“Hey, sugar tits,” I heard someone slur from behind me while I was putting cash in the register.
I rolled my eyes and took in a deep breath. I turned around to see some slobbering, ruddy-faced douche in typical collegiate gear: a burgundy and white striped polo shirt, light jeans. His hair was blonde and spikey. His eyes were glazed, complimenting his jerk face.
He was leaning over the bar, waving his hand like he was trying to grab at me. It made me uncomfortable and I backed up till my back hit the register.
“Can I help you?” I asked, deciding to ignore the sugar tits comment. He had a few buddies beside him who were chugging back beers and laughing like morons. At the other end of the bar Julie and Deanne were busy helping customers. I eyed the clock on the far wall. Last call wouldn’t come soon enough.
“Yeah I want another drink and your number.”
“You’re not getting both,” I said quickly, remembering what the manager, Steve, had told me about cutting off people who were too drunk. Hogan’s Heroes attracted the rowdies from Thursday thru Sunday, but it was a still a respectable joint where lots of regulars came to relax after work. I was fully in my right to refuse him and was expected to do so if people got out of hand.
The guy’s face grew redder. “What? You can’t refuse me a drink!”
Now his buddies had stopped laughing and were looking at me with a dumb expression, which wasn’t too far from their usual one.
I glanced down the bar again but Julie and Deanne were still busy. I was going to have to handle this on my own.
“I didn’t say I was refusing you a drink. I’m refusing you my number.” I tried to hide the shaking in my voice. It was ridiculous how out of my element I felt. Conning, sure, sometimes I had nerves of steel. But bartending? Dealing with drunk dickheads? I was shaking like a leaf.
“Listen, bitch,” the guy said harshly, leaning even more now, his hand no longer reaching for me but for the bottles of alcohol underneath the bar. “Just because you’re new here doesn’t mean you’re too good for me. I’ve been coming here for years.”
I swallowed hard and straightened up. “And I’ve been here for a few hours. But guess what, now you’re not getting a drink, either. You’re cut off. Funny how that goes.”
“Aw, what?!” one of his douchey friends said, spilling beer onto the counter. “Way to go, Tom! You’ve pissed off our bartender.”
Tom grabbed a bottle of vodka in his hands and brought it up from out of the bar. I reacted, reaching forward for it but he snatched it away, shoving me back with one hand. He poured the drink in his empty glass and slammed it back.
“Hey, you fuck!” I yelled, forgetting any pretenses. “That’s stealing!”
He wiped his disgusting mouth and reached into his pocket. He took out a wad of twenties and threw them over the bar and onto the ground.
“It’s not stealing, I’m just helping myself because the service here sucks!” he yelled back, pouring himself another glass.
“I’m reporting you!” I said, finally snatching the vodka away from him.
“Oh yeah, good luck with that,” he said, laughing. “No one’s going to back you up.” His friends started laughing with him, slapping him on the back like he’d just said the most clever thing in the world.
Tom slammed the vodka, then slid it down the counter, away from me. “Thanks for the drink, sugar tits.”
Oh, I was mad. I was so mad. And what made it worse was that Tom was still standing there across from me, watching me with morbid lust, like I was his next meal.
“Excuse me,” I heard a familiar voice say. A voice that made my insides fizz like happy champagne, bursting away the anger. Maybe the wrong voice to make me feel that way, but there was no denying it.
That someone tapped on Tom’s shoulder and the giant slowly turned around. There was Javier, just behind him. Compared to the frat boys, Javier wasn’t very tall, maybe 5’10” while the rest of them were over six feet. They looked like ogres, blundering beasts, while he remained cool and collected, lithe like a lizard. He shot me a quick look with those sharp eyes of his and gave me a barely perceptible nod, before fastening his gaze on Tom.
“Excuse yourself,” Tom said to him, obviously immune to his golden eyes. What Javier was doing here, I had no idea. The last thing I wanted was for him—for my mark above all things—to catch me doing my legitimate job, fumbling fruitlessly, and looking like I’d been covered in smoke and booze all evening. But that didn’t matter because here he was, and the look he was giving Tom, the look the dumb idiot wasn’t picking up on, was one of the deadliest things I’d ever seen.
Javier smiled politely, no teeth, and gently pressed his palms together. “There seemed to be a bit of a problem over here.”
Tom snorted. “There’ll be a problem if you don’t get out of my face.”
Javier’s smile tightened. I watched him, utterly fascinated.
“I’m afraid I can’t get out of your face. I’m drawn to fucking assholes like yourself like moths to a flame.”
My eyes widened. One of Tom’s friends let out a low whistle, as if this was a regular occurrence, their nightly entertainment.
“You’re nothing but a piece of shit immigrant,” Tom said, his veins pulsing on his reddened forehead. “Now fuck off.”
I expected Javier to explode at that ethnic slur, but he did nothing. It was like he didn’t even hear it.