DIY Who: Hanna/Noah What: A job opportunity Where: Las Vegas, Moon Doggies Bar and Grill When: Present Ratings/Warnings: Talk of violence, the usual
Moon Doggies Bar and Grill held a special place in Noah’s cold heart. It had been the site of one of his first kills upon arrival in Las Vegas. It had been particularly masterful. He had orchestrated a drunken brawl out back, slipping unseen into the fray to dispatch his target with a knife.
Occasionally, the pyrokinetic liked to revisit the scene, especially when it felt like he needed some mental centering. John Schram had been a successful job, as Noah rightly predicted, but it also had a more personal feel that had thrown him for a bit of a loop.
The dive bar resided in the Chinatown area of Vegas, flamboyantly decorated on the outside with murals and, inexplicably, an old surfboard hung above the entrance. The inside was more standard. Dark wooden fixtures, dim lighting, the advertisement of something called Naked City Pizza.
Noah sat at the long bar, dark liquid in a rocks glass set before him. Employee turnover was high, and there was little chance that he would be recognized amongst the rowdier patrons.
It wasn’t exactly that Hanna eavesdropped. Her day job kept her busy to the point that she didn’t spend a lot of time hanging around the office waiting for calls, and while she liked her co-workers well enough, they didn’t go out for beers after hours. They were more the juice bar crowd who discussed their workouts and calorie intake.
Still, she did hear things. Usually when she was walking the halls of the municipal courthouse looking for somebody’s office, and sometimes when she was dropping off papers for a bail bondsman. It was easy to go unnoticed when you were wearing a shirt with a logo on the back, a name tag. Even one that used to be misspelled.
The bar was just shy of being a hole in the wall, but she was there for a specific reason. With two down and three to go, she felt like the remaining Weres might know something was up. It was entirely possible that they’d made other enemies, ones who didn’t have to be subtle. But it was time to step things up.
She took a seat at the far end of the bar, out of range of the mirror behind the array of bottles. Ordered a Jack and Coke, idly watched the foot traffic on the sidewalk. Having a middling day of it.
Noah noted the newcomer. They were the only two single drinkers in the place at that moment, which was surprising for the location. Perhaps it was too early yet. He sized her up from the corner of his eye, sipping his bourbon neat. The pyrokinetic was many things, but he wasn’t shy, and he was bored enough to test the waters of conversation.
He got up from his stool, ambling over to her casually. “The pizza here is decent,” he remarked. “The people, though, not so much.”
“I’ve heard that.”
She gave him half of her attention, enough to get a look at him, one foot almost touching the floor. Younger, but not by much, too thin to look overtly dangerous. On the other hand, the ones who didn’t seem to have much to them could do the most damage in a fight. Hanna wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
“Would you be one of the not so decent ones?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Noah answered immediately, a sardonic smile forming over his lips. He leaned against the bar, giving enough distance between them but close enough that she could still clearly hear him over the din. “But you look like you can take care of yourself.” The background noise was an ambient din of drunken conversation, pinging slot machines, a Creedence Clearwater Revival song blaring from the jukebox.
“Let me get your next round,” the pyrokinetic offered. “It’s the one decent thing I’m able to do.”
She made some noise, an amused sort of chuff, finished the last of her first drink. There was an empty stool next to hers, and she edged it in his direction. He looked like a hipster, but he was likely anything but. She signaled the bartender, who came over after putting some glasses in a plastic tub.
“Another Jack with a Coke chaser,” she said, indicating the man next to her. “He’s paying, but I’ll get the next one for both of us.”
“Equality,” he quipped, taking the hint and the vacant stool. “I like it.” He killed the last of his drink, pushed it toward the bartender. Someone behind them whooped with glee as a slot paid out.
“You ever wonder who invented gambling?” Noah mused. “Did cavemen exchange rocks or animal bones over who could bag a lion first?”
“It’s all about how much risk you want to take. What you can afford to lose.”
No bowls of peanuts, but she considered a slice of pizza to offset the alcohol. Maybe in a minute. She hooked her sneakered foot under the bottom rung of her padded stool, waited for the bartender to come back with their drinks. Cut a look at the guy next to her.
“I take it this is one of your usual hangouts?”
“I come here semi-frequently,” Noah allowed. “This place holds good memories for me.” He smiled to himself. Just then, his phone chimed. He slid it out of his pocket and checked it briefly before setting it down on the bar.
“But what about you?” he asked. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve been here before.”
“Heard about the place, but no, this is the first time I’ve actually been here.”
One of the celebrants from the slot machines came over and paid for a round of drinks with his winnings. Coins spilled over the wooden surface of the bar, some rolling onto the floor. He was still picking them up when the barback came over with full glasses.
“Good memories, huh? You get engaged here or something?”
Noah watched the man excitedly show off his relatively meager jackpot, and knew from experience the many days this particular one had spent at this place, feeding quarters into a machine with no payout, going home more sober than he wished to be. He would probably buy a round for his pals now, riding a foolish high. The pyrokinetic found it all strangely amusing.
