Songs that inspired this chapter: Trouble With Dreams by Eels, Desperado by Eagle
Chapter Three – Never Doing That Again
As I slowly floated back into consciousness, I became aware that I wasn’t in my bed. My bed was small, smelly and uncomfortable, and whatever I was sleeping on was big, not smelly, and very comfortable. Not only did I know that I was not in my bed, but I knew that I wasn’t in a place I recognized. This place didn’t smell like the bakery at all. It smelled like wood – cedar or something.
The next thing I realized was how bad my head hurt. It felt like a giant sore thumb. And it wasn’t just my head that hurt, either. My whole body was aching, especially my jaw. It felt like someone had taken a bat and beaten me senseless. My stomach gurgled uneasily. Ugh, I was nauseous, too.
I cracked my eyes open, and Dewey’s angry face was hovering about a foot away from mine.
“Gaah!” I screeched and flinched back.
“Morning, sunshine.” Dewey said sarcastically. His face was impassive.
I took a second to calm myself down, breathing in and out. I also took a moment to observe my surroundings. I was on a raggedy blue couch with a quilt carelessly strewn over me. If it was Dewey who had dumped me on this couch, I owed it to him for being hospitable. Not.
I was also in a really big loft. The walls and the floor and the ceiling were all made of wood. I felt like I was in an over-sized attic. It was messy, too. There were things scattered all over the floor; socks, shoes, clothes, towels. There were lots of windows, as well. I thought it was weird that all the curtains were drawn. I could tell that it was a sunny day because sunlight streamed in from around the curtains. Even though it wasn’t exactly the cleanest place, it was nice and cozy. I felt at home here.
“Where am I?” I asked groggily.
“My place.” Dewey responded, “It’s the safest place for you right now. But not for long.”
I stared at him questioningly. What the heck was he talking about?
He shook his head and exhaled in frustration, “You don’t remember anything that happened last night, do you?"
Huh. He was right. I tried to remember something that happened after I had taken that first sip of Tequila, but it was all a blur.
But I suddenly remembered what had occurred before I’d gone to the bar yesterday. I’d gotten fired. Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
“Crap.” I groaned out loud.
“Double crap.” Dewey agreed. I got the feeling that his “Double crap” was for a different reason than my “Crap”.
“Do you know how much trouble you’re in?” he demanded.
“Yes.” I grumbled, not daring to sit up in spite of my sore body, “I have to find a new job.”
“That’s the least of you’re worries, trust me.” Dewey said, laughing without humor.
I looked at him in confusion. He rolled his eyes, “You are in deep trouble, that’s all I’m going to say. We don’t have time for explanations.”
He pulled out a satchel from under the couch and began walking around the loft, shoving things inside.
“What are you doing?” I murmured.
“Packing. We have to get you out of town as soon as possible.” He said without looking at me.
I blinked. Was he crazy? I wasn’t moving an inch from this couch! Dewey had always been pretty sensible for a bartender, and now he was suddenly off his rocker. I watched him in silence, too freaked out by his uncharacteristic hastiness to say anything.
He stopped and looked at me when he finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere. He sighed and walked over to a small desk. He pulled the drawer open, took out a bottle with clear liquid inside and tossed it to me. He meant for me to catch it, but my reflexes were not working at that moment, so it landed on my stomach. And since my body was already black and blue in bruises, it hurt like no other mother.
“Ow!” I gasped.
“Sorry,” Dewey muttered, not sounding like he meant it at all. Jerk.
“What’s the big idea?” I said to myself. I forced myself to sit up and picked up the bottle to examine it. The label read Hangover Helper. That was all I needed to hear to swallow the whole thing. It tasted like rose water. My headache disappeared instantly and I was wide awake, but my poor battered body didn’t feel any better.
“A good bartender always has some stashed around.” Dewey said proudly, and then the smile faded from his face and his expression became serious again, “Get up. You have to leave Shelton.”
Shelton is the only town I’ve lived in my whole life, so I didn’t know why Dewey wanted me to leave. Surely he would understand that a menace like me should not be unleashed on the outside world.
He wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was still bustling around the loft and putting items into the satchel.
