The Bad Ones

by Stylo Fantome

  “This guy everyone is talking about. Connie?” David asked, leaning over her to grab a glass. The restaurant was packed. It was a Friday night, and the way things were going, they’d be closing down late.

  “Con,” Dulcie burst out laughing. “His name is Con.”

  “What the hell kind of name is that?” David snorted. He wasn’t from Fuller. Wasn’t even from West Virginia. She wasn’t sure how he’d ended up at the club, and she’d never asked. She didn’t really care.

  “It’s short for Constantine.”

  “That’s even weirder. What’s the big deal with him?”

  “Constantine is …” Dulcie searched for the right words. Well, not really. She searched for words that would be appropriate to use. “He was a big deal in high school. It’s hard to get out of Fuller, most people go to work in the glass factories. But he was like a god on the football field, and he got the best grades, and his dad was the mayor back then. I think everyone was a little in love with him. Then he went off to college and never looked back.”

  “And what about you, boss lady?” David pressed, moving behind her. The bar was narrow and she could feel his warmth against her back.

  “What about me?”

  “Were you in love with this brainy football god?”

  She actually managed to laugh and looked at him over her shoulder.

  “Would you be jealous if I said yes?” she teased.

  “Devastated. I never played football,” he flirted right back.

  She chuckled and split the shaker, dumping the martini into its glass.

  “Good. I fucking hate football.”

  “You know, I hate to spoil the moment, but I think you like me, boss lady,” David warned her.

  “Ah, but you’re wrong,” she sighed, then shivered as a chill ran down her spine.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t like anybody.”

  She looked up then. Stared across the restaurant. Constantine was standing on the other side of the room, staring back at her. That smile she’d worked so hard to banish from her memory, it was back in all its technicolor glory. He nodded his head at her, acknowledging her existence. She returned his stare for a second longer, then went back to garnishing the martini.

  “Hmmm. Methinks the lady protests too much.”

  Dulcie elbowed David before he could make any other smart comments, then she picked up the cocktail and delivered it to its owner. After she chatted with the gentleman for a while, she made her way back into the kitchen. Made sure everything was running smoothly. When she went back out to the floor, Anna was looking for her.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, he’s asking for you! He’s asking for you!” she squealed. Some things never changed, and the other girl’s excitement for … anything, was the same as ever. Dulcie didn’t ask her to clarify.

  “Of course he is.”

  “This is it! You can still have all his babies!”

  Dulcie resisted the urge to gag and she pushed the other girl out of the way. She made a beeline to his table, then stood next to him, her hands clasped behind her back.

  “Mr. Masters, we’re so glad you could join us. I hope the table is to your liking,” she prattled off in her sweetest voice. Con smiled up at her.

  “It is. I got quite a welcome when I arrived,” he told her. She nodded.

  “Of course, your father is a valued member. May I get anything for you? Anna is one of our very best servers, she should be taking excellent care of you.”

  “She is – I barely recognized her. Is she the blonde chick from high school you used to be friends with?”

  “Yes, she’s the blonde chick from high school that I’m still friends with.”

  He laughed loudly at her and added, “I find it hard to believe you have friends.”

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it looks like Mr. Jeffries would like to have a word with you.” She nodded her head in the direction of a very eager looking older gentleman who’d been staring at them.

  “Who the fuck is Mr. Jeffries and why do I care?” Con asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Mr. Jeffries is the head of the trustees committee here. I’m sure the trustees are hoping you’ll join their hallowed ranks and become a member, like your father,” Dulcie explained. Her smile was pasted on so stiffly, it was beginning to hurt. He finally looked back at her.

  “Are they? And how do you feel about that?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes bright.

  “I feel like they’re making a mistake. Have a good evening, Mr. Masters.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away.

  *

  Later that night, Dulcie laid in her bed. She had all the windows tilted open, letting a cross breeze through the apartment, trying to stifle some of the summer heat. Her large headphones were securely in place over her ears, drowning out all the sounds from the street below. She smiled to herself and hummed along to the tune, letting her eyes fall shut.

  She obviously hadn’t remained celibate since Con’s departure, but she didn’t really consider what she did having sex. It was more like doing a job. A particularly unpleasant one. The only time it was good was when it was with herself. And with a new memory of that evil smile still fresh in her brain, her fingers ran a race against her pulse, seeing which would happen first – heart failure, or orgasm.

  Jesus, Con, took you long enough to come back, you idiot. Now hurry up and find me again.

  14

  Watching Dulcie Travers cry had been a beautiful moment, but getting to see her mad, well. She’d been stunning.

  Three years. I suppose I could’ve dropped her a line.

  It wasn’t in Constantine’s nature, though, to cater to other peoples’ feelings. He’d told her it was only them, regardless of the time and distance apart, and he’d meant it. So if it took him three years to find his way back to her, then that’s simply how long it took.

  Now the real test was to see if she’d meant it when she’d agreed with him.

