Gator's got his eye on you. (kracker) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-06-22 23:50:00 |
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Tobacco Road was the sort of place you could come to if you didn’t want anyone to notice you. Most people sort of avoided looking at you too closely, particularly if you had any sort of reputation on the street, and despite what people might think of Gator on the depository, on the street he was known as the guy who could get you any kind of gun at any time for the right price, and that gave him a certain amount of respect. He’d sold arms to half the guys in here and it was the sort of place he came to when he was feeling like he just wanted a drink and to get laid, really in either order. He wasn’t sure what had led him to ask this Mina chick to meet him here. Maybe it was her saying she liked tough guys. Or maybe it was just him wanting to test her a little and see if she was all talk or not. She talked tough. He liked that in a girl. When it came to him he’d found there were two sorts of girls he liked, the confident ones, the ones that got under his skin and then the sweet ladylike ones. Sadly he usually didn’t have much luck with either. Take Avery Peabody for example. She was a lady, the kind that his granddaddy would take his hat off to in town when he was growing up. If she’d let him he would have done anything she asked, given her anything, but there was this wall between them that he could never cross, no matter how sweet he was it was like she never saw him as more than a friend. Sort of the story of his life. The shop closed at eight, and he cashed out his drawer and put the money in the safe then locked up, setting the security system and pulling down the steel security bars that encased the front of the shop when it was closed. Once that was done he headed out on his bike towards the bar. It was an easy distance from the shop and after he’d pulled up and parked, he headed inside and got a beer from the bar, leaning on it and waiting to see a girl showing up by herself. He wasn’t even sure what this chick looked like he thought in retrospect. He probably ought to have checked her blog and seen if there were any videos. Music was Mina’s soul, and the sky was her muse. Standing before the full-length mirror in her bedroom (the use of the word her here being loosely employed, as the room bedded several of the bandmates, and sometimes more than a few others), Mina hummed something she had heard earlier that day, something she couldn’t even place, and turned several quarter turns to the right and left, then back again. She examined her teeth, then her lips, puckering them quickly, and when she was satisfied with the state of her face, she pat the blonde wig of a wild and choppy style a few times on either side. Yes, she nodded, and strode out of the room atop a pair of the most dazzling four-inch heels of pink glitter. The rocker knew Tobacco Road. It certainly wasn’t any favorite of hers, but if there was one part of New York City Mina knew well, it was the seedy underbelly of dive bars, gay clubs, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. That said, she had never seen Tobacco Road from the eyes of a patron, let alone a patron on a date, but rather from the stage barely inches above the clouds of smoke, through the throngs of strange faces and over the sound of Ennis’ guitar. And so it was with an air of mild curiosity that Mina entered the establishment now—though it would be hard to detect anything behind the sunglasses she wore, or even to notice the toll reticence had take on her stride beneath the miniskirt, fishnets, and knee-length, fringed leather jacket. On the threshold, she breathed in the scent of alcohol and cigarettes with a smile, and scanned the room, looking for someone. That is, she couldn’t guess who it was she would be meeting. Some self-professed tough guy. Could have been any soul in the joint, Mina thought, and instead slid into the crowd and came upon the bar for herself. She had been about to order a drink, when she noticed a young man leaning into the bar, and said, “Waiting for someone, pumpkin?” At the words, Gator looked up, half smoked cigarette in his hand, his gaze taking in the girl before him. He’d seen her walk in and automatically figured she was here meeting someone other than him. She looked like the kind of girl that belonged on the back of someone’s bike at least, and so she fit in. There was something about the tone that gave him pause, the words maybe. She had a hardness to her features and wore too much makeup and that probably should have been a clue that she wasn’t quite what she seemed to be. To Gator though, who’d grown up half in the swamps with their trailer parks and fish camps and half in Puerto Rican East Harlem with all the hoochy mamas, it wasn’t that incredibly remarkable. She was pretty enough in her own way, although there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. “Yeah,” he said. “You lookin’ for someone in particular baby?” His accent, southern tinged with New York was a little unique in its own right, just like the t-shirt tucked into jeans with biker boots combined with the thick gold chain around his neck didn’t quite fit in. “Supposed to meet a gentleman friend,” Mina smirked, leaned her side into the bar, and threw an order at the bartender as he passed. “Well, a gentleman stranger.” Tipping her face forward, Mina peered over the top rim of her shades, green eyes sparkling through the smoke between her face and his. “Should have told him to hold a rose between his teeth, hm?” When Mina’s beer arrived, she flopped down onto the bar stool next to her new companion, and crossed her legs, the fishnetted upper thigh appearing in ever-longer stretches. She examined the young man from behind her shades: t-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans; obviously not here to impress anyone, probably not her guy. Biker boots made it more likely, but then who wasn’t wearing biker boots at Tobacco Road besides the diva in pink heels? “Name’s Mina,” she finally said, sliding the sunglasses