Chapter 1
The Deception
The Deception
The men sitting at the table by the door of the bar kept looking back at me. It was driving me nuts, a dozen of the burly motherfuckers trying very hard to appear like they aren’t staring me down like a pack of hyenas. I knew better of course, but I don’t want to make a move that would seem to out of the ordinary. So I watched and waited, pretending to take great interest in the mediocre band playing up front. The vocalist was a pretty girl with a slim figure, pale skin and auburn hair. She had a certain amount of talent, but ultimately lacked a certain something. I didn’t have further time to study the girl because I heard the bar door open swing open. I took a quick look over my shoulder and I saw him.
I had seen the man before. I didn’t like the look in his eyes the first time I saw him, and I sure a hell didn’t like it now. Every time that I have gotten close to something important in this city, that man has appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. He would give me a calm nod, and then he pointedly ignores me. This time was no different. He sat near the front of the stage, making a point of stretching and looking back at me. He gives the same cold, expressionless nod he usually does and returns his attention to the stage. I took the time to study him. Instead of the wife beater and blue jeans the man usually wore, he was wearing an expensive looking pin-striped suit and a red silk tie. His sandy blond hair was shorter than I’d seen it before and his normally scruffy beard was trimmed to a neat goatee. His eyes were the same steely gray as before, but the man carried a nervous energy about him that wasn’t present in the times I had seen him before. Suddenly I felt an itch on the back of my head and I knew that I had caught the attention of the goons by the door.
My mind raced. I knew with an awful certainty that I if I just got up and left that I would find a pair of Goons waiting for me outside the bar. Wife-beater was almost certainly watching me out of the corner of his eye, and if I tried anything drastic, it would probably backfire on me. Panic started to spread as I felt the trap closing in. The little things that had been bugging me ever since Wife-beater had shown up coming into clarity almost as soon as I started to take the time to think about them. Wife-beater’s elegant appearance, his nervous energy, the way the goons had been placed so carefully by the door….even the attractive vocalist fronting the band on the stage. A very careful arrangement of distractions with only my capture in mind and I had practically waltzed into the trap. I swallowed my outrage quickly, realizing that I had no time for heady emotions. I paused for a second to check if there were any escape routes that I had forgotten, and then snorted quietly in frustration. The only way out of this place was the front door, as it had no kitchen to speak of and the bathroom window was firmly barred shut. I noticed a very drunk patron glaring at every guy within ten feet of his especially gorgeous girlfriend, and a little light-bulb went off in my head.
I got up very “drunkenly” and approached the jealous lover with a particularly vapid expression and drunken grin.
“Hey!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. “You know, that is by far the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen! Bugger off and find me something to drink.”
The man’s face began to purple and he stood up to look me in the eye, “You have a lot of fucking-” The man’s outraged voice cut off abruptly as I rammed my fist into his nose.
What followed was a very confusing and painful scenario. The goons by the door had waded into the fight I had started and I seeing this decided that one small fight wasn’t enough. As a result I threw a whole pitcher of beer at the table next to me. The guys at that table threw themselves into the forefront of the fight, attacking the Goons that were in between them and me. Using the rapidly growing brawl to my advantage, I tried to make my way for the door. I was stopped as an iron grip enclosed my left shoulder and I was forcibly turned around to meet the cold, dead eyes of Wife-beater. He rammed me into the wall, his fist closing around my throat. Wife-beater’s grip was strong and struggle as I would, the fist closed around my throat would not budge. Panic rose as I struggled and kicked at the big man and I was beginning to feel light-headed. The world started to fade, my mind spiraling down into the darkness….
I awoke to find myself in the alley just outside the bar, with the pretty face of the vocalist for the band inside hovering two or so inches in front of my eyes.
“Are you alright?” The girl had a light, demure tone to her voice that sent a small shiver down my spine.
“Yes, I think I’m fine.” I pause to collect my thoughts for a second. “Did you save me from that guy who was trying to choke the life outta me?” My voice was rough and I could feel a slight welt where Wife-beater had been strangling me.
The girl looked away for a second, shame lighting a dull fire in her eyes. “No, I didn’t really save you; the guy who was attacking you had a bar stool cracked over his head. In the confusion I managed to pull you out of the bar.”
I smiled and stretched my neck, wincing slightly at the pain from pulled muscles and bruising. “You put on a pretty good show.”
It was the girls turn to smile; a brilliant dazzling smile that almost made me pass out again. “I try.” The girl said simply. I tried to stand up, but my head started to spin almost as soon as I got to my feet. The girl helped me gently back to the ground, muttering something under breath about the stubbornness of men. She looked at me, smiling that dazzling smile and wearing an amused expression on her face. We were both quiet for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the police and paramedics as they sorted out the mess in the bar. She cleared her throat “My name is Clara Holmes.”
I smile back at her, hoping beyond hope that this girl wasn’t spoken for. “The name’s Cameron Caine. Call me Cam.” We shared one of those breathless, awkward moments that every eighties high school movie was famous for. Clara broke the silence.
“Um, are you alright to get home?” Her voice sounded a little rough, as if she was saying something that she didn’t expect herself to say. “I can give you a ride if you want. It’s not that much trouble.”
I gave her a long, searching look. She looked right back at me and all I could see in her eyes were a guarded seriousness. The light cast from the bar’s neon sign hid the one side of her face and made her eyes glow softly. “If you feel comfortable with giving a total stranger a ride.” I said softly, watching for the usual facial tics.
She shook her head. We had another awkward moment until I broke the silence, asking her softly if we could stop for some coffee. She nodded once, and then led me to her car.
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