Читать книгу Evil in Paradise - R. B. Conroy - Страница 10

5

“Eight ball in the side pocket.”

Reg watched as the shiny black ball rolled slowly in the side pocket. “Luck ass. I owe ya twenty-five. That’s enough for me. I’m tired of losing.”

Dirk grunted out a crude laugh. “You’re in over your head, Reg.”

“I know, and I’m also getting a little tired losing to you, and I’m also getting a little tired of Spudzie’s. We come here all the time. Let’s go somewhere else.” Reg tossed a twenty and a five on the green table top.

Dirk gathered up the cash. “Like where?”

Reg thought for a moment. “How ‘bout The Villages.”

“What? We won’t fit in with all those rich bastards.”

“Why not? I’ve been over there before and nobody seemed to care. Our money is as good as anyone else’s. Besides, there are a lot of old single babes over there and a lot of them are looking for a good time.”

Dirk shook his head. “Okay, but if we get in trouble, your ass is grass.”

“Don’t worry, big guy, and besides Daisy tells me that you have a lot of customers in The Villages. It will be good for you to know what’s going on over there. You’ll be able to relate better to your customers.”

“I’m sure.” Dirk shook his head and looked around for the waitress. He spotted her at a nearby table and shouted, “Hey, Rosie, what do we owe you?”

Rosie maneuvered the green order pad from the back pocket on her tight jeans, “Let’s see, you’ve both had five beers, so you owe me thirty.”

One of the players near Rosie was preparing to take a shot and was annoyed by Dirk’s shouting. He paused, leaned on the top of his cue and stared at Dirk.

The observant Rosie noticed the reaction. “Cool it, Eddie,” she said quickly. “Just hit your damned shot and forget it. I don’t need a fight in here tonight.”

The well-tattooed man ignored Rosie’s plea and kept staring at Dirk.

Dirk tossed fifteen more dollars on the felt table top next to Reg’s twenty-five, grabbed his cue off the side of the table and rushed toward the glaring shooter.

“Oh shit!” Rosie wailed.

The volatile Dirk’s face was red with anger. Before the other guy had a chance to move, Dirk jabbed the handle of his cue into the man’s gut. The tall man groaned in pain and folded over.

“Somethin’ bothering you, smart ass?” Dirk growled. “You got a problem with me talking to Rosie. Huh….huh?”

The noisy bar went stone quiet. Everybody knew what Dirk Harrison was capable of. Dirk continued to angrily jab the player in the arms and face with his cue. Stunned, the other man raised his arms up for protection as red blood streamed down his denim jacket.

Reg hurried over and grabbed Dirk by the arm, “Come on, buddy, he doesn’t want any part of you. Let’s get out of here.”

Red-faced, Dirk was staring at the man, hoping for the least provocation so he could beat the man senseless. Meantime, Reg kept yanking on his arm. Finally, he started to back away. Reg leaned closer and barked in his ear, “Dammit, Dirk, let him alone. I like coming to this place. So give it up!”

Dirk jerked his arm free from Reg, tossed his cue on the table and backed away. At Reg’s urgings, the two men turned and headed for the exit. The battered pool player leaned precariously against the end of the pool table as others examined his wounds.

Outside, Reg continued to admonish his explosive friend. “You can’t do crap like that, Dirk. That guy was just looking at you. You can’t blow up every time somebody looks cross-ways at you.”

Still seething, Dirk remained quiet.

“You keep that shit up and we won’t be able to get into any bars around here. They’ve already thrown us out of Stacey’s.”

“Okay, okay”, he mumbled. “But, that guy was asking for it, so I gave it to him.”

“Do me a favor, Dirk. Next time you think somebody is asking for it, leave him alone, okay?”

Dirk slowly mounted his Harley low-rider and grinned at his good buddy, “How about I kick your ass next time somebody messes with me? How about that?”

“Just try it, hard guy, just try it.” Reg slid his leg over the worn leather seat on his ancient Harley and kicked it to a start. He gunned the engine and then popped it into gear.

Dirk howled with laughter and high-fived his good friend. “Let’s go find us some nookie over at The Villages. Okay, buddy?”

“Lead the way!”

Dirk’s front wheel lifted off the ground; his mufflers popped sending a loud good-bye to the wary customers inside the shaken bar. Dirk fell in behind him as the hardened bikers wound their way through the crowded parking lot and gunned it down Pine Avenue toward The Villages.