CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saturday night.
"So what's the plan for tonight?" Danny asks. "Sink a few beers? Find a girl?
"Yeah. Something like that." I push open the door to Buck's and stop dead in my tracks so Simmonds very nearly runs into the back of me. She's not facing this way but it's definitely her. Here. Over near the back of the room, with Sylvia.
"Jesus, Tim. What the hell?" Danny shoves me in the back, so I'm moving again. "What's got into you?" He glances about, eyes scanning the crowded room in search of an answer.
"Nothing. Here." I pull some cash from my pocket, shove it into his palm. "First round's on me. Go get the drinks in."
It's a little over two weeks since that godawful night here. The last time I saw Leigh. And truth be told I'm more than a little surprised she's back here tonight—that is until the date registers in my mind.
Mathews barrels in, pulls her into a bear hug and loudly starts offering to buy drinks for them all. Then another crowd wander in and she's lost from my sight for a few seconds as half of Brumly block my view of the room.
Falling back in with the guys at the bar, I half-listen in on their conversation. Danny's giving one of the new guys all the details of some sweet motor he's been working on down The Standard this week. Real boring shit, from the sounds of what I do catch. Not that I'm exactly listening. Not when all I can think about is who she's here with and why she's come here.
Pretty soon some girls Danny knows join us, giggling and chattering. Try to make myself listen but their nonsense don't hold my attention. Instead my mind wanders, eyes search her out again.
Still can't believe she's chosen to come here of all places. Not tonight.
Certainly wasn't top of the list back when we had talked about how she was hoping to spend today, although I guess the people she's with probably had some influence in that. People like Sylvia, who she's talking with again right now, heads close together, happy, laughing. Guess it was easy for them to settle their differences once I was out the picture.
Wonder if Leigh knows I'm here—if she even cares. More likely she's hoping that her being here will wind me up, get under my skin. Take another quick glance back across and this time I catch her eye. Feels like all the air has been sucked from my lungs. But her expression stays serious, with no hint she's pleased to see me. Just frowns a little, and hastily turns away, back to the group she's with. So much for me spending all that time persuading myself I don't give a damn about her anymore.
"Shepard." A hand on my shoulder draws my attention back away from her.
"Evening, Lewis, so what can I do for you?" Guide him away from the bar, away from the guys I'm drinking with and the girls who are hanging around us, and move towards the back of the room to a less crowded spot.
"Figured it was time we had a catch up. How's things been for you lately with our friends down town? You had any more trouble?"
"Not been too bad, still think there's more going on than either of us knows though, but I can't quite figure out what that is yet."
The crowd shifts and I catch sight of Leigh again, with some Brumly loser now, smiling at him like she's actually enjoying his company. Watch them for a little too long 'cause Lewis turns to see what it is I'm finding so interesting.
"You okay with that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"With what?" Try to bluff it, guess it don't work though, 'cause he rolls his eyes at me, laughs to himself.
"Jones. Trying his luck with that girl of yours. I can put a stop to it, if it's a problem to you?"
I shrug, dismissing his offer—even though there's nothing I'd like better than for that jerk to get a beating. Although if anyone's going to put a stop to things, I'd rather it was me. Can't think of much that'd be more satisfying than putting my fist through his face. Well maybe her talking to me. But that ain't likely so—
"Nah, she's not important, he's welcome to her. So anyway, tell me what's been happening with Robinson?"
Dave Robinson—Lewis' second in command who's due in court in a couple of days and that topic proves an easy way to distract him from my issues as he starts cursing and bitching about losing another good guy, about how he's sure Robinson's been stitched up and his suspicions that Myers is involved in it somehow—but he hasn't been able to get near to Robinson since he was hauled in to find out exactly what went down.
Takes me a good ten minutes to get away from Lewis. I'm about to buy another beer when I catch a glimpse of Leigh, heading towards the door. Stopping just inside, she fumbles with a matchbook, trying to light a cigarette. Then frowns as the first match snaps, second one won't strike. Unsurprisingly, given the occasion, it seems she's drinking more than usual. 'Cause Leigh isn't much of a smoker, not unless she's drinking. Or stressed—and she don't seem upset right now, well not until I approach her anyway.
"Need a light?"
"Thanks." Accepts my offer at least, before leaning back against the edge of a table and staring at me as I light a smoke of my own. "What d'you want, Tim? I don't believe for one second that you're here 'cause you've some sudden wish to be helpful to me. So why don't you go back and enjoy yourself with one of your trampy little friends—and leave me the hell alone?"
I shouldn't be surprised that she's still mad at me, and I know her assessment of those other girls isn't all that far from the mark. And yet, her attitude still frustrates me. "Christ, Leigh, you sound exactly like Sylvia and it sure don't suit you. When the hell d'you turn into such a bitch?"
"Oh, I don't know." She takes a drag on her cigarette, exhales slowly. "Probably about the same time that some jerk decided to treat me like shit, I guess."
"Guess I deserve that." I smile at her, and she very nearly smiles back. Doesn't glare at me no more anyways and it almost feels like some kind of progress. "But I ain't here to make trouble. All I wanted was to wish you a happy birthday, tell you that you look real nice tonight."
"Thanks." And now she does smile, just a little, as she automatically smooths down the skirt of her dress, brushing away imaginary creases.
Can't help wondering if she thought of me when she picked it out to wear tonight. Of all the times I told her it was my favourite thing of hers and how damn good she looks in it. And out of it. And—Jesus but I need to focus, not let my mind wander.
"So how are you, Leigh? How's Frank?"
