Morrie and Feb continued the tradition.
Morrie owned a Fat Boy and Feb had more Harley Davidson tshirts than were probably carried in a single store. At the back, under the collar, if she lifted her hair up or, in the summer or when the nights got too busy and she pulled it into a knot or ponytail on the top of her head, you’d see the story of her last fifteen years laid bare there. In a small decal under the collar, Harley tees announced what store in what city and what state the tee came from. She’d been to Harley stores all over the country. Hell, she had several from the Harley golden triangle, Deadwood, Rapid City, and the granddaddy of them all, Sturgis. She’d worn one the other night and tonight she had on a Sturgis Motorcycle Rally t-shirt, its army green fabric featuring a display of grinning skulls interlinked with flowers at the chest.
Her choker tonight had oblong brown beads.
She was four people down when she felt his eyes on her.
She lifted her head then pointed her chin at his beer. “You want another?”
This wasn’t unusual. She may not have been exactly friendly for the last two years but she owned a bar, she’d brought him a beer.
“Yeah.”
She came closer, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, stuck it in the bottle opener under the bar and yanked off the cap. She placed it in front of him and surprised him by lifting his old bottle and eyeing the swirling dregs in the bottom. Then with practiced ease she tossed it with a crash into the tall, thin, gray plastic glass recycling bin.
Her eyes came to his. “Jack chaser?”
This was unusual. She may have brought him a beer but she hadn’t cleared the old one away and she never furthered the discourse in any way.
“Feelin’ like keepin’ my faculties tonight,” he told her.
She nodded, her gaze sliding away. “Good call. Feds in town. Psycho on the loose. Faculties would be good.”
Jesus. Who was this woman?
Before he could figure it out, she said, “Yell if you change your mind. Stayin’ in Mom and Dad’s RV with them tonight. You feel like gettin’ a buzz on, Dad’ll pour you in the back of my car.”
She started to move away but he caught her by calling her name.
She turned back to him and he asked, “Why’re you stayin’ in the RV?”
She’d looked at him but again her eyes slid away though not before he saw them light in the dark.
“Jimbo’s a bit allergic to cats. Woke up with his eyes matted shut, sneezin’ like crazy.” She looked back at him after she’d hid her humor at this piece of news and said, “Jessie wanted to kick Jimbo out but I explained that a psycho would probably not be afraid of two women wielding one of her many cans of hair spray and a lighter. Wilson and me are homeless for awhile. Slummin’ it in the RV.”
Colt didn’t find this funny.
“Jesus, Feb, just move in with me.”
Feb’s expression told him she did not find him funny either though his intention wasn’t to be funny.
“Colt –”
He cut her off. “There’s no reason to fuckin’ argue.”
She took a step toward him and lowered her voice. “You’re off the hook. Mom and Dad and me are movin’ into Morrie’s if things go okay with Dee and this reconciliation lasts longer than a night.”
“You know how I feel about Jack but he’s not a young man anymore.”
“Maybe not but he’s not stupid either. Something happens he’ll know what to do.”
“Not like a cop would know what to do.”
Her head tilted with her question and her burgeoning impatience. “How much do you reckon I have to be worried?”
“None, you stay with me.”
“Colt, you don’t even like me. Why the fuck would I move in with you?”
“Who says I don’t like you?”
She stepped back on a foot like he’d shoved her shoulders and her face carried an expression like he’d perpetrated a surprise attack.
“Feb –” Colt started.
“February! Woman, what’s it take to get a drink around here?” Sheila Eisenhower shouted from the other end of the bar, standing by Joe-Bob who was staring at her with mild affront and it was highly likely she’d interrupted Joe-Bob’s evening nap.
“I got her,” Jack called, hustling down to the other end of the bar, leaving a stunned Tony Mancetti staring at the half-pulled mug of beer that Jack left sitting on the bar in order to rush to shut Sheila up and give Feb and Colt time to have their conversation.
“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Feb muttered as she started toward Tony.
“Feb, we’re not done talkin’,” Colt stated, his tone short and clipped.
“We so are,” Feb threw over her shoulder and hightailed it to Tony’s beer.
Colt took an angry pull off his own beer mainly because the cool of the bottle soothed the itch he now had to wring Sheila Eisenhower’s neck.
Feb didn’t get near him for the next twenty minutes and Colt played the only card he had in his hand.
“Jack!” he called and Jack jerked his head at Colt to tell him he’d heard him, finished the order he was filling for Ruthie and then walked to Colt.
“She can stay in the RV with you tonight but I want Feb and you and Jackie with me by tomorrow night.”
“Son, your second bedroom is full of junk and Jackie and me slept on your pull out last Christmas. Hate to tell you this, boy, but it’s lumpy.”
“Pull the RV up outside but Feb’s inside.”
Jack pressed his lips together before he said, “Found out yesterday my girl’s got a problem with insomnia and, I’ll repeat, your pull out is lumpy.”
“I won’t pull it out when I’m sleepin’ on it.”
Jack’s eyes grew wide. “You’re givin’ Feb your bed?”
“A man with a hatchet comes into the house I don’t want Feb on the couch.”
Jack threw him a look that Colt just caught before Jack turned away.