down her nose and hanging them at the center of her low collar. Gator nearly laughed. “I should have known.” He set his beer down and looked at her a little more closely, his eyes going down automatically as she hung her glasses at the vee of her shirt and then going back up. “And I draw a line at holding roses between my teeth. At least on the first date. I’m Gator, Ma’am. Gator Charles.” He turned his bar stool so he was half facing her. “And I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be meeting you, unless you planned on meeting two fellows at the same place on the same night.” “Not that kind of girl,” Mina grinned, and took a sip of her drink. Well, he wasn’t terrible to look at, though he was in serious need of a little make-over. Tough guy her ass, Mina thought. He was just a lonely southern lover lad. She couldn’t say yet what would be the extent of it, but Mina knew she at least would have liked to untuck that damned t-shirt. “Nice to meet you, Gator, honey,” she slid him her hand, a fluid movement from beer to palm, and let him do the gripping and the shaking, let him be the man he wanted to be. “What is that, some kind of family name.” She had the careful way of raising one eye brow higher than the other and slanting her red lips to one side. She had a solid hand shake, and he shook her hand briefly before pulling away and taking a last drag on his cigarette, the butt held between his thumb and forefinger as he carelessly stubbed it out in the ashtray. “It’s my name,” he said evenly. “What everybody calls me.” He didn’t get into any particulars of it with her, about why, although he volunteered. “My mama calls me Lydell, but she’s the only one that does.” His beer was nearly done, and he waved the bartender over, telling him to put their drinks on his tab and ordering another round before turning his attention back to her. She had a particular way of speaking that drew you in, and once he was past the makeup and the shock of hair, he found he could focus on her to an extent. He wasn’t sure quite what to think or why either of them was here but he supposed he had definitely been in worse situations. “You meet “Gentleman Strangers” often?” he asked. “Or am I a special case.” “Only the second Sunday of every month,” Mina’s head lolled around on her neck as she laughed a soft laugh. “And it’s a Tuesday.” Not true, of course. Mina met gentlemen strangers any day of the week, and more often than not on work nights. But Mina rarely met gentlemen strangers from the repository. No, usually they were patrons of Tinted or concert-goers that filled her many audiences or her bandmates’ bedfellows. “So that makes you very special.” She took another swig, and glanced around the smoky room of pool tables and thugs, before letting her eyes settle back on Gator. In truth, he was special. He was unlike the queens Mina picked up at Tinted, the fangirls she collected at gigs, and the grungy lot of rockers and rocker-wannabes who constantly filled her apartment. He was charming, she thought, in his interesting choice of meeting place and his asserting his own pocket to pay for their drinks without even offering first. He was going to treat her like a lady, despite her teased hair and fishnets, and the notion caused Mina to smile an almost genuine smile. “So tell me about yourself, Mr. Gator,” she said with half-closed eyes. “Besides reading about pathetic lads in the classifieds, what do you do?” Her words made him laugh, and he looked at her with amused eyes over his beer bottle as he tipped it back. “All sorts of things,” he said. “Hunt, ride my bike. I run a business. Meet girls and treat them right, you know high class all the way.” His voice was joking, because yes he did lay it on but he also knew when he was being over the top, sometimes he did it on purpose, because he liked getting a reaction out of people, kind of like when he went around with his bridge out just to mess with their heads. He leaned on his elbow on the bar, wondering exactly what sort of girl Mina was, as far as he’d been concerned they didn’t make girls like her up here, flirty and sassy and like the girls back home. Maybe not a lady but as good as, maybe better. “And you? Other than meeting men in bars and showing up all the other girls?” Hunting, of course, Mina had to knock back a long swig of beer from the lips of the cold bottle to keep from smiling too hard at that. One didn’t meet a lot of hunters in L.A. or even New York City, though, of course, this Gator didn’t seem like any native of Los Angeles or New York that Mina had ever met. And Mina knew her share of both. “Wouldn’t you know it,” she laughed and turned her eyes away in mock embarrassment, “I spend all my time showing up girls in bars.” With that, she slid the leather jacket from her arms, revealing a white set of broad and sinewy shoulders, the tattoo on the left side probably almost just out of reach of Gator’s gaze. The four-inch pin-up girl was all legs and smiles, hanging upside down from her stilettoed biker boots that kicked at the top of Mina’s bare arm. “Actually, I’m a singer in a band,” she said. “And bartender.” “Yeah?” Man she was built. Like strong built. He wondered if she was one of those girls that spent a lot of time at the gym lifting out, which made him feel a bit self conscious about his pudge. One too many beers would do that to you. He sucked in his gut just a bit without trying to look obvious and lit another cigarette, offering her the pack before he set it down. Damn things were so taxed nowadays he was just glad he had the money to buy them or he’d be smoking those damned herbal things like that peace love yoga dude on his blog probably did. “What sort of music? I thought you looked familiar maybe I’ve seen you play somewhere before?” Behind her, he saw a couple of the guys at the bar looking their way in a manner he wasn’t sure he liked, and his own eyes jerked up, suddenly dark and a bit threatening. You never knew what would go down in this place. Part of the reason he had his gun in it’s holster at the small of his back. Without thinking about it he moved so his body