a blast of fire engulfed the space between him and Phoebe. Phoebe stood in a karate stance, holding a cigarette lighter before the nozzle of an aerosol can of deodorizer. Billy recoiled, clutching at his face.

  “What the fuck?” he screamed. He fell to his knees with his hands still covering his eyes. He heard her fumbling for something nearby and then running for the door. He jerked himself into a standing position and took up the chase as Phoebe managed to unlock the deadbolt and throw herself into the hallway.

  Billy groaned. He really hadn’t signed on for this. Up ahead, Phoebe dashed into an elevator and repeatedly jabbed a button. The doors closed just as Billy got within a few feet of them. He slammed the door with the palm of his hand and winced at the pain. “Fuck!”

  The door beside the elevator featured a picture of a stairwell. He groaned. What other choice did he have?

  Billy burst through the door and groaned again when he remembered he was on the ninth floor. He barreled down the stairs, wheezing the whole way. His lungs burned and he had a cramp on his right side. He thought about Finn’s advice about quitting smoking. Did weed count as smoking? Because he wasn’t giving up weed.

  Once he reached the ground floor, Billy crashed out into a deserted alley and doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He straightened up and, still breathing hard, made a slow circle. No trace of Phoebe anywhere.

  “You burned off my eyebrows, you bitch!” he yelled between gasps. “You burned my fucking eyebrows!”

  Billy mourned the loss of his eyebrows for a moment before coming to his senses. The girl was gone. Finn would never put in a good word with his dad or Alex now. He was screwed, and there was only one other person who could help him.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone before realizing it was on Finn’s couch. Nine stories up. Fuck. He was taking the elevator, eyebrows or no eyebrows.

  STELLA, 9:23 P.M.

  Stella rubbed her bare arms as she power-walked away from the hotel. Nighttime had fallen, and so had the temperature. They must have been close to the outskir
ts of town or near a residential area because there were hardly any other businesses. The street was deserted. Rachel had told her the karaoke bar, The Hula Shack, was a ten-minute walk. Stella didn’t know how long she spent walking, but it felt like she’d covered several miles in a matter of minutes. That was how angry she was. She was quickly approaching a small one-story stucco building with a clapboard sign advertising The Hula Shack’s drink specials.

  All she wanted to do was drown her sorrows in a fruity adult beverage until she couldn’t feel her face. The night seemed to be cooling her temper as well, and Stella was finally able to think clearly. She probably should have thought through her plan of action before stalking out of the hotel, but her fury hijacked her judgment. She hated the way Finn was able to crawl under her skin and manipulate her emotions. Depending on the comment, she was either reduced to a flustered mess, or became so fired up she was ready to rip out his heart and eat it.

  His comments about slumming it and basically using Derek had hit far too close to home. Stella was pretty sure Derek’s mother thought the same thing from the way she looked down her nose—that she wasn’t good enough, that she was an opportunist who only wanted to be with him because of his money. Though they were both wrong for the most part, Stella had to admit there was a kernel of truth to the assessment. It’s not that she wanted to marry Derek for money or what he could give her materially, but the stability and comfort he offered were appealing. He was sweet, though a little dull, and he cared if she had a bad day. He knew her favorite flavor of ice cream and remembered every milestone of their relationship—including those Stella forgot. If you were offered the chance to marry your best friend, why would you say no?

  As Stella wrenched open the door to The Hula Shack her ears were assaulted by a male voice attempting the high notes of “Take On Me.” Just inside the door, a middle-aged man with a grizzly beard and hard lines etched into his face jumped up from a bar stool and beamed at Stella. “Aloha! Welcome to The Hula Shack, Las Cruces’s only tiki-themed karaoke bar,” he shouted. “I’m Lou!”

  Lou wore a skirt made of plastic grass over jeans riddled with holes. A coconut bra was layered over his faded gray t-shirt. The look was completed by the red bandana holding back his shoulder-length gray hair. He draped a plastic lei around Stella’s neck and pulled a white silk orchid from his table. He gestured for Stella to come closer. She hesitated, then obliged. Lou tucked the silk flower behind Stella’s ear and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You’ve just been leied!”

  “Thanks,” Stella said, putting space between them. “I need a drink.”

  “Well, honey, you’re in the right place. Go to the bar and Laurie will take good care of you.” Lou winked.

  Stella turned around and finally got a good look at her surroundings. An actual tiki bar covered the right wall of the room. The façade of the bar was made of bamboo, and posts on the countertops held up a thatched roof. The left side of the room featured a mural of a tropical beach scene. There were a few counter-height tables topped with small tiki torches. In the front of the room, a small set of stairs led up to a stage, and a projection screen covered the wall. Fake tropical trees and plants were strategically positioned throughout the room. A rainbow of paper lanterns floated across the ceiling. She was impressed.

  Stella slid onto a bamboo stool in front of the bar. The Hula Shack was only half full, which meant Stella was able to flag down the bartender, Laurie, and immediately get her hands around a hurricane glass filled with a bright red frosty mixture. She took her first sip and heaved a sigh that expelled all the air from her body. Laurie gave her the very look Stella gave her own customers when they were dining solo and seemed to have something weighing on them. The look said, “Want to talk about it?” Stella shook her head slightly, and Laurie shrugged before retreating to the other end of the bar.

