Over the years other bars had opened in the city limits and failed because everyone went to J&J’s. The men went there more now that Feb was back. He knew the boys at work jacked off regularly thinking about her even (and especially) the married ones. He’d unfortunately heard all about it.
The chokers were the problem and the silver dangling around her neck. You could almost hear those necklaces jingling while you imagined fucking her or as she rolled in her sleep in your bed.
But mostly, it was the chokers. Something about them said something he suspected Feb didn’t want them to say, maybe didn’t even know they were saying, but they spoke to men all the same.
It was good she was home. No one would mess with Morrie and, if they were stupid enough, most had heard what Colt had done for her and absolutely no one would go there. Colt couldn’t imagine, since he knew while she was away she’d lived the nomad’s life tending bars in small towns all over the place, how she lived her life those fifteen years; beat the men back without Morrie and Colt having her back. Maybe she didn’t and she just wasn’t going to shit where she lived. Then again, maybe she’d learned her lesson.
It was no longer his business or his problem. Never would be again.
That was, unless someone made it his problem. He was still Colt and no matter what had happened, she was still February.
He saw Darryl tending the other end of the bar and he wanted a drink but he went directly to the small office in the back.
Morrie was sitting at the cluttered desk, his body hunched, his elbow on the desk, forehead in his hand.
This pose did not give Colt a good feeling.
Colt closed the door behind him and Morrie jumped.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckin’ hell, I’m glad you’re here,” Morrie said, getting up and moving swiftly.
For a big man he was surprisingly fast and agile. This probably had something to do with the fact that they played one-on-one basketball together every Saturday or, when the weather was shit, they’d play racquetball. They’d both been athletes all their lives even though, when they were young, they’d intermittently get drunk, high and smoke. Still, they’d both always stayed obsessively fit.
For Colt, this was because he spent most of his youth watching his mother popping pills, chain-smoking cigarettes and sucking on a bottle of vodka. She didn’t even bother pouring it, drank it straight out of the bottle, uncut. He never remembered a time when she wasn’t zoned out or hammered, mostly both. She was thin as a rail, rarely ate and, even when she was young, her skin hung on her like old lady flesh.
His father wasn’t much better. He didn’t pop pills but he smoked weed and snorted coke when he had the money to buy it. He remained sober during the day when he had a job but at night he’d get hammered right along with Colt’s Mom. Most of the time he didn’t have a job so Colt’s memories of his dad were pretty much filled with him less than sober.
For Morrie, he stayed fit because he’d been around Colt’s mom and dad not to mention grew up in a bar.
Morrie picked up a Ziploc bag with a piece of lined paper in it and handed it to Colt.
“This came in the mail today, addressed to Feb,” Morrie waved his hand at the paper. “I put it in that thing, the bag. I didn’t want it to get tainted. Once I figured out what it was, I barely touched it.” He jerked his head to the desk. Another bag containing an envelope was lying there. “Did the same with the envelope, it’s here too.”
It was good Morrie watched cop shows.
Colt looked at the paper. He hadn’t seen paper like that in a long time. It was something you’d have at school. It seemed old, the writing faded. On the top in pencil, Feb’s name was written.
He read the note, not understanding it. It sounded like teenage girl bullshit, a handwritten pissy fit. It even mentioned Kevin Kercher who’d gone to IU after high school and never came back, not even for reunions. Colt got to the bottom where the sender signed her name.
Angie.
“What the fuck?”
“What the fuck is right!” Morrie exploded. “Look at the back!”
Colt flipped the paper over and saw, again in pencil, this darker, newer, different handwriting, the words, For you.