“What’s going on?” I finally demanded, unable to stand the suspense.
“Like I said, you’re in big trouble.” He replied.
“Oh thanks, that clears everything up.” I said sarcastically.
He exhaled again in exasperation and spoke, “Last night, you got in a fight with a very dangerous man, and now he is looking for you.”
I stayed silent and stared at him. I had no idea what to say to that. At first I thought he was playing some kind of practical joke, but then I looked down at my injuries and realized that a fight would be a good explanation for all the bruises. Unless Dewey had clobbered me last night to orchestrate the perfect prank, which I didn’t think was something he would do. I tried to remember anything that happened last night after that first shot of Tequila, and faint memories flickered: a scary-looking bald guy with bloodshot eyes, a smashed piano, and a large fist coming at my face.
I looked up at Dewey with chagrin. He nodded solemnly, “You remember now?”
“A little.” I said sheepishly.
“Good. Now get dressed.” He tossed me a clean shirt and went back to packing.
Not taking my eyes off of Dewey, I mechanically pushed my arms through the sleeves and slipped the shirt over my head. I pulled off the quilt and carefully stood up, continuously watching the crazy bartender. Munchie, who was sleeping on the armrest, crawled up my arm and onto my shoulder.
“Uh, okay. Why exactly is this guy looking for me?” I wondered aloud.
Dewey sighed in disgruntlement. "I don't know."
"Well, it can't be because I fought him last night." I said, "It's got to be something else entirely. I mean, come on. The guy's never been in bar fight before?"
He didn’t respond; he went back to packing furiously. Man, I must have really screwed things up this time.
“Only you could get yourself into this much trouble.” Dewey muttered.
“Dewey, maybe you’re just exaggerating things a little.” I murmured.
“No I’m not.” He said. The satchel was overstuffed now. He threw it to me, which was pretty stupid. He should know by now that my reflexes were way below average. The pack stumbled out of my hands before landing on the ground when I tried to catch it. Dewey wasn’t paying attention to me; he was marking a map on a table near the covered windows. When he was done, he turned to face me.
“This guy is a mob leader. His name is Brutus.” He stated informatively, “Not only is he looking for you, but his people are searching, too.”
So this guy had people, too? I could only stare, horrified.
“Yes.” He said, agreeing with my expression.
I swallowed loudly, “Maybe if I went to apologize…”
“No!” Dewey yelled. I flinched back at his fury. He grabbed the front of my shirt and got up in my face, “You are not going anywhere near this man, got it?”
I nodded obediently, scared to death. He let go of my shirt and took a deep breath to calm himself down.
“Where are we going?” I was almost too scared to ask.
“I’m going to take you as far as the Oakwood Forest. It’s not far from here.” He explained, “From there, you’ll follow the trail that leads up to the Niveous Mountain Pass. You’ll find a really big cave there – you won’t miss it, trust me.”
Oakwood Forest, trail, Niveous Mountain Pass, cave. I absorbed the information quickly.
“I’m going to stay here in Shelton until Brutus leaves. So I want you stay in the cave until I come get you, okay?”
“Okay.” I agreed.
“Alright, let’s go.” Dewey said, walking to the door that lead to the back of the bar. I followed him but stopped abruptly when a thought occurred to me. He looked back at me, confused, with his hand on the door knob.
“Dewey,” I began, “What if Brutus doesn’t leave?”
He sighed and looked at me very seriously in the eyes, “Then you can’t come back.”
I nodded in acceptance. I already knew the answer.
***
Editing tips, please! Also, opinions are welcomed, too! I'll have chapter four posted as soon as possible because I already know what happens next.
But it doesn't seem anywhere close to being realistic that this brawling man is after Clover because his ego was hurt and he didn't have the last hit. At least, this guy better be a big character - he better have reasons for being so sensitive about his ego and his standing, and it better eventually make sense that he would go after a teenage boy who insulted him. I just can't imagine that Clover now is threatened with death because of this - it's just a very weak concept. In order to strengthen it, you need to answer this question more: Why? Because right now the reason isn't very convincing. Even if he is a mob boss. Now, maybe if Clover accidentally 