Chapter 10
Drinks went flying.
It wasn't her fault.
Glass shattered against the floor. Shards danced, and fine whiskey was wasted.
Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.
Two big guys had squared off. One had shoved the other. He tumbled into the redhead, who dominoed into me.
The two idiots were about to come to blows.
I drew my badge and approached. With a red face and veins bulging, I shouted, “Knock it off, or you’re both going to jail!”
They both looked like two raging pit bulls, neither about to back down. Then one of them said to me, "Holy shit! Tyson Wild.”
It took me a second to recognize him. "Shane Dalton!?"
We clasped hands and bro hugged.
When we broke apart, he looked at his adversary and said, "Beat it, punk."
The punk glared at us, but thought better of engaging. He backed away and disappeared into the crowd.
"How the hell are you?" I said to Shane.
It had been a long time since I'd seen him. Probably a decade. He was still built like a Mack truck and stood about 6’2”.
His short dark hair was faded on the sides, and he’d grown a full bushy beard that looked like a cattle guard on a freight train.
With narrow brooding eyes and bulging biceps, he was not a guy you wanted to get into a bar fight with.
By breaking it up, I had probably saved the other guy from a trip to the hospital. An old Navy buddy, Shane Dalton could be lethal.
"A cop, huh?" Shane said, amused.
I shrugged.
"Figures.”
"What about you? What are you up to these days?"
"A little of this, a little of that," he said with a mischievous grin.
"I didn't know you were in town.”
"Well, I thought I'd come back and spend a little time with my family. Have you met my sister, Riley?" he asked, motioning to the beautiful redhead with emerald eyes who splattered my drinks.
"We just bumped into each other," I said.
"I’d apologize, but it's not my fault," she said, extending her hand.
I took it. It was nice and soft. I didn't mind holding it.
"That's okay,” I replied. “I have no doubt Shane instigated the confrontation. Therefore, he can buy me and my friends another round.”
Shane grinned. "What are you drinking?”
I told him, and he ambled to the bar to make things right.
Riley and I stared at each other for an awkward moment. She was easy on the eyes.
"How do you two know each other?” she asked.
I told her.
"Ah, another adrenaline junkie.”
I laughed. "You could say.”
She just shook her head. "I hope you have more self-control than he does.”
"I like to think I'm able to moderate my addiction."
She laughed. "Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.”
"I don't think there is a recovery.”
"Is that why you're a cop?”
I gave it some consideration. "I wanted to make a difference. The adrenaline rush is just a perk.”
"And are you making a difference?”
"I like to think so. Don't get me wrong, it's not all sunshine and roses. There are boring stakeouts, paperwork, and the ones that get away.”
"How often do they get away?"
A slight smirk tugged my lips. "Not very.”
"Confident. I like that.”
Shane returned with a waitress and a tray full of drinks. "Shots for everyone!”
A dozen shots of tequila stood like faithful soldiers, ready to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It was an ambitious setup. Or trouble, depending on how you looked at it.
I spotted Jack and waved him over.
"Jack Donovan!" Shane said when he saw JD.
With a look of surprise, Jack teased, "I didn't know you were still alive."
"Well, many have tried to kill me. None have succeeded yet."
They shook hands and hugged.
"Imagine running into you two," Shane said. "Small world."
Jack introduced the guys in the band, and Shane dealt out the tequila shots. He looked around the club, then shouted, "Wade! Get your ass over here!”
Two gorgeous blondes occupied Wade's attention. I don't think he was in a hurry to leave them. He was a good-looking guy in his late 20s with wavy sandy-blond hair and an athletic physique. He had the laid-back vibe of a surfer.
"Fuck him," Shane said. "That's two for me.” Double-fisted, Shane lifted the shot glasses. "To good friends and good times!"
We downed the tequila. It warmed the belly.
Shane took another shot. There were still a few soldiers left. He collected them from the waitress, and we found an empty booth. The guys in the band carried on, finding lovely ladies to occupy themselves with. We slid into the booth and reminisced for a bit.
"So tell me about this cop thing," Shane said.
I shared a look with Jack, then said to Shane, "We’re Special Crimes."
Shane laughed. "You two are a special crime."
I shrugged.
"So what exactly does that constitute?”
"Homicide, kidnapping, terrorism," I said. "That kind of thing.”
"Is there a lot of that around here?"
"At times.”
"A lot of drugs come through here," he said, thinking it over.
I nodded.
"How long have you two been doing that?"
I looked at Jack. The time had flown.
"A minute or two," JD said.
"Well, it's good to know if I get in trouble, you idiots can get me out of it."
"Just don't get in trouble," I said.
That mischievous grin tugged the corners of his mouth again.
Shane was always one to push the limits. Following rules wasn't typically his strong suit. As you can imagine, that gave him a little bit of trouble in the Navy. By the tattoo on the inside of his forearm, I suspected he had gotten into a little trouble out of the Navy as well. Maybe a lot.
I knew a prison tattoo when I saw one.
"How much time did you do?” I asked, nodding to the Ace of Spades in faded blue-gray monochrome.
The work was pretty good for a jailhouse tat, but the ink always gives it away.
It was made with whatever they could scavenge.
You had to be crazy to inject that stuff in your skin.
Then again, sanity wasn’t always Shane's strong suit.