  Finding out where she lived had been easy enough. The town was tiny, everyone knew each other, and on top of that, she was eccentric, she was young, and she was sexy. Everyone knew her, or knew of her, in some capacity.

  Con also knew that on Saturday nights, the country club closed down at eleven o’clock. He watched from across the street as she parked her car and headed into the old brick warehouse where her apartment was located. She was still in her work uniform, black tights, black skirt, and a white button down shirt. Her hair was in a tight braid that wrapped around the base of her head, and she looked so much like the girl from high school, it made him wonder if any time had actually passed.

  When she came back out half an hour later, though, it was very apparent she most definitely wasn’t that girl anymore. Con was a little surprised when he saw she’d changed into a short pair of cut offs. She’d always been a very slender girl with a small frame, but she’d filled out a little since he’d last seen her. She certainly filled out her shorts, showing off a pair of very tan legs. She wore a long sleeve shirt on top, and she’d gotten rid of the braid. Her hair was longer, as well, and it fell in waves over one shoulder. She looked every inch the good ol’ country girl she really was.

  That she’s really, really, not.

  She froze for a second when she saw him. They stared at each other for a long moment. She had her phone and her car keys in her hand, was obviously going somewhere. But she didn’t move. He slowly smiled and watched as she shivered.

  Then she abruptly turned and strode off down the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction from her vehicle. Con glanced both ways, then jogged across the street and quickly caught up with her. He was so much taller than her, his long strides were able to eat up the distance she covered, even though she was almost jogging.

  “You sure three years was long enough?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Eh. Want me to check back in three more?” he asked. She threw back her head and lau
ghed.

  “Sure! But first, c’mon, let’s have some fun.”

  She actually did break into a jog then, and she’d disappeared through a doorway before he even saw where she was going. He glanced up at a sign as he followed her. Beavers. A bar that was quite possibly older than god; Con had never been in it because he’d moved away before he’d turned twenty-one, but he’d heard stories. Lots of crazy rednecks, drinking beer and doing drugs, dancing to honky tonk and blue grass music.

  It was so dark inside he couldn’t see anything at first, it took his eyes a moment to adjust. He walked down a short, narrow hall that eventually opened into a large area. It was closing in on midnight, so the evening was just picking up speed. There was a band on a stage to his right, and a bar directly across from him at the back of the room. There were a lot of people dancing and laughing, but he was able to make out Dulcie’s form as it slipped through the crowd. He took a deep breath and barreled on ahead.

  “You a big drinker now?” he asked, getting to the bar just in time to see her neck an entire Corona. She shrugged and dropped the empty bottle onto the bar top before ordering another.

  “Only when the situation calls for it.”

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Not really, I’m just saying anything to drown out this noise,” Con explained. She laughed loudly again and reached out to take a fresh beer.

  “Put it on his tab,” she said, whacking him in the arm. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing the bartender a twenty.

  “So you come here often?” he tried again. She choked on the sip of beer she was taking, then finally turned to face him. He almost fell into her wide amber eyes.

  “That sounds like a pick up line, Con. Are you hitting on me?” she asked, making her voice breathy and sexy. He chuckled and leaned down, grabbing her by the back of her neck and yanking her close.

  “I don’t need a pick up line, Dulcie. I’ve already got you.”

  She pulled away from him and took another long drink of her beer, emptying it to the halfway point, then she put it down. She began swishing her hips back and forth, moving to the beat of the music, and she stepped away from the bar.

  “I come here,” she began answering his question, “when I want to have some fun. Don’t you like having fun, Con?”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “What kind of fun do you have while you’re here?”

  “Mmm, I like to make new friends. Meet new people.”

  She’d been dancing away from him, moving her body in a way that made even his pulse leap. He wasn’t the only one to notice, either, and he watched as a large, potbellied man stepped up close to her, moving in time to her rhythm. Dulcie turned her amber eyes on the stranger, giving him her amazing smile. Slicking her tongue over her incredible lips.

  “Enough.”

  Con stepped forward and grabbed her arm, jerking her back to him. She was still laughing, and her new friend shouted at both of them.

  “Why are you here, Constantine?” she drew out his name.

  “You know why I’m here. Is this what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone? Acting like a fucking idiot? Is that why you came here?” he demanded, ignoring the large man who was still cursing in their general direction. Dulcie’s laughter fell away.

  “No. No, that’s not why I came here,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Then why?”

  “I came here because I like to fight.”

  “Have you ever even been in a fight?”

  “No, but I’m about to.”

  Without another word, she picked up her half drunken beer and slammed the bottle against the side of his head. Liquid and glass showered down all around him, and he could feel where the glass had sliced him at the edge of his hairline. A couple of girls standing near them shrieked, but Con didn’t move a muscle. Just stared down at her.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on here!?”

  The fat man who’d tried to dance with Dulcie steamed up to them. She smiled, but didn’t look away from Con’s glare.

  “My friend was being rude,” she explained in a breathy voice. “I think he needs a lesson.”

