Brother Dear-- Part One

Ryker Arrington

The barroom was alive with opportunity. I grabbed my drink off the scarred wooden bar and strode through the smoke filled room, toward the pool tables. I coolly leaned up against the pool table where the man arranging games stood. I swished my brandy around in the glass. “I want to play.”

“You do, huh?” His eyes travelled down my body, obviously trying to evaluate me. My eyes flicked across his poorly groomed appearance. If he didn’t have his ball cap cocked to the side I would’ve dismissed him as just another lower class blue collar worker. But he obviously thought he was tough. “How good are you?”

Skilled. I mentally corrected his poor grammar. I was certain by the time half an hour passed he would no longer be wondering if I was good— most were of the opinion that I’d been sent from Satan himself at that point. I lifted a shoulder. “Nothing spectacular. I just have fun with it.”

“Yeah?” I focused on the man’s face, frowning. People who continually spoke in questions were tiresome. “Well we play for money.”

“That’s quite alright,” I answered with a nod. “I’ve got that, too.”

“Yeah?” I nearly sighed. “Let’s see it, then.”

I pulled a twenty out of my pocket. “This enough?”

The man hesitated a moment, glancing at his friends for some sort of affirmation, before taking my money. “Sure, why not? It’s your first game. Show us what you’ve got.”

Not a chance. I grinned and inclined my head. “Let’s do this.”

They set up the billiard balls, staring at me when they thought I wasn’t watching. The man who took my money obviously thought he was much tougher than he really was. They all did. Everything about them gave the impression of insecure little boys who were desperately trying to convince everyone that they were in charge of the bar. I picked up a pool stick and walked back toward the table, waiting for one of the punks to break.

I leaned over the table when it was my turn and carefully calculated an angle that would send my ball close to the pocket but not actually go in. I shrugged, offering a sheepish grin, and walked to where I’d set my drink. I took a drink as I watched the man who made the first move, a boy who looked barely old enough to get into the place that wore a skull bandana, made several more moves, sinking a ball in a pocket with each move.

He was good. I was better. But he didn’t need to know that, yet. I ordered another drink and stepped forward for my turn, feinting surprised delight when I sank one ball in the corner pocket, then sighing with a mock frustration as I made the next ball bounce off the wall. The boy stepped forward with a cocky smirk and sent several more of his balls sailing into pockets around the table.

I downed another glass of brandy and frowned. Mr. Skull would win in a few more moves, if I didn’t do something now. I looked at the arrangement of the balls on the table. I could’ve easily won the game. Instead, I carefully sent the eight-ball into one of the pockets. I cursed. They laughed.

“Wanna try again?”

I stood up, forcing my jaw to jut out in my feigned anger, my eyebrows laced together. Look at how stupid they all are. They think I did that by accident. Idiots. I pulled another twenty out of my billfold and thrust it at the man taking money as Mr. Skull collected each of the balls and put them back in the starting formation. A few moments later he’d broke and then sank several of the solid colored balls into the corner pockets.

I took another drink of the brandy and stepped forward, a throbbing in my head. I looking at my next shot from several different angles before I finally leaned forward and made my move. I grinned victoriously as I sank the ball, again pretending like I wasn’t expecting the ball to go where I told it.

I walked around the end of the table and repeated the process, sinking another one of the striped balls, carefully forcing myself to pretend like it took great effort. “I’m getting warmed up.”

“Mhm,” Mr. Skull said, bored. “Just take your next shot.”

I frowned at him but turned back to the table. I took a deep breath and made another shot, scratching the surface of the table and sending the cue-ball off in a fury of uncontrolled energy. I glowered as I stood. “You threw me off.”

“You’ve got nothing to throw off,” he scoffed.

I walked back over to yet another drink I’d ordered, part of me wondering how many drinks I’d had before I started. I was already far more drunk than I intended to be. The pleasant humming was starting to turn into a whir that was clouding my thoughts and making them run together.

I pulled my watch out of my pocket, frowning when I saw how early it was. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. I rubbed my face. I’ve got to make my move soon, or I’m going to be too drunk to actually win one of these games.

As soon as the game ended I pulled my wallet out and started toward the man taking money, flipping through the large bills I’d gotten from the bank just for this purpose. “I demand a rematch!”

“Haven’t lost enough money yet?” He scoffed.

“Too much,” I pulled five one-hundred dollar bills out. “All of my drinking money. Not good.”

“What’s that, then?” He looked at my money.

“Rent,” I slammed it down on the edge of the pool table he stood next to. “Can you match it?”

Mr. Skull hesitated a moment then smirked. “Sure, why not? I’ve beat him twice. I’ll do it again.”

He and his friends all pulled out their wallets and pooled together their money until there was an equal amount of money lying next to mine. I downed another glass of brandy and stepped forward just after Mr. Skull broke the arrangement of the billiard balls. I leaned over the table and sank two of the solid colored balls into the same hole with a single motion. I walked around the table and sent another ball into a corner pocket.

