The aces lined up in the middle of the Starlight lounge bar with their backs to the door, all three of them smelling slightly of freshly chopped onions and stale fry grease. “He ain’t gonna be doin’ himself no favors by tryna protect her, okay?” Earl said. He held his whiskey glass poised just ready to sip the moment Hitch looked down at his phone again. “She’s a big girl, y’know? She can look after herself.”
Terrence grumbled, holding his pint glass of beer with both hands. “I don’t like seeing her in trouble, bro.” He took a sip. “She’s pretty much the only family I got left.”
Earl downed half his shot and followed it with a sip from his beer. “But she’s a grown ass woman, y’know?” He slapped Hitch’s shoulder. “She got a kid with him, okay? She made her choice alright. You gotta respect her choices.”
Considered a dive bar by most of the newest residents of Arroyo Grande, the Starlight lounge was one of the oldest bars in town. Established back when the desert was becoming a casino mecca, there had been plans to get a license for gambling, although that never worked out. Attached to the Starlight Motor Inn it was popular with the older locals who remembered the clean vinyl upholstery and plush high-back booths of its glory days, back when that sort of thing was thought luxury. Most evenings there were a handful of regulars and a few random tourists who stopped for the night or grabbed a quick one before motoring on. The place was packed if all ten bar stools were taken.
Despite the fact that Lisa dragged the aces skinny asses down there after they closed the kitchen, once she set about hunting, it was every man for themselves. She had a tourist cornered at the pool table, her yellow uniform blouse unbuttoned subtly, working over a single father on his way to the Grand Canyon with the kids. Ordinarily, just before closing she’d be wrapping this guy up for take-out, or scraping the plate clean, so to speak. If she was still rolling him on the table this late, he was either a lousy dancer or still married.
Hitch sipped his soda, eyeing a meaty blond guy that sat alone at the other end of the bar, nursing a beverage with a flagpole of fruity accouterments flying high above the rim of his glass. Even in old blue jeans and a faded blue polo shirt, the guy was obviously a cop, although he wasn’t commanding much authority drunk off his ass and wearing flip flops. The moment Hitch looked down at his phone again, Earl swigged back half his double shot of Crown.
“Victor givin’ you problems again, doll?” Uncle Jimmy asked, not even taking his eyes off the game. He and Pablo played bones in the back corner beside the Jukebox; it was their big Thursday night out on the town, both of them convinced that Friday and Saturday were just too busy. They nursed Coors Lights, collecting bottle caps to keep their count, and lined them up on the edge of the bar. They’d play until they filled a cocktail napkin with five count hash marks, all the while calling each other cheaters and maintaining an avuncular flirtation with Megan.
“Now there’s a guy who could use a little adult supervision, if you know what I mean, Terrence.” Pablo chuckled, cracking his knuckles like he might be ready to teach Megan’s baby daddy a little respect.
Megan rolled her eyes, eager to avoid the publicity.
“Never would have let them get together in the first place, bro. Should have kicked his ass solid back when he first started sniffing around.”
Earl laughed. “How you gonna look after her from a fuckin’ prison cell, okay? They were just kids.”
“And he was a pile of shit back then, too!” Terrence called, loud enough to elicit a glare from Megan.
Terrence sunk down again, taking a sip from his beer. “Fuckin’ spitters,” he mumbled.
“Spitters?” Hitch asked, like it might be some desert slang he’d never heard before.
“Yeah, him and his cousins fight dirty, y’know? Like, spit and pull hair and shit when they losin’.” Earl set his shot glass on the rail, hoping Megan would see it.
“Fuckin’ key cars, shit on people’s doorsteps, that sort of thing.” Terrence scowled.
“The fuck?” Hitch frowned just as Megan walked up to refill Earl’s drink.
“Everything alright here, boys?” She asked. “You guys aren’t getting into any trouble tonight.”
“Nah, Meg.” Terrence hung his head like a scolded child.
“You ready for another, then Earl?”
Earl smiled pleasantly, “Yes please, Megan.”
She poured a decent shot of crown and held the bottle poised above the shot glass. “You get him out of here pretty quick, alright?”
