Deke turned the radio on to the country music station but she couldn’t concentrate on the songs that played one after the other. Not with Blake sitting so close that she could practically feel his pulse and especially not when they hit a bump in the road and it sent her sliding even closer to him.
She righted herself and listened to Lizzy’s voice in her head lecturing her about how foolish she was to even go for a ride with those two bad boys. She pushed the voice away about the time they passed from Throckmorton County over into Baylor County, and her eyes widened, grew dry when she couldn’t blink, and then she gasped.
“My God, Deke, are you headed for Frankie’s?”
“I am.” He grinned. “How do you know about Frankie’s?”
“Everyone knows about it, but…” she stammered.
Deke patted her knee. “But no decent folks go there, right? Matter of fact, if Frankie don’t know you pretty good, then you don’t get anything but barbecue. He’ll tell you that the beer and the liquor is for his personal use and isn’t for sale. Don’t worry, darlin’. Frankie knows me and if I vouch for you two, he won’t toss you out on your asses.”
“What is this place, anyway?” Blake asked.
“Private barbecue club, but I have a membership since Frankie buys his beef from me. Don’t know who he gets the pork from but they’ve probably got a membership card, too.”
“Have you ever been there?” Blake asked Allie.
“Hell, no!”
Deke made a left turn and then a right before the road ended in a rutted trail that led another quarter of a mile through thick mesquite and scrub oak. Finally, he parked in front of a weathered old two-story house with dim lights showing through the downstairs window. “Well, y’all are going tonight. We’re going to have some of the best ribs in the world and then we’re going to have a few drinks and maybe dance to the jukebox.”
“Sounds like a bar to me,” Blake said. “But it doesn’t look like a bar.”
“It’s not a bar because half of it is in Throckmorton County and that’s a dry county. The other half of the house is in Baylor County, which is semi-dry. They can sell beer in some parts of it but no liquor by the drink. Truth is the living room is in Throckmorton County. Don’t worry. Nobody messes with Frankie, not even the police. Come on. Let’s go have some fun,” Deke said.
Allie could sit in the truck all evening or she could crawl out and go into a place even more notorious than Audrey’s Place. Frankie’s had been the evil place that teenagers were afraid to say the name out loud for fear the wind would carry it back to their parents and they’d be put into solitary confinement until they were twenty-one years old.
Deke walked onto the porch with confidence, slung open the door, and held it for them to enter before him. “Hey, Frankie, these are my friends, Allie and Blake.”
Allie had always pictured Frankie as someone as big as a refrigerator with a scowl on his face and a shotgun in his hand. She was surprised when a little guy who barely came up to Deke’s shoulder nodded at her. His baby face was round and he wore little round wire-rimmed glasses. There were no wrinkles in his face and his size made it hard to guess his age. She squirmed beneath his dark eyes when they scanned her and Blake.
“Any friend of Deke’s is a friend of Frankie’s but the first three times you come through that door, he has to be with you. Understood?”
Allie nodded.
Blake stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Frankie. I hear you’ve got some of the best barbecue in the state.”
“No, sir,” Frankie smiled as he pumped Blake’s hand a few times and then dropped it. “And I am Frankie, not Mr. Frankie. Mr. Frankie was my grandpa and my daddy was Little Frankie. I’m just Frankie. And son, my barbecue ain’t some of the best. It is the very best. Now what can I get y’all?”
“Ribs,” Deke said. “We’ll all have ribs and French fries tonight and maybe a double shot each of your famous brew. After that we’d better settle with beer since none of us wants to be a designated driver.”
Frankie leaned across the bar and said seriously, “You get wasted, I don’t take your keys, you remember that. You get lost gettin’ out of here, the coyotes can eat you for breakfast.”
Allie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and she scanned the room. The bar ran the length of the side where Frankie could watch the front door. A dozen chairs surrounded a couple of mismatched tables pushed up on the other side. It was small for a bar and barbecue combination but large for a living room. She could smell a delicious aroma of smoked beef and pork somewhere at the back of the house.
Everything was spotless clean. She could see the reflection of the bottles of liquor in the top of the bar. The hardwood floor looked as if it had been freshly waxed and there wasn’t a spot of dust anywhere. She’d always expected something a hell of a lot seedier when she thought of Frankie’s, but then she’d painted a very different picture of the owner, too.