I glanced up with a smirk, watching with satisfaction as the discomfort in the room grew. They were starting to realize what was happening to them. It was too late, now. I easily sank each of my solid-colored balls and would’ve sent the eight-ball sailing into the corner, but the brandy was taking its toll.

I sighed and stepped back for Mr. Skull to take his turn. By the time he was finished, all that remained was the eight-ball. I didn’t intend to let him win again. I took a deep breath and leaned over the table. A moment later the eight-ball was in a pocket, and I was walking over the money and quickly gathering it up. The men fixed me in glares and began to circle around me. “Fair’s fair.”

“That weren’t fair,” Mr. Skull snarled.

“You’re just sore ‘case you…” I rubbed my head, wishing it would stop hurting. “You lost.”

“You tricked us,” the money taker glared at me, hard.

“Nothing in the rules says I can’t lose a few games first, if I choose,” I forced my head to clear so I could think. I wasn’t drunk enough to be past my ability to reason.

“It’s common decency.”

What would you know about decency? You’re a bar rat, nothing more. I’m not going to feel bad about taking advantage of you and taking your money. You practically offered it to me on a silver platter. I looked around for leverage as the circle started constricting around me. “Common decency? I just gave you forty dollars. I thought that was decent.”

“Then you took it back, with over four-hundred dollars attached.”

I smirked. That was all they needed. Suddenly two of them charged me at once, Mr. Skull rushing in at my left side, one of his little friends coming straight at me from the front. Quick as a flash I spun the right, grabbing two abandoned drinks and throwing them in the faces of the men chasing me. I snatched a pool cue off the table and turned in another circle, using the momentum as I brought the cue down over Mr. Skull’s head.

I quickly backed up, smarter than to let them get me cornered, and grabbed a bar stool that I stumbled in to. I picked it up and chucked it at the mob that was advancing on me, knocking the money taker off his feet. His friends wouldn’t be dissuaded. “You don’t want to do this.”

Still they advanced, dead set on getting whatever sort of revenge they felt they were entitled to. I rolled my eyes and walked over to another pool table, my eyes landing on the billiard balls. I smirked and grabbed several and chucked them as hard as I could. Three men fell, knocked out cold, before their friends doubled up on courage and decided to rush me.

I felt my eyes go wide as I saw four men charging toward me. I turned and ran away as fast as I could, retreating into the dining area of the bar, bringing the fight with me. The money changer picked up a bottle and threw it at me. I ducked under it. I cringed when I heard it shatter not far behind me. Not the wall. I slowly turned around.

A bald man who seemed nothing short of seven feet tall rose off of his bar stool and turned toward me. He flexed, his muscles bulging, making the tattoos on his bare arms dance. I took a step back. “That wasn’t me.”

He stepped forward, his glare fixed on me, a low rumbling growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat. I quickly stepped back, just out of his reach as he tried to grab me. I ducked under his fist as he stepped forward again and took a swing at my head.

I slipped from between them as the biker’s his fist made contact with the face of another man who seemed to be about twice my size, dragging him out of his chair. He was on his feet in a second, slamming the biker into the wall. So much ending the fight and slipping away before the cops show up.

I focused every speck of attention I had on trying to make it out the front door alive. Between the men I’d hustled and the biker who thought I’d smashed a bottle over his head, I seemed to be targeted on both sides—not to mention the stools that came dangerously close to my head, even if they weren’t specifically aimed toward me.

Finally I reached the door.

I yanked it open and slipped out into the cool summer night, shutting the door firmly behind me. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall next to the door, taking several deep breaths as I tried to calm myself. My head hurt. My face hurt. My hands hurt. Everything hurt. I gently reached up and felt my cheek. It was already swollen. I bet that’s going to leave a nasty bruise… I sighed.

“Ryker Arrington…” My name was followed by a loud sigh. I opened my eyes. The local police captain was getting out of his cruiser, half a dozen other patrol cars in the parking lot. He quickly crossed the short distance that separated us. “Couldn’t get away fast enough?”

“I believe this is your fastest response time yet,” I answered, trying my best to offer a charming grin. I already knew what was coming.

“I believe the bartender has learned to call early, when he sees you getting near the pool tables.” He pulled a set of cuffs off his belt and held them up. “And I believe you know what to do now.”

I sighed and took the cuffs as he held them out to me. I snapped one of the cuffs around my left wrist, then stepped forward as Captain Fortier put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward his cruiser. I waved my right hand behind my back carelessly.

He cuffed it to my left hand, then pressed me up against the cruiser. I spread my legs a bit further, resting my face against the top of the police car. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to frisk me. “Ryker, I’m arresting you on charges of disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct… and whatever other complaints materialize when I walk inside,” the captain said with a sigh. “Would you like me to read you your rights?”

“Mm… No. I’m too drunk to care right now,” I murmured, still leaning against the cruiser.

He swatted the back of my head. I opened my eyes resentfully. He pulled me around and fixed me in a glare. “I swear, Ryk. It looks bad when I have to arrest you a few hours after you help us with a raid.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Still too drunk to care.”