From International Review of Books: “(Frank Ford) wasn’t a saint and wasn’t a hero, but carries (the story) with flying colors by being a regular guy dealing with a dark past, self-doubts, and, perhaps to his surprise, a chivalrous streak…”
Coming into the big house now, the lights in the main room dimmed and atmospheric, Frank was getting that off-kilter vibe again; the feeling that there was something skanky roiling just under the surface of this place.
Cook was standing in front of the stairs giving Frank a look that seemed to be somewhat condescending, like maybe Frank was tracking dirt or dog shit into the hallowed grounds.
Frank had the urge to stop and check his shoes but instead just followed Larry into the back of the house where the bar was. Larry kept turning his head and glaring at him.
The lights from the pool were shining in through the glass doors of the game room. The water looked placid and luxurious in shades of aquamarine. Clayton was at the bar laying out lines on the dark surface. Bryce was at the stereo tuning in the same radio station they’d listened to in the car. Evelyn was sitting on a barstool leaning on her elbows, eyelids drooping.
The way she’d snuggled with Clayton in the car; Frank had begun to have second thoughts about the need to look after her. She gave him a sideways glance, eyes unfocused, as he took a seat at the bar next to her.
“Where is everybody?” she half slurred, half snapped. “You said we were going to a party.” She looked at Clayton and then down at the lines on the bar top.
“This is a party, Evie,” Clayton said. “Now have yourself a toot and maybe Frank here will be kind enough to fix us all a drink. Maybe something festive, like tequila sunrises or Margaritas. Ever make a zombie, Frank? Frank’s a bartender from Minn-e-so-ta, you know, Evie.” Saying Minnesota with a parody of a Scandinavian accent.
Frank felt Clayton’s little dig. Remark hit him square in the gut, which was already a little queasy and uneasy, from all the booze and spicy food.
But he wasn’t about to show it.
“No,” Frank said, “never mixed a zombie. Served plenty of ’em over the years, though. About half the crowd at closing time, most nights.”
Frank thought it might be better if he just left these people to themselves. Went back to his little dome and tried to get some rest. Long drive ahead of him tomorrow. Would be tough enough as it is, without going round and round with these assholes.
So what the hell, might as well act humble, he thought. Make the drinks and look for an opening to make a graceful exit.
Glancing at Evelyn, he thought she looked a little uncomfortable now.
Could just be the coke, but her recent comment about the lack of party guests had pushed up a red flag.
Frank stepped behind the bar. Clayton gave him a smirk and moved around front, sliding in next to Evelyn. “We’re going to need a few things,” Frank said. “Triple sec, a few limes, salt…
“I think you’ll find everything you need behind the bar,” Clayton said. “I think there are some limes in the mini-fridge.”
Frank had always made a great margarita. Felt strangely good to work up a specialty drink again, like his hands had missed the work. When he was done, he set the sweating glass pitcher on the bar. “Margoes are ready. Come and get ‘em.”
And then to Evelyn: “Are you aware that Clayton here dosed your drink at the Neon Cactus?”
“Hosed my sink?” she slurred.
“No, girl. D-o-s-e-d your d-r-i-n-k,” spelling it out. “What was it you dosed her with, Clayton? Wasn’t an upper, judging by her condition.”
Frank shot Richards an eye laser as Larry sat there staring straight ahead at the wall behind the bar.
“Frank,” Larry said, his voice low and soft, “We need to talk. Let’s step around the corner so we can have some privacy.”
“No problem,” Frank said, and followed Richards into the dining room.
“What is your deal, Frank?” Richards said as soon as they were on the other side of the wall.
“You mean because I told her Clayton dosed her drink? I thought she should know what was happening to her, just in case she didn’t want to be gang-raped by you three assholes.”
“You’re certainly welcome to take part if you so choose, Frank,” Cook said, coming around the corner. “And you need to realize that spic chicks only dig the three D’s. Dicks, dope and dinero. Nothing bad is going to happen to the girl. Larry’ll drive her back into Scottsdale in the morning only a little worse for wear. No permanent damage, man, I swear. We’re not the Hillside Stranglers.”
Not yet, Frank thought, and then said, “And that would be fine, I suppose, if she was on board with the plan. But there’s no way she’s into this. She was led to expect a party. With lots of people. Not just three horny jackalopes. What’d you give her, ludes?”
“Tuinals,” Cook said. “The apex of American pharmaceutical achievement.”
“You really are full of yourself, aren’t you, Clayton,” Frank said. “Which means you’re full of shit. Without the coke propping her up, that girl would be unconscious. Back where I come from, what you’re planning is called sexual assault. There will be no sexual assault taking place here as long as I’m around.”
Cook snorted. “Then why don’t you go back to where you came from, man? You can take Larry and go back to your mediocre state full of self-righteous douchebags confusing self-deprivation with piety.”
“You sweet on the girl, Frank?” Richards said. “That what this is about?”
“Sweet on her? Jesus Christ, Larry, you Andy of fuckin’ Mayberry or something? You want to be part of a sexual assault, man? That’ll look good on your resume. You forget that we’re all probably on videotape back at the Neon Cactus. That girl starts figuring out what happened to her and maybe gets a bit pissed off and decides she wants payback? Would be no problem for the cops to pull the tapes. Maybe they have the plates of the Lincoln on that tape. Ever think of that?”
“She won’t remember shit,” Cook said. “It’ll all be a haze. And if she does have an idea, she might be so full of shame that she won’t care to report anything. Or, realistically, she’ll look at it as the time of her life. Think of it, man, she’s the center of attention at a luxurious mansion in the middle of the desert, with handsome rich men making love to her. A groupie’s dream, come true.”
(To be continued)
Ebook Special $3.99
PAPERBACK + EBOOK AVAILABLE
Bookshop.org: https://bit.ly/3XG682t
Barnes and Noble: https://bit.ly/3sBA5SZ
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3DEFkYz
https://books2read.com/u/mlEM1B
SEE ALL T.K. O’NEILL’S BOOKS HERE: https://bluestonesblog.com/
To contact Bluestone Press or T.K. O’Neill, email bluestonepress@outlook.com or call 218.724.5806
Bluestone's Blog 