Protecting Her(59)

“Yeah,” I say, dropping a twenty on the table. “Give me two more.”

She smiles and winks, then turns her back to me and leans over to reach for the whiskey bottle. She purposely aims her ass in my direction, bending over enough that I can see her red thong underneath her very short black skirt. I look away.

The guy next to me nudges my arm. “What’s wrong? You don’t like a hot ass?”

I don’t look at the guy. I focus on the TV above us. “She’s not my type.”

“An ass like that is everyone’s type.”

She comes back with the two glasses of whiskey, then leans over the counter, putting her breasts on display in front of me. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m new in town,” I say, swigging my whiskey.

“Where are you from?”

I nod toward the TV. “I’m trying to watch the game.”

She slowly retreats back behind the bar and waits on someone else.

“What the f*ck, man?” the guy next to me says. “That chick would’ve gone home with you. Did you see how she looked at you?”

“I told you. She’s not my type.”

“You got a girlfriend? A wife?”

I’m not here to talk, so this man is really getting on my nerves. I finally turn and look at him. “No. She’s just—” I stop when I realize that this is him. He looks just like the photo. Bald head. Dragon tattoo on his right arm. This is the man I’m supposed to kill. He wasn’t supposed to be here for a half hour.

“Why isn’t she your type?” he asks.

“I don’t like piercings,” I blurt out.

“You don’t know what you’re missing. Piercings are f*cking awesome. I was once with this girl who had—f*ck!” He whips around to see who just hit him in the shoulder. The man is about six foot two and three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He walks off, not even realizing he bumped into someone. The guy next to me turns back and drinks his beer, then says, “I would’ve beat the shit out of that guy if I hadn’t just got out of prison. My parole officer would send my ass right back there if I got in a fight.”

If he’s that afraid of going back to prison, he may not take me up on my offer. But I have to at least try.

“If you want to take down a guy that big,” I say, “you need more than your fist.”

“Yeah, no shit. But the cops took my gun when they raided my place.”

“So get another one.” I drink the last of my whiskey. It warms me, but I don’t feel the least bit drunk.

“You know someone?” He doesn’t look at me as he asks. We’re both facing forward, our eyes on the TV.

“In the back parking lot,” I say. “Cash only.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred.”

“What kind?”

“Nine millimeter. Brand new.”

“Two hundred. That’s all I got. I can pay you the rest in powder.”

I assume he means cocaine.

“Meet me out there in five.” I step off the barstool and go back outside. And then I wait. I’m not even nervous. Why am I not nervous? I feel like this isn’t me. Like I’m just watching this happen, like a scene in a movie.

Five minutes later he comes out the back door. He sees me and makes his way over to my car.

“A Mercedes?” he says. “What the f*ck kind of business you in?”

“You got the money or not?”

“Yeah.” He starts taking wads of cash out of his pockets. “My ex is going to kill me. This money’s supposed to be for f*cking child support.”

“How many kids?” I shouldn’t have asked. It only makes this harder.

“One. A girl.” He counts the money and hands it to me.

Fuck. I’m taking a father from his daughter.

I can do this. I can do this. He’s not a good father. He was in prison. He committed a crime. But so have I, and I’m about to do it again. Am I really that different from the man standing before me?

“You gonna give me the gun, or what?”

I wake from my thoughts and see him staring at me. “I think you promised me something else.”

“Yeah. Got it.” He reaches down and pulls a small plastic bag from inside his sock.

I have to do this. I don’t have a choice. It’s not me. It’s someone else. It’s not me.