blocked hers from at least his side of the bar, but also so he could get by her if need be. “We don’t like to put too many labels on things,” Mina nodded to the bartender who was offering a second round. “But, if you really must know,” she smiled, “we play hard. Whatever that means to you.” She wondered if Gator had been to any of her shows. He didn’t seem like the type, but then again, they drew crowds from all walks of life. “We have two guitars, a bass, a keyboard, and some excellent drums,” she finally offered. “We use those to the best of our abilities, so you would probably call it rock and roll.” Mina uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, letting the left have the top this time. “But we don’t do anything traditional.” Indie then or Alternative. Whatever it was called. “Sounds interesting,” he said, feeling himself relax a little now that he had a couple of beers in him. “And I like it when people play hard.” He wasn’t sure if he’d seen her play or not but maybe he had. Or maybe he had just watched one of her videos on her blog or something. Just then, one of the guys, one Gator didn’t really recognize, with his leather jacket and biker hat and some fugly ass handlebar mustasche came up to them. “Hey baby,” he said to Mina. “This guy bothering you?” He gave her a look and smirked a bit. “Don’t think he’s exactly your type.” Interesting. Well, Mina liked to think her music was at least interesting, but a lot more than that, too. Her music was really a mash-up Zeppelin-inspired Indie-folk with a penchant for metal guitar solos and political scream-rants mid-song. A lot of hyphenating, just the way Mina liked it. But, though she was beginning to feel the pull of the alcohol as it asked her to wax philosophical on her views on music and the intentions behind her own art, she was unable to produce a word on the matter before the new stranger approached from over her shoulder. “And what makes you say that?” she turned her eyes slowly up to meet the face of the offending gentleman with the handbar mustache. “We were in the middle of a conversation, I’d say you’re the one doing the bothering, pumpkin.” Gator stood up, eying the man and his friend who was still down at the end of the bar with a considering expression. “I think I’d say that too,” he said. “Think maybe you need to go back to your boyfriend over there.” The guy looked at him and then started to laugh. “Yeah, seriously? That’s funny, because I think the only Queer in here is sitting right here.” Gator punched before he got any further, his fist smashing into the other guy’s face so hard it knocked him back, and he followed it up with a kick to his knee, sending him down to the ground. The bar was instantly still and then suddenly people were getting up and shouting encouragement. The guy at the end of the bar started their way but was instantly stopped by the bartender lunging across the bar and grabbing the collar of his shirt. Gator held up a hand in warning, making a motion with his thumb and forefinger that couldn’t be interpreted any other way than he’d better step back or he’d be getting something more than a fist. “Come on.” He scrubbed blood from his knuckles off on his shirt and then grabbed Mina’s hand, pulling her out of her chair. “Fuck this shit. Let’s go somewhere else.” In a place like this people got hit. It happened. You said the wrong thing to the wrong person and it was inevitable and the cops only came if someone got killed. A couple of guys were helping the guy up off the floor as he dusted himself off, his nose dripping blood as Gator tugged Mina’s hand again. Mina watched the guy fall, leaned back into the bar, knocked what was left of her beer into a tiny waterfall of yellowy liquid that spilled over the inside of the bar. She didn’t have a moment to feel sorry for the bartender whose shoes were inevitably about to be ruined, as she watched Gator bring Mr. Mustache to the ground, heard more than saw the crowd gather, and then felt her hand being taken up again by her newfound champion. She stared hard at Gator’s face, her eyes wandering over his, gauging his reaction to the man’s verbal assault, the full extent of his reaction. She would have liked to punch the man herself, but Mina made a point of never kicking a man in a bar brawl when he was already down. And besides, she didn’t want to steal any manly thunder from her new acquaintance, especially when it seemed to fill him with such lively energy. Before the villain pulled himself from the floor, Mina stood and followed Gator through the thickening crowd, her hand appreciating the way his felt around it. A knight in shining black biker boots. Gator pushed his way through the crowd, catching the eyes of a couple of guys he knew and knowing most likely they wouldn’t be followed. Outside he led the way to his bike and stopped, looking at the woman beside him. She was taller than him with those heels on but it really didn’t matter. He felt guilty she’d seen that, but at the same time he wasn’t going to let some asshole get away with that sort of shit. “You all right? I shoulda had us go somewhere different.” He pulled his helmet off the back and handed it to her. “Come on. You want a ride? I’ll make it up to you.” Eying the backside of the bike and the man standing beside it, Mina pulled her jacket back up over her arms and threw a hand to one hip. “Well, alright,” she said, that one eyebrow going back up, and took the helmet with her free hand. “But you should know my daddy will be awfully mad if I’m out too late past curfew.” With a laugh, Mina slid the helmet carefully down over her head, bits of straight blonde strands jutting out at jagged angles. Inside the helmet, she rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. A chopper ride with a strange man immediately post-bar brawl? Not the most sensible way to spend an evening, and as soon as she pulled that helmet off (who knows what of her face and hair going with it), Gator was likely to be just as offensive as Mr. Mustache had been. But you only live once, and Mina would be damned if she didn’t live it always to the fullest. |