"Oh, everything's much the same. She shrugs. "My dad's alright—still working too hard and won't listen to me or the doctors. Was back down there the same day as they let him out the hospital. So he isn't taking it any easier, like he's supposed to, tells me he's fine every time I ask. Thinks I don't notice how hard he's finding everything."
Her voice fades off and she's glancing around like she needs to get away, but I don't want her to leave, not yet. Not if there's some small glimmer of hope she might forgive me.
"Listen, Leigh, do you want to get a drink or something? Maybe go someplace quieter, where we can talk?"
Her brow furrows for a second as her eyes dart towards Sylvia who's off with her latest fella, then over at the bar and the guy she was with. He's still leaning against the counter, joking with Buck as he finally gets served.
"I'm sorry, Tim. I can't."
"Why? What's to stop you?"
Leigh shrugs, looks back towards the bar again.
"What? You're with that loser now?" I sneer, sounding harsher than I mean to, unable to hide my distaste at her choice of company. But that only succeeds in putting her back on the defensive so she's back to being awkward, angry with me.
"What does it matter? I mean, that's what, what was it you said the other night?—easy broads like me—are supposed to do isn't it? Hang around with any guy that'll have them?"
Christ. I'd almost managed to forget what I'd said to her that night, until she throws my words back at me. Words I ain't proud of using, especially to her.
"Damn it, Leigh, I was mad that night. You know full well I didn't mean any of that crap, that it was all a mistake—"
"Shouldn't have damn well done it then, should you, Tim?"
And she turns away, so that all the things I want to say to her are left unsaid. She doesn't once look back, but picks her way through the crowd until she catches up to Jones, accepts the drink he offers her, lets him sling an arm around her, doesn't stop him when he kisses her.
Hope to God she isn't doing nothing she doesn't really want to simply to piss me off, or make me realise exactly how bad I fucked up. Although if she is hoping to get to me, she sure is doing a fucking good job of it. Or worse. Maybe she really don't care any more, is happier without me.
Either way, I don't know that I can handle being here in the same room as the pair of them together without causing any trouble. Only I don't reckon pounding the guy into the ground on her birthday is exactly going to impress her.
Opt instead for the cop-out of walking out the door, of getting the hell out of here and away from everybody. I'm barely out the door into the cool evening air before I run into Curly.
"Hey, Tim, wait up. Was hoping to find you," he calls out, loping over to me.
"What's wrong? You got the car with you? Need to get the hell out of here."
My brother keeps his head down, kicks at a loose stone. "Well, see that's the problem, Tim—"
"Jesus, Curly, what've you done now? Crashed the damn thing?"
"No. I haven't done nothing to it. Was Dallas Winston."
"What the hell's Winston got to do with you not having my car? When did he even get out the reformatory, anyway?" Can't help but think that there's always fucking something for me to deal with, that I never get any time to myself any more.
"Come out the house to head over here, and there's Winston right there in the street slashing the tyres, like he was waiting for someone to see him do it. He went off before I could stop him, laughing and muttering something about wanting to get even with you over being arrested. So now I had to walk all the way here."
"Fucking asshole." Guess I've found an outlet for all my frustrations after all. "You know where he went?"
"Nope."
Mathews is ambling across the lot ahead of us. "Hey, Two-Bit," I call. "You know where Winston's supposed to be tonight?"
"Why d'you wanna know?"
I shrug. "No reason."
"Sure." He laughs. "No reason. Nothing to do with Curly or your car tyres or any shit like that?"
"You know or not?"
Mathews grins, shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and strolls away. "No idea. See you around, Shepard."
~oOo~
"So are we even now, Shepard?"
Dallas grins as he wipes the sweat from his forehead, leans back against the wall of the building.
"Depends."
Catching my breath, I manage to light a cigarette and wonder if I'll have a black eye in the morning. My face sure is hurting anyway. Dallas managed to land a few good punches on me but at least I don't think he's done me any real damage—although I reckon I've probably cracked his ribs some.
"Depends on what?"
"On whether you pull any more dumb stunts like you did today. I mean, really? Slashing my tyres in front of Curly? Wasn't exactly one of your smartest ideas was it?"
"Unless I wanted you to come looking for a fight, save myself the effort of tracking you down."
"Fucking asshole." And despite myself I can't help grinning at his reasoning. "You could have saved me the damn expense of paying for new ones though."
"Hell, you owe me for getting arrested on your lousy job, Shepard."
"Or perhaps you need to learn not to lose it? That was your own damn fault for getting into it with Lang and you know it."
"Whatever." And now he's grinning at me, like we haven't spent the last ten minutes beating on each other, like we're standing around discussing the football scores or something. "So you coming to Buck's? Reckon I might have a couple beers and check out the broads. Got some catching up to do after all those weeks in the reformatory without any company."
"Nah, got other places to be." Don't want to risk finding Leigh still there, don't trust myself to hold back from causing a scene twice in one night. Especially if she's still wasting her time with that other loser.
"Yeah? What the hell's going on with you, Tim? Don't remember you ever turning down the opportunity to score."
"Maybe I can't be bothered," I snap, a little too defensively, causing Dallas to stop and stare at me, before laughing to himself.
"Probably just as well—no broad's gonna be interested in you with your face so messed up, you're a proper fucking mess." He smirks at me before sauntering off across the street, his hands in his pockets. "Suppose I'll see you around then, Tim."
"Yep, suppose you will."
By the time I get home everything is still swirling through my head, over and over, can't seem to shut any of it out. In desperation I root through the kitchen cupboards, find a two-thