Chapter 20 #2
Red signs lead the way from the parking lot to an unremarkable building marked with a sign that says “office.” After we enter a metal door, two men in leather vests give us “What the hell do you want?” stares.
The first is a lean biker about my age with gauges in both ears and a lip ring.
The other, a man with the road name “Goldilocks”, appears to be past thirty with long gray hair and a bushy beard.
Moving to stand from a stool that’s way too small for his behemoth body, Goldilocks scans his eyes down my body while the other guy asks, “You lost?”
Clearing her throat, Allie says, “We’re here for the fight. The passes are under Patrick Smith.”
I steal a glance at his cut, taking note of his name, Archer. When I meet bikers, I like trying to guess why they were given those monikers. Archer is easy to figure out. He has a Sagittarius sign tattooed on his forearm, a bowman with his arrow drawn.
Archer glances up from his tablet and then fires off a rapid text. There’s an awkward silence between us until there’s the whoosh noise of a returned message.
“What’s going on?” I mouth to Allie. Why aren’t they just letting us in?
“I don’t know, it’s weird,” she whispers back.
Archer sends another text, then pulls out two paper wristbands from a drawer. “Gambling is for members only. You’re not to enter the building without your escort.”
“Last time, I didn’t need someone to show me. I waited in the arena,” Allie says.
Archer replies blandly, “Flinch is meeting you at the second door. Don’t go in without him.”
My cousin’s cheeks turn crimson. “We don’t need Flinch’s help, thank you.”
“There’s a note that says you must be escorted,” Goldilocks says.
He moves to hold the door open and gestures for us to pass by.
At least it appears better organized than the frat boys who hosted the last fight I attended.
The giant crosses his arms across his body, then nods in the direction of a second door ahead. “The fight starts in an hour.”
Flinch pushes open the reinforced door in front of us. His annoyed gaze drifts from Allie, then to me in surprise.
“This really isn’t necessary,” Allie insists, with uncharacteristic peevishness in her tone.
“You’re to wait at the bar,” he says coolly. “Follow me.”
The minute the door slams behind us, it’s like walking into Oz.
I expected aging slots on a commercial vinyl floor and poker tables with cigarette burns.
The private underground casino is so much nicer.
The floors are carpeted, and the games are new.
Cocktail waitresses in skimpy dresses and high heels bustle around carrying trays of drinks to patrons playing blackjack and roulette.
Allie’s eyes stay steady on Flinch, his steps confident and measured, face expressionless.
Allie makes herself at home on one of the stools as Flinch stares at her, arms crossed over his lean body. His gaze goes from Allie to me and back again. “I have to go handle something. Your asses don’t leave this spot until somebody comes for you.”
He storms off, his expression dark.
“What’s his deal?” I ask.
Allie’s forehead is wrinkled with annoyance. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Do you know him?”
Allie gets fidgety with guilt. “Maybe.”
“What did you do?”
Leaning in to whisper, she confesses, “I did Flinch.”
“When?”
“Right before school let out for the summer. I was home for the weekend and, well…”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“What about P.J.?”
“We were on a break. My friend Kira told me he was sleeping with the groupies at the fights, so when I met Flinch and he offered to take me to a hotel room, I went with him.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Wait, then you got back with P.J. after you found out he was screwing other women?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know we’re not exactly together right now,” Allie accuses. “I only haven’t brought it up because I don’t want to talk about it, which includes now.”
“Can we talk about you having a one nighter? Cause that’s kind of a shock.”
“No, we can’t. Not here where people can overhear. Later. In the meantime, are we getting drinks or what?”
“I’m paying,” I offer. It’s the least I can do after she helped me move.
“Well, thank you kindly.”
“What are you having?”
“A glass of wine. White, please.”
After glancing at my blood sugar, I order a rum and Diet Coke before asking the bartender for a menu. The person at the bar is eating chicken wings, so they must be serving something.
A female bartender slides a piece of printed paper towards me, “Limited menu tonight.”
When the server comes back, I order sliders and cheese sticks before taking the first few sips of my mixed drink.
Garth Brooks’ “Callin’ Baton Rouge” plays over the sound system, drowning out the sound from the television above the bar. Allie and I chat comfortably while sipping our drinks and enjoying our food after it’s deposited in front of us.
When my cousin’s phone alarms, she stops mid-sentence to check it. “Kira can’t find us. I’m going to go grab her,” she informs me.
“She didn’t get an escort?”
“Nope,” Allie says, something angry in the undertone. “Guess we’re just special.”
“We’re supposed to stay here,” I remind her over a mouthful of sliders. “They might have just shown us to the bar because of Jude…”
She shakes her head as if she knows better, then waves me off, “I’m going to meet up with her and bring her here.”
“Try not to get into trouble,” I plead. Knowing my cousin, there will be two side quests, three new friends made, and she’ll be escorted back here in an hour by a peeved biker.
“I’ll be three minutes, tops,” Allie says, and I almost think she believes it.