  Stella slurped at her drink noisily through a crazy straw. With each sip her anger ebbed, replaced by exhaustion. She downed a shot of tequila and was halfway through her second drink when someone slid onto the stool next to her.

  Really? Stella thought. There were plenty of open seats along the bar that didn’t invade her personal bubble. She glanced at the intruder out of the corner of her eye. Of course.

  “Hi,” Finn said.

  Stella took her drink and turned away from him, the speed of her slurping increasing. She heard the bamboo creak as Finn shifted his weight, followed by the clinking of the dog tags he never seemed to take off.

  “I came to apologize, okay?” he said, his voice low. “I crossed the line. Will you just talk to me?”

  Stella was in a better mood now, probably thanks to the alcohol buzzing through her system, but she wasn’t one to give in so easily. “Why do you want to talk to me? I’m just a waitress who lives in a trailer park. I wouldn’t my failure to rub off on you.”

  “Look, I was kind of an asshole—okay, a huge asshole. It was a shitty thing for me to say, and honestly, I didn’t mean it. You just got me fired up. I’m sorry.”

  Stella couldn’t see Finn’s face, but he sounded genuinely sorry. She turned to face him. He held one hand over his heart.

  “Will you please accept my most sincere apologies? Pretty please? With sugar and sprinkles and chocolate sauce and—”

  Stella waved a hand to stop him. “Alright, alright.” Her lips quirked up. “I don’t know what it is tonight. I’m not normally this sensitive, and I’ve been called a lot worse.”

  Finn looked at her. His eyes narrowed and intensified. “It’s totally understandable. After all, you did find yourself married to me and sharing a honeymoon suite after just two and a half days. Talk about a whirlwind romance.” He raised his hand to signal a bartender. “Bartender, a Jack and Coke, if you please.”

  “You can’t order a Jack and Coke in a tiki bar,” Stella informed him, her face serious. “Laurie, he’ll have a margarita! And tequila shots!”

  Finn turned to Stella with a raised eyebrow. “Tequila shots?”

  “I’m on vacation!” Stella declared, waving her empty glass around.

  “Are you buzzed?” Finn asked.

  Stella’s brain did feel a little fuzzy. “Maybe like this much.” She held her fingers an inch apart.

  “Thank goodness it’s a short walk back to the hotel.” Finn ran a hand through his hair.

  Stella hadn’t realized just how cute he was before. This could be a problem. “You can’t see me naked,” she slurred, wagging a finger at him.

  “Of course not!” Finn said in mock horror. He clasped a hand to his chest. “I’m a gentleman.”

  Stella snorted.

  “One margarita. Two tequila shots,” the bartender said with a flourish. Stella took one of the shot glasses and passed the other to Finn.

  “Should we toast?” Stella asked.

  “Let’s not and say we did. Drink up!”

  They knocked back the shots. Stella grinned as Finn grimaced and quickly took a sip of his margarita.

  Stella let out a very unladylike burp and clapped a hand over her mouth. Finn took a serious interest in his drink until his shoulders stopped shaking.

  “You know, I haven’t been on a vacation in, like, four years. My dad took Phoebe and I to the Grand Canyon for some sort of misguided family bonding trip. I’ve been working non-stop ever since,” she said.

  “Sounds like you’re in need of a serious break. Me too. It’s been so long since I’ve just been able to be myself and let loose. I’m always with Alex or Billy on a job somewhere.”

  “You should make more time to hang out and have fun.”

  “Look who’s talking!” Finn retorted.

  “Well, now both of us have no choice but to hang out and have fun. So drink up, Jacob Gilroy. And then get your ass on that stage!”

  Finn shook his head. “No way in hell.”

  Stella pouted. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t do things like that. Making a fool of myself isn’t something I consider fu
n.”

  “What if I do it with you? We could do a duet!” Stella whispered. “Nobody ever has to know.”

  “You’re killing me, Stella.”

  “Please, please, please? Pretty please with sugar and sprinkles, and chocolate sauce—”

  Finn sighed. “Fine. What are we going to sing?”

  Stella hopped off her barstool, and Finn quickly grabbed her upper arm to steady her. She stumbled over to the karaoke DJ’s table and retrieved a binder full of laminated pages, which she slammed on the counter in front of Finn with a “Bam!”

  Finn slid the binder back to her. “You choose. I’m no good at this stuff.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. She paged through the book, calling out song titles. “‘Love Shack’? ‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life’? ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby’?”

  At each suggestion, Finn shook his head. “Do you only know eighties music?”

  “Oh, I know!” Stella whipped through the pages. When she found what she was searching for, she looked up at Finn and grinned. She tapped the page. “Beach Boys!”

  “Okay.”

  Stella snorted and shook her head. “I still can’t believe the big gangster man likes The Beach Boys.”

  “I am not a big gangster man.” Finn slurped down the rest of his drink and waved the empty glass at Stella. “I just drank a freaking margarita.”

  “You put severed fingers on my coffee table!” Stella exclaimed. A few of the bar’s other patrons swiveled curiously toward them as a woman onstage belted out “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

  “Shh!” Finn whispered. Then he said loudly, “They were props from a prop house.”

  “Still—who even thinks of that?” Stella asked, waving her arms around her head. “Let me go buy some fake fingers and pour ketchup on them and convince the dumb waitress they’re her sister’s fingers.”