Earl watched the amber liquid poised to spill into his glass. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said.
“Thanks, Earl.” Megan finished filling his glass.
“Alright, Teaspoon, you heard her. It’s time to get you out of here.”
Terrence downed his pint glass and wiped his lips on the back of his hand, glaring across the bar at his own reflection behind the wall of liquor.
“She looks a little young to be a mother,” Hitch offered as she walked away again.
“Cutest fuckin’ kid,” Earl said. “Look like a little tan Terrence, all baby face, y’know? But without the busted-up face and shit.”
Hitch chuckled. “Got a little Hello Kitty neck tattoo or something?”
Terrence rubbed the fading bluish tattoo on his neck. “It’s not Hello Kitty, alright?”
Hitch chuckled again, still scrolling through his phone. “Little pubic hair patch on his chin, too?”
“Shut the fuck up, bro!”
Hitch smiled. “So, this Victor guy coming in here tonight?”
Megan smiled past the trio as a new customer stepped in the front door. She pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler, a bottle of well whiskey from the rack, and a pair of shot glasses from the shelf.
Earl shook his head. “Nah, he don’t come down here cause the night manager calls the cops and shit. He probably back at her place tequila drunk and bawling.”
“He’s got his cousins with him.” Terrence growled.
“I ain’t getting’ mixed up in this shit, okay? I got my own shit to handle, y’know?” Earl checked to see if Hitch was watching before he downed his shot of crown.
Jeremiah took a stool beside them as if he were the missing member of their entourage. “Relax, Earl. I got this.”
“There he is!” Earl called just a little too loud. “You just down to see the show, kid?”
Jeremiah gave Terrence a lazy fist bump but didn’t bother introducing himself to the new guy still staring at his phone. “Looks like you guys are the show,” he said.
Earl slapped him on the back. “Show’s over.” He reached across Hitch to push the engine start button on Terrence’s keychain. “Come on, Teaspoon.
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“What the fuck?” Terrence slid his keys away. “Just let me finish my beer, bro.” As he lifted his pint glass to take another sip, Hitch reached up and gently tilted it back for him, nearly dumping the dregs all down Terrence’s shirt front. “Fuck!” Terrence sputtered.
“Come on, dude. Let’s go smoke that shit. I didn’t come all the way down here for a five-dollar soda pop and some sorta family reunion bullshit.”
“Alright, alright!” Terrence drained his glass as Earl reached over his shoulder to steal the joint from his shirt pocket. “Get the fuck outta here, bro!”
Earl chuckled. “That’s what we’re tryin’ to do, okay?” Earl waved at Lisa, who had the tourist tucked into a corner, presumably sealing the deal. “Alright, then, blondie!” He hollered and waved.
She waved over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off her prey for even a moment.
“Come on, Teaspoon.” He took Terrence’s shoulders, steering him towards the door. “The Stringbean’s got your little cousin, he’s gonna take care of her, okay? You ain’t gotta worry, y’know?”
Terrence grumbled, placing the joint to his lips. “Yeah, well, he better take real good care of her.” He spun on Megan and Jeremiah, hunkered over the bar across from each other. “We know where you live, bro. We’re gonna stop by and if you aren’t taking care of her, we’re going to handle some shit!” he called.
Hitch stopped short. “Woah, Teaspoon. What the fuck was that? She’s your cousin.”
“Second cousin,” he said, “and stop calling me that!”
“The fuck does that mean?” Earl snarled.
“I meant, like protect her.”
“Yeah, well, that ain’t what it sounded like.”
“Shut the fuck up, bro!”
As the aces piled out, Megan popped the cap on the beer and poured out a pair of shots for Jeremiah and herself. They quietly clinked glasses and downed their shots, looking each other in the eye as they did. She sputtered slightly and set her glass in the dish sink. He pushed his back to the edge for a refill. “Rough night?” he asked.