“Nothing like that,” he answered her. “My line of work brings me to places like these, and helps to remind me what it’s all for.”
Hanna looked down into her second glass of Coke, watching the ice cubes float on the surface. ‘What it’s all for.’ She understood the why of what she was doing, that as long as the three who remained were still alive she would never be over it. Never be okay, though perhaps ‘okay’ was the wrong word for it.
“Yeah, I get that.”
She gave him more than half of her attention now, and something about his eyes made his physical slightness a negative issue. Something not quite there, or maybe just unformed. Picked up the glass of Jack Daniels and took a drink that burned on the way down.
“Lemme guess, you’re an….exterminator?”
“That’s a great word for it,” Noah concurred, the bourbon leaving a slight caramel flavor in his mouth. “I get rid of pests. The kind that really get under your skin.” He often did this, skirted a dark line of innuendo just for kicks.
“Do you have a pest problem...I didn’t catch your name?”
“If you didn’t catch it, it’s ‘cause I didn’t throw it.”
For the sake of anonymity, both his and hers. In her present state, it wasn’t Hanna’s business to judge what anyone else did,but maybe being on a first name basis could wait. She put her glass down, waited until the clown picking quarters up off the floor had finished and rejoined his friends.
“But let’s say I did have bugs that need killing. Big furry ones. What would you suggest?” “Ah, I see.” Noah smirked, letting his glass come to rest on a cardboard coaster emblazoned with Moon Doggies in the style of a Jack Daniels label. “Nameless drinking buddy, I would suggest some serious firepower. Something I provide, at a premium, of course. But I do give discounts if the job is...fun.”
He leaned against the bar, his voice lowering. “How many furry bastards are we talking about, here?”
“There’s three left. There were five, but I put paid to two of them.”
Hanna’s voice had dropped a couple of notches as well, the sole of her shoe scuffing a quiet rhythm on the floor. It gave her that squirmy feeling to talk about it, not necessarily in a bad way. If the only way out was through, she was still tunneling.
“They’re biters. I was thinking about silver, but I wouldn’t know where to get enough for what I need. Range weapons. I thought about poison, but I don’t know if it would work, and I would rather be…”
Something subtle happened to her expression as the song on the jukebox changed, Creedence giving way to Pink Floyd. ‘The Dark Side of the Moon.’ She’d have been annoyed if she didn’t feel like she was living under an eclipse most of the time. She made eye contact with Mr. No Name, her mouth a firm line.
“I need to see it happen. So that I can be sure.”
Biters. Silver. This woman was hunting weres. Noah laughed darkly, washing the sound down with another drink from his glass. “That’s a service I can provide,” he agreed. “Do you want to physically be there, or…?”
Again, his eyes swept over her. The posture, the demeanor, the guarding of her name. She almost screamed cop, but there was something too frayed around the edges. No, this was personal. The pyrokinetic asked himself if this would be worth it.
“Are they in the Vegas area? Because traveling costs extra.”
“You might not be understanding me. That’s my fault.
I’m kind of…”
She waved a hand around in the air, watched it gradually turn into a fist. Let her fingers relax one at the time. Lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“I’m a do-it-yourselfer. No offense, I’m sure you kill bugs with the best of ‘em, but the ones I’m after? They started what’s happening. Means I gotta finish it myself.”
Hanna finished off half of her Coke, crunched an ice cube between her teeth. “I can pay for the silver. I don’t know what the going rate is, but you seem like a guy who knows how to find things if the price is right. Like you said, you provide services. But you won’t need travel expenses. I don’t need a second in command.””
Noah tilted his head slightly. “So, are we talking about an ‘I set them up, you knock them down’ kind of situation?” If that was the case, it was highly unusual. “Or are you just looking for a...procurer?”
“Just a procurer. The reason there’s three and not five is because two of them are dead now, but close fighting’s no good.”
And my soul is heavy enough.
Because even if Mr. No Name wasn’t entirely there, she wasn’t going to risk getting some stranger killed. The blood on her hands might have been the only way to wash herself clean, but she’d discovered over the course of the aftermath that having any kind of purpose was keeping her something like sane. Her second glass had somehow been emptied. She ordered a third, looked at her erstwhile companion.
“You want another? I should call it quits after this, but I can pick up the tab if you want.”
“No, I’m fine,” Noah replied, holding up his still half-full glass. He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out to the woman clutched between two fingers. “We’ll have to discuss details elsewhere.”
With his free hand, he tossed the remainder of the bourbon back. He knew Moon Doggies would be good for a diversion.
Hanna took the card, put it in her back pocket after making note of the name and phone number. Some of the tension had leaked out of her shoulders, and she picked up her glass of soda to finish it off. She could have the third drink by itself.
“I’ll drop you a text in a few days,” she said, putting that on her mental To Do list. “We can talk details someplace more discreet.”