horror_npc (horror_npc) wrote in horror_story, @ 2012-12-22 22:21:00 |
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After six solid hours of sleep and a hot shower, Marcus was in a decent mood. There seemed to be nothing but green lights in Bryant's texts the night prior (or earlier that morning, technically speaking), though the older man had been careful about his wording. That made sense, though, didn't it? Texts could be deleted easily enough, but Bryant might not want anything too suggestive to be on a record. The doctor might not trust Marcus to keep his phone out of the hands of others, and Marcus could understand that. Still, he thought he could see at least one neon promise between the lines, and felt comfortable assuming that tonight was the night he'd get the skittish older man out of his fucking system. Excellent.
But not until after six. The deaf kid would be an irritating presence at the funeral home until five, and Marcus wanted to leave plenty of time for the kid to split and for Bryant to clean up and change. The nature of Bryant's work wasn't a turn-off for Marcus, but the chemicals tended to linger quite strongly. He could wait. He'd arranged to get the night off, so that he wouldn't have to cut shit short to get to the hospital by 10. Even when he'd intended to be direct, Bryant never wanted to let him cut to the chase. The older man liked to talk, and had a way of catching Marcus off-guard with his topics. Marcus also liked to talk, so they'd generally end up shooting the shit for hours, with Bryant playing coy the whole fucking time, until Marcus had to leave for work. Having drinks and the occasional dinner with the mortician was never unpleasant, but it was damn frustrating. The hints were all there, but he was starting to suspect that Bryant wanted him to be pushier about it. Some people were into that, and Marcus was willing to cater to it if he had to. If Bryant wanted him to push, he could fucking push.
Just not in front of the fucking kid. Being deaf didn't mean that the kid couldn't talk. In fact, the kid was obnoxiously loud most of the time. So after buying groceries for that night, Marcus went over to the bar to kill an hour or so before heading out to the funeral home.
The Brass Key was very much a home away from home for Marcus. Well, not terribly far away, given that it was just a short walk from his actual home, but still the sentiment stood. The bar held a comfortable familiarity. It was his default for when there wasn't anything to do, especially on nights he wasn't working (though more often than not on nights he did work, as well). He knew the people who worked there, knew the patrons, knew the fucking tables. Seconds after walking through the entrance, he could tell whether or not there was a new face. Minutes later, he'd probably be able to accurately guess who they were going home with, if anyone. Marcus was very fond of the Key, and it tended to welcome him with open arms, so long as he settled his tab at the end of the night.
---
Susie-Q had had a good night so far. She'd made a handful of scratch doing one of those weird jobs, one where a guy wanted to stare at her hands or lick her toes or some stupid shit. It always weirded her out a little, but she never complained. Stupid as she was, she wasn't about to turn down good cash for something so easy. She'd bought a bump earlier and was coming down from it, so she was trying to milk it, drinking whiskey sours and leaning back against the bar, humming to herself, just pleased as punch.
It didn't matter that it was cold out, either. She had on cowboy boots, a short skirt, and what might have been a sweater that was the smallest one she could find. Her hair was loose around her face, her makeup dark, and she was relaxing before going on home to her Mama and little boy. Gage was visiting with his cousins, which was just fine and dandy with Susie. Spotting Marcus, she smirked and sauntered up beside him, leaning her forearms against the bar.
"Waitin' for someone, sugar?" she purred. Far be it from her to interrupt a date. Then again, fuck that other girl. She'd interrupt if she wanted. Besides, Marcus might have been the only other person in town to have fucked as many people as she had.
---
"Hey, Caperucita Roja," Marcus responded, tossing her a welcoming smile. He actually did know Susanne Wilson's name (there were few in town who didn't), but to date he'd managed to never use it to her face. She'd graduated from the generic chica to Caperucita Roja once she'd started dying her hair red, and that would likely stick for as long as she kept it that color. Despite her young age, Susie had quickly become as much a fixture of The Key as most. While that sort of ambition might be misguided, he couldn't exactly fault it.
"Other way around, mamí." He turned casually in his seat, and smirked at her, taking note of the length of the skirt. Marcus wasn't about to ignore a pair of legs like that on display. That would be fucking rude. "Got someone waitin' on me."
---
She had no idea what he was talking about, but damn, at least it sounded sexy. She watched the bartender pour her another couple of fingers of whiskey and she raised an eyebrow, looking over at Marcus from the corner of her eye.
"Really? So you're just sittin' around, making them wait? That's awful nice of you." She tilted the drink back and then crossed her ankles, stretching out those long legs. He could look all he wanted.
---
"Heh. I like to play fucking hard to get," he joked, winking at her, and then ordered a beer. Usually he drank tequila, but he wasn't planning on staying, and he was going to be driving within the hour, so he was playing the responsible card. Being a good fucking citizen. Sheriff Avery wasn't going to have shit to say to him, if he could help it. "This one likes to play mind games. She can stand to fucking wait a while."
