Cold

Brady held court, a golden prince with a scarred wooden chair for a throne. Beautiful women drew close, vying for attention, as usual.

Behind the bar, Jackson frowned, first at Brady, then at me. “That doesn’t bug you?”

“No need to be hateful for what happened.” I sipped my wine.

“I’d have beaten him to death with the nearest branch. Still could, if you want.”

“That’s sweet, in a murderous way.” I slid him a five. “But I have this covered.”

On my way out, I nodded to the women I’d hired, every last one infected with a virulent pox.

Slap Shot

“Should I leave you two alone?” Uncle Jim lacked Nate’s slur.

I doubt I’ll get to Heaven, but if I do, those two will join me at the bar.

I ignored Jim’s asinine comment, addressing Nate. “How much’ve you had to drink?”

“How much do I need to?” Nate shot back.

“Enough, then.” I released my held breath, whiskey-pungent. “Short version is I need to crawl inside your head, like I did to that thing in the cave… hole… place.”

Jim snorted. “I definitely need to leave before that.”

“Not now!” I protested.

Nate grinned. “Oh yeah. It’s on.”

______________
Next