  “Look here, fella, I don’t know who you think you are, but here, we treat our ladies with respect, so apologize for whatever -”

  Con’s fist broke the man’s nose before he could finish the sentence. Pandemonium erupted in the bar. Girls started screaming. A woman began pounding on his back, but when he looked behind him, Dulcie was yanking the girl away by her hair. The big man tried to take a swing, but he missed entirely when Con stepped to the side and the blow landed on the back of some other guy’s head.

  And that’s all it took. Fights broke out all around them and the bar turned into a mosh pit. Con was tackled from the side and he rolled around before pinning his attacker to the ground. He laid into the man, punching him repeatedly in the face. He didn’t stop till he’d knocked the guy out, then he slowly climbed to his feet.

  He’d somehow wound up in the middle of the dance floor. People were fighting all around him, he couldn’t see anything, so he moved to where a table had been left standing and crawled on top of it. When he stood up, he could see the whole bar.

  Dulcie was standing in almost the same spot as before, though she’d moved to kneel on a bar stool, keeping herself relatively out of harm. Her eyes were scanning the room, clearly looking for him, so he jumped down from his table and stormed towards her. She saw him before he reached her and she hopped off her stool, meeting him halfway.

  There was turmoil all around them. A pair of screaming girls, their hands locked in each others hair, crashed between them before falling to the ground. One of the bartenders was banging a bat on the bar top, screaming for order, while the other was on the phone, calling the police. Con was bleeding from a cut on his lip, he realized, and he spit blood and saliva onto the floor. But he didn’t say anything, just stared down at Dulcie, into her large amber eyes, and finally he smiled.

  “I missed you,” he blurted out, and she smiled back.

  “Good.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bar. Once outside, she broke into a run, and he jogged to keep up with her. She’d lost her phone in the scuffle, but had somehow held onto her keys, and she let them into her car.

  Con didn’t ask where they were going, just leaned back in his seat and held a hand over the wound on his head. After about five minutes, she reached over his lap and opened her glove box. She dug around inside for a second, then pulled out a bandana and handed it to him. He took it and pressed it against his cut.

  “So that’s what you do on Saturday nights? Start bar fights?” he asked after about fifteen minutes. She burst out laughing, but it wasn’t the hollow sound from earlier. The cackle she’d been giving him in the bar. This was warm and real and it thawed some of the ice in his heart.

  “No, not usually,” she finally answered.

  “Then what the fuck was that about?”

  She stayed silent, and he noticed their speed increasing. They were racing down the highway, zipping around other cars.

  “I wanted to see you bleed,” she finally answered, then yanked on the wheel, narrowly making it onto an exit ramp.

  “You could’ve just asked. I have a pocket knife,” he informed her. She snorted and continued taking turns, navigating down a long and winding road.

  “Oh, yes. And I’m sure you would’ve whipped it out and sliced open your palm at the first mention of blood,” she chuckled.

  “Yes, I would’ve.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would’ve been you asking me to.”

  Con had figured out where they were going long before the country club came into view. She bypassed the parking lot and went around the main building, parking in a tiny lot next to a maintenance house. They got out of the car and she headed towards a back door.

  “It looks closed up,” he commented, looking through
a large window into the restaurant she worked at while she fumbled around with her keys.

  “It is,” she informed him, then yanked open the door. She grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him inside before locking the door behind them. “We actually closed early because tomorrow morning there’s going to be a huge wedding, out on the fourth hole. Their reception will be here in the afternoon. They wanted it set up tonight.”

  When Con had been there the night before, it had been busy, full of loud people with wait staff rushing around. Now it looked so much bigger, devoid of all the hustle and bustle.

  Dulcie flicked on the lights by the bar, illuminating a wall of liquor and some paneling. She left everything else off. The entire restaurant was done with dark oak and large rugs, giving the room an eerie, shadowy feel.

  “How long have you been working here?” he asked, sliding his jacket off and heading towards her. She shrugged and moved so the bar was between them.

  “A little over two years. I moved up pretty quickly, they made me a shift manager.”

  “Wow, impressive.”

  “Youngest one ever.”

  “You like it?” he was curious. She laughed again, and the sound echoed in the vast room.

  “Do I like it? What kind of question is that? It’s a fucking restaurant at a fucking country club, Constantine. What do you think? Of course I don’t like it. But I like to eat and I like having my own apartment, and not all of us were born with rich daddies,” her voice grew snide by the end of her speech. She grabbed a bottle off the wall and slammed it down on the counter. Johnnie Walker Red stared back at him.

  “From what I’ve heard, you don’t even know who your daddy is,” he dished her own shit right back to her, then slid onto a bar stool.

  “Touché,” she twirled the cap off the bottle before pouring a healthy amount into a glass. “I don’t. He could be loaded, for all I know. Doesn’t really help me.”

  “And you think my father’s money helps me?”

  She didn’t answer. He watched as she hoisted herself onto the bar top. She moved around till she was sitting next to him, her legs dangling over the side. Then she poured the scotch into a glass for herself and clinked it against the side of his.