---
"Can't say I play the same game." She chuckled and took another drink, uncaring about how much liquor she was swilling back. She'd been building up a tolerance since she was twelve. She didn't have a car, so she'd just walk or take the bus or call a damned cab. "She sounds like a catch. Did you have to work hard on this one or did she just throw herself all over you like they always do?"
---
Marcus shook his head, grateful when his beer was set in front of him. That was part of the problem, wasn't it? Marcus was used to people throwing themselves all over him, at least to an extent. Eventually. Sure, he enjoyed a chase, and did have a habit of pursuing people who considered themselves to be out of league for various reasons. So he was used to the game. There'd be some posturing, a few hoops to jump through, points that needed to be made. Usually that was for public show, however. Once he'd managed to get someone behind a locked door, away from prying eyes, the game was over. They dropped the act and stopped being coy. Bryant, on the other hand, kept it going. He'd say something that seemed unquestionably suggestive one moment, and the next he'd be playing oblivious, acting the innocent, which was ridiculous for a man the mortician's age. Marcus felt like he wasn't even sure what the rules of Bryant's game actually were yet, and while that was the primary reason it had kept his interest for so long... well, enough was enough.
"Still working on it," he admitted, feigning more nonchalance on the subject than he actually felt. He didn't confess how long he'd been working on it. The fucking months spent, taking his time. Granted, he hadn't been exclusively pursuing the mortician, but it was still quickly approaching an amount of time and commitment rivaling that which he'd put into his marriage. He hadn't been exclusive there, either. He took a sip, shrugging. "Like I said, bitch likes her mind games."
---
The Brass Key wasn't much like the bars where she'd spent time in Portland, but Sully St. Claire wasn't much of a dive bar person anyway. She'd spent enough time in a one-horse town to know that she didn't want to frequent places like this very often, but after the day she'd had, a drink sounded divine and unfortunately at the house the liquor cabinet only contained her father's cognac. Not the kind of thing she wanted. Dressed in black fishnets, knee-high boots with buckles at the ankle, and a deep charcoal-gray sweater-dress, the long blonde hair left loose around her face and just enough makeup on her cheeks to accentuate the smoky liner around those big stormy eyes, Sully had topped the whole ensemble off with a knee-length black peacoat and a lace scarf to try and hide her adam's apple. She parked the car in front of the bar in the nearest spot she could find, and, mustering her bravery, exhaled a huff of smoke into the cold night air and sauntered inside. Purse over her shoulder, steadier in those stiletto heels than anyone had a right to be, she tossed her hair over her shoulder as she entered, bringing with her a gust of cold, and after a brief glance around, she headed to the bar. She sidled up in an open space, leaning over with one knee propping up on the edge of the barstool for leverage, and smiled sweetly at the bartender when he glanced her way before going back to pulling draft for someone.
"Double of Patron, please," she said in her husky, lilting voice.
---
“Don Julio,” Marcus corrected, loudly enough to interrupt. It was a rude thing to do, but he was willing to overstep social boundaries. She might even have honestly preferred Patron. It was a valid choice, and Marcus certainly wouldn’t turn his nose up at it, if offered. He just figured most people who ordered Patron did it because they were worried that other tequilas would taste like Cuervo. However, he personally thought Don Julio was smoother, and a little more complex than Patron. It also happened to be a little more expensive. “On me, cabrón” he added to the bartender, more than willing to buy a stranger a drink, so long as it was the right one.
Because even though he’d been conversing with Susie Q, he had clocked the blonde the second she’d walked in. The stilettos, the sweater dress, tall enough to model. He normally didn’t go out of his way for women that skinny, but fuck if she wasn’t interesting. Crows Landing just didn’t get that many strangers, one way or another, and Marcus had a soft spot for anyone with a taste for good tequila. If they were going to sit at the bar with him, though, they were going to get Don Julio. He nodded a relatively friendly greeting at the woman, but didn’t turn entirely away from Susie. Enticing stranger or not, he was having a fucking conversation, and he wasn’t going to be a complete dick to someone he knew. She got enough of that shit from everyfuckingbody else.
---
Suze’s attention shifted to the door as soon as it opened, just the flick of her gaze. She knew Marcus wasn’t a paying customer. They’d been down this road before. It didn’t mean she’d stop trying. The blonde who just walked in, though, wasn’t a paying customer either. Suze wouldn’t turn down a girl, but only if the woman came to her. She wasn’t a lesbo. Not unless it paid. She huffed out a soft breath, her attention shifting to Marcus as he bought the tall pretty blonde a drink and she cleared her throat.
“Right.” She sighed and tilted back her drink, sucking it down faster than anyone should wasted whiskey. Much as she appreciated Marcus not completely ignoring her, she knew when a man saw something he was interested in. She’d have been a shitty hooker if she couldn’t, and shit. It was one thing she was actually good at. “Someone got lost on the road to New York City seems like.” She muttered. She knew when something more interesting than her ass was around. It rankled her, but she wasn’t gonna let it ruin her night. She was actually jealous of the woman’s style, how pretty she was. Fuck it, Susie was just jealous of anyone who was wealthier and prettier than she was.