It was the very day he left when they came to Bubba’s when I was at work.
Three skanks, only one of them mildly attractive and one of them was overweight but dressed like a skank showing lots of skin. I tried not to be judgmental, to each their own, but really, exposing that amount of flesh when there was that amount of flesh to show was just plain wrong.
I knew they’d lived hard and rough and I could tell that by their faces and their attitude.
Twyla had squelched her own attitude enough to have been released from day duty (but only if I was working with her) so she and I were on nights and it was closing in on eleven. Dalton was behind the bar and Krys was back in the office when they came through the door.
I was standing at the bar in front of Dalton and he was completing an order when he looked over my shoulder, clocked them and muttered, “Fuck, Laurie, get behind the bar.”
I looked over my shoulder at them too, then at Dalton and asked, “Sorry?”
“Behind the bar,” Dalton repeated.
“You! Bitch!” I heard shouted and I looked back at the women to see they were advancing on me.
Like she had magic, Twyla appeared at my side.
The three stopped in front of me and the heavy one looked me up and down and stated, “What’s the big deal? She ain’t all that.”
Then the somewhat attractive one declared, “We’re here for Neet.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, staring at them and figuring out who they were. “You’re Neeta’s posse.”
“Damn straight,” the non-descript skank confirmed like she was proud of this insane fact.
“You got a problem?” Twyla asked, moving slightly in front of me.
“Not your business, dyke,” the somewhat attractive one returned.
Oh no.
As Twyla’s entire body puffed up in affront, I quickly moved in front of her as Dalton made it to my side.
“Maybe you should just go,” I suggested.
“And maybe you should just leave Tate, bitch,” the somewhat attractive one ordered, definitely the voice of Neeta’s Crew. “He’s personal property, you get what I’m sayin’?”
“Are you serious?” I asked, thinking the whole thing was funny. Personal property? Had I been hurtled back through time to junior high?
“Deadly,” the somewhat attractive one leaned in and hissed and she looked serious.
“I’m not leaving Tate,” I replied only because they seemed to be waiting for my response. “And you all coming in here for Neeta is absolutely ridiculous. I mean, really?”
“You’re tryin’ to turn her boy from her,” the non-descript one alleged.
“Hardly,” I retorted.
“Carmen, maybe you should –” Dalton started to say to the mildly attractive one.
“Not your concern either, Dalton,” she cut him off then her head turned and she glared at Jim-Billy, a new arrival at our group. She looked him up and down, her lip curled and she sneered, “What you gonna do, Pops?”
“I’m just positionin’ so’s I can watch Twyla kick your ass up close,” Jim-Billy replied.
“Right,” she stated and turned her sneer to Twyla, “like we can’t take this bitch and her lesbo bodyguard.”
Quick as lightning, Twyla moved, jumping in front of me, her arm shooting out and she jabbed Carmen right in the nose. It took Carmen by surprise but it also wasn’t a light tap either. Her head jerked back, hair flying, she went back on a foot and her hands came up to her face. When they came down they were covered in blood as was the lower half of her face.
“You cunt!” she shouted and, without delay, they all pounced as one on Twyla.
And Twyla took on the lot.
The second it started, Dalton turned to me, put both hands to my waist and lifted me straight up, planting my booty on the bar. Then he tried to wade in but it was a whirl of hands and legs, big hair and fingernails so he could find no opening and eventually had to give up, step back and let the catfight reach its natural conclusion. Steg and Wings, two regulars, came to the bar to flank me, Jim-Billy got close and we all were trying to watch, leaning this way and that so as not to miss anything as Twyla beat the crap out of three skanks at once.
I decided, watching, they probably shouldn’t have come to a showdown in miniskirts and high heels. Twyla was definitely no pushover but I figured miniskirts and high heels put them at a further disadvantage. Not to mention, some of the unintentional crotch shots... seriously unattractive.
This went on for awhile, long enough for a standing crowd of bikers and locals to form around the ruckus, then it was stopped by the chilling sound of a shotgun ratchet.
The combatants all froze. Twyla had hold of Carmen’s skintight camisole in one fist and had her other arm cocked to deliver another blow; the non-descript one was on her knees, trying to get to her feet; the heavy one was rolling to her side and all of them looked up at Krys who was aiming a sawed-off shotgun at Carmen.
“What’d I tell you, Carmen?” Krys demanded to know.
Twyla pushed Carmen off and stepped away as they all got to their feet and rounded on Krys.
“I’m lookin’ out for my girl,” Carmen said to Krys, wiping blood from her mouth. “You know how it is and you know nothin’ll stop me.”
“I know you’re gonna get a taste of buckshot, you ever come into my bar again,” Krys shot back. “Told you the last time, you ain’t welcome here. I’ll tell you one more time, you ain’t welcome here. I’m warnin’ you, there won’t be a third time.”
Carmen locked eyes with Krys and Krystal didn’t flinch. She just held her gaze and held the shotgun steady, aimed at Carmen.
Finally, Carmen’s eyes cut to me.
“Watch your back,” she threatened, jabbing a finger at me.
That’s when the shotgun blasted. Buckshot imbedded in the ceiling, dust, bits and buckshot that didn’t find purchase raining down. I couldn’t stop my short scream or my knees from automatically curling up to my chest as my head snapped around to look at Krys. Everyone around the bar had ducked and mine wasn’t the only cry.
“You get near Laurie, in this bar or out of it, you answer to me,” Krys warned.
“Can’t carry that gun with you everywhere, Krystal,” Carmen returned.
“You touch Krys or Laurie, you answer to me too,” Steg, standing in front of me, stated. “Any of ya’ll,” he finished, his hand lifted high, his finger pointed down and twirling to indicate the entire crew.