“It’s been just like this for the past two hours,” she said, ignoring the real question. When she was on the clock, she maintained a sort of standoffishness, flirting for tips. Jeremiah could respect that, even if everybody else in town knew the intricacies of their private lives. He liked watching her work. Hanging out in his trailer she wandered around in his t-shirts with her hair gone wild. All dolled up for work, she seemed a different girl. She wore a little leather miniskirt and a threadbare Nirvana t-shirt. She pushed her tits up in a bra that was a size too small, making a decent living off of the passing tourists and old-timers.
“You mind, Jeremy?”
He shook his head and tossed back the next shot.
Jeremiah didn’t much like the rumors circulating about them. Victor had a temper and Jeremiah worried that he might do some sort of damage down at the Sands. The problem with confronting him, of course, was that Jeremiah would undoubtedly end up back in jail for a little while.
“You can always stay at my place,” Uncle Jimmy said.
Megan rolled her eyes, and picking up a bar rag, wiped her way down the bar towards the geezers. “I’d have to kick Pablo out of bed, and I’m guessing he’d get cranky.”
Pablo chuckled. “Oh, he hasn’t put a ring on it yet, Meg. We can share.”
Megan rolled her eyes again and turned to clean the shelves, dusting under a few scotch bottles. Uncle Jimmy elbowed Pablo for a glance as she stretched to reach an upper shelf.
“Oh, hey, Jack!” the beachcomber cop called cheerily from his end of the bar. He collected his cocktail and napkin, and fumbling slightly at his fistful of pamphlets, slid his pile of crap down the bar towards Jeremiah.
“Oh, I see you’ve met Mr. Mai Tai,” Megan quipped. She dropped her rag and slid back to the well, casually starting some cocktail into a chrome mixer.
The cop was obviously well past his prime, sloshing his bucket glass around. He approached like a storm cloud rolling up the desert, a darkly looming inevitably. Instead of lightning and thunder, however, his approach was heralded in stumbles against barstools and the clunking of his glass against the bar top.
“Oh, me and Moondoggie here go way back,” Jeremiah muttered.
Megan shook the metal canister and poured a couple shots out, passing Jeremiah’s shot across the bar and lifting her own in salutation. “Who’s Moondoggie?”
Jeremiah regarded the wasted wannabe beach boy sitting beside him, swizzling his straw around some pinkish drink. “Gidget’s boyfriend.”
“Who’s Gidget?” Megan asked, assuming that she might be a local.
While Megan and the rest of the kids in Arroyo Grande High school had been finishing their diplomas, Jeremiah had been playing the baby boomers’ edition of Trivial Pursuits with a bunch of recovering junkies and a handful of underaged gangsters. He killed at Final Jeopardy, but the kids his own age rarely got the joke. “Never mind,” he said, tossing back something that tasted of coconut and cough medicine. “What the hell was that?” Jeremiah peered into the bottom of the glass.
“Surfer on acid.” Megan chirped, taking his shot glass and nodding her head towards the tourist beside him.
“Right.”
“Are you sure you don’t have a little umbrella back there?” officer Moondoggie asked.
Megan stabbed a maraschino cherry and orange slice on a little plastic spear and dropped it in the bottom half of his drink. “And still no coconuts, either.”
The cop hung his head, defeated. “I’m not supposed to be here, man.”
Jeremiah tossed back a palate cleansing whiskey shot and sipped his beer.
“How’s my cruiser?” the off-duty officer asked, trying to be funny.
“Still busted,” Jeremiah said, trying to remain patient.
“I’m jus’ joking,” the cop sipped gingerly from his cup of fruit salad. “Yer alright, Jack. I was jus’ a little stressed earlier.” He waved off towards something distant and indistinct.
“Yeah, buddy, I got that.”
Megan frowned. “Jack?”
Jeremiah shrugged. As long as Moondoggie didn’t go all cop power trip, he could call Jeremiah whatever he liked.
