Devil On Your Back - Max Henry Page 0,3
in his movements as he prepares drinks for the noisy bunch over my shoulder.
I turn, and lean both elbows on the bar as I take the rowdy fuckers in. Young, tattooed to the eyeballs, and full of misplaced testosterone. Exactly what I used to be.
And they’re the only ones here apart from me.
Some clientele, buddy.
A couple of pretty young things make their way around the group of men. A blonde sits on the lap of a young, inebriated guy whose hands have a mind of their own. Her smile is fake and her laugh strained. Her eyes betray her, but nobody notices. Nobody cares.
Fuck, even I don’t care.
Her life—her loss.
“What you starin’ at, old boy?” The obvious leader of the pack stands, and puffs his chest out like a fucking rooster.
Easy on.
“Nothin’ worth my time, kid.”
“Wise-ass, hey?”
“As natural as they come.” I give the little upstart a wink, and he strides around the table toward me.
The hipster behind the bar sighs. “Fuck me.”
Not that he needs to worry. I’ll have this over in no time. Young punk, thinking he has anything on me. Youth these days—honestly.
I push off the bar, and take a much less steady step than I’d hoped toward him. The floor shifts beneath my feet, and I shoot a foot backward to steady myself. The heel of my steel-capped work boot catches in the feet of a bar stool, and I’m forced to swing my blurry vision around to try and work out what the fuck I need to do to stay upright.
I swear it shouldn’t be this hard to do.
Two more of the group stand, and proceed to back the first guy up—young Blue-Balls with the grabby hands included. I give up trying to count how many people remain at the table when the faces all blend into one flesh-colored stripe.
“Why have I never seen you in here before, anyway?” The instigator stands before me, arms crossed, chin raised.
Taking my time, I walk a crooked circle around him. I make a show of reading the name on the back of his cut and stopping to squint at the badge on the front.
King. Vice President. Fallen Saints.
“I’m pretty sure”—I do an exaggerated sweep of the joint, almost falling on my ass—“that this is a public bar. Excuse me for not signing in.” I wave my hand in a writing motion.
His nostrils flare, but he holds the staunch show pretty darn well for a young fella. “How about you take your pensioner card and step out. Get a cab back to the nursing joint, granddad.”
Granddad? That’s all he’s got?
“You had your eyes checked lately, boy?”
“Why’s that?” He plays into my line with a grin.
“Because last time I checked, people in their late forties didn’t have pensioner cards.”
“Whatever,” he snarls. “You’re a darn sight fuckin’ older than me.”
“And yet, you still can’t work out who your elders are—you know, the people you’re supposed to pay respect to. Where is it, huh? Where’s the respect, kid?”
“You have a death wish?” He frowns, and cocks his head to the side. “Because you sure as fuck don’t know when to shut up.”
“Habit kind of forms when you usually have the last word.”
The kid scoffs, and looks at his monkeys for appraisal. They laugh along with him like the good little henchmen they are. “You’re fuckin’ pissed, dude. You couldn’t beat your knuckles against a brick wall if you tried.”
“Want to bet?
His eyes flick to the empty glass on the bar, and back to my face. “You win, I shout you for the rest of the night. I win, you fuck off.”
“Deal.” I spit in my palm and offer it to him.
He slaps his hand in mine without hesitation, and shakes it with vigor. Every part of me hums, not only from the alcohol but from the anticipation of the fight. It’s been a while since I’ve found someone to go a few rounds with. The pain is overdue and exactly what I’m searching for.
“Come on then, boy.”
I turn to lead him outside, and find myself reeling from a fist to the side of the face.
Dirty little fuck.
I shake it off, and straighten to face him. A smile splits his face in two; his monkeys nod and grin in approval.
“Take it we aren’t doing this like gentlemen then?”
He opens his mouth to give me some smart-ass response, but I shut it with a quick uppercut.
Teach you, you bastard.
A collective ‘wooo’ comes from his table. All drinks are down, and the remaining five are