“Did you know people pay twenty dollars just to see a big toy train?” The cop waved a model train museum tourist pamphlet at Jeremiah. “Twenty fuckin’ bucks.” He blinked at the pamphlet. “You know what?” He leaned in conspiratorially, whispering. “That twenty mule team wagon that winds up the hill?” He checked over his shoulder, checking that Lisa and the tourist weren’t listening. “It is a fucking slot car track.” He nodded, as if Jeremiah might understand the scandal. The cop shook his head. “Not even a train!” He pulled the fruit stick out of the cocktail and bit a cherry off the end. “I damn near asked for my money back, but then, I ain’t payin’ for it, right?” He laughed for no apparent reason and slapped Jeremiah’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Am I right?”
Jeremiah tossed back his final shot, flipped the glass over and slid it to the edge of the bar. For a guy who liked to drink, he didn’t have much patience for other drinkers.
“I mean, I’m not even supposed to be here, ya know?” The cop rifled through his collection of pamphlets. “I’m supposed to be poolside, with her, right now.” He threw his arm around Jeremiah and whispered confidentially, but loudly. “She’s probably having an affair, man.”
Megan and Jeremiah exchanged frowns at the whiplash subject change. “Hey man, you got a pool right there.” Jeremiah hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the motel swimming pool in the courtyard. “You got a jacuzzi and everything.” The way Jeremiah had it figured, this guy was a handful of postcards and a bad sunburn away from making this whole thing a deeply forgettable vacation.
The cop swayed slightly, head lolling around like a bobble-head toy. “Well fuck me!” he said, suddenly overjoyed. “I’ll be taking the next round poolside,” he said, sliding from his stool. He laughed, stumbled two steps and crumpled to the floor, struggling to hold his pastel drink aloft.
“Almost done?” Jeremiah asked Megan.
She glanced around at the last few customers and shrugged. “Twenty minutes or so? I’ll close these guys out and lock up.”
“Oh, we can finish up for ya, Meg,” Uncle Jimmy said.
Pablo cocked his hat sideways to mock her cousin. “Yeah, Meg. You can trust us.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Guess I oughta get Brian Wilson here back to his room.”
“Who’s Brian Wilson?” Megan asked.
“Never mind.” Jeremiah downed the last of his beer and tossed a twenty at the bar. The cop was on his knees and elbows, struggling to stand, still attempting to keep his drink steady as he righted himself. He snickered and grunted, willing his limbs to move.
Jeremiah fought the urge to haul off and kick him just on general principle. “Alright, buddy. You know the drill.” He helped the massive officer to his feet, holding the Ken doll cop against a pillar to keep him steady as he rifled through his pockets. “You got your room key?”
The officer swayed, glancing around like a toddler, only to discover his drink and take another sip. “Yeah.” But he did nothing to help locate the key.
Frisking the cop, Jeremiah found the card key in the cop’s back pocket. It was apparently all he had on him. Slinging the guy’s arm over his shoulder, they lurched towards the door.
“Say, Jack. Yer alright.” The drunken officer sloshed his fruity drink around. “I’m real sorry about this morning, y’know?” His breath was hot, spiced rum reeking, just a few inches from Jeremiah’s face.
Jeremiah quietly regretted not kicking him out to the curb. “It’s fine, boss.” Jeremiah patted his chest. They took the concrete slab stairs one at a time, inching their way to the second floor. A few doors down, Jeremiah leaned the cop against the wall long enough to insert the card key. When the door popped open, he poured the surfer boy into the room. The cop staggered a few steps, gauged his fall, and plunged face first into the bed, dumping the bucket glass and fruit garnishes all over the floor. A single flip flop hung from his left foot, dangling as he mumbled into the splotchy beige comforter. Jeremiah, feeling that he’d done his good deed for the day, tossed the keycard on the nightstand and glanced around the room as he was about to shut the door.
For a guy in beachwear, the guy had a lot of computer stuff. The kitchenette table was cluttered with small boxes and screens cabled together, spilling out of the black duffel bag. Even for a cop, this guy had a lot of tech. Computer screens, keyboards, and cables strung everywhere. The only time Jeremiah had seen that much tech in one place it had been a computer gamer. He sincerely doubted that this guy was so deep into first person RPGs that he carried a portable gaming console. Whatever brought Officer Moondoggie to Arroyo Grande, it was more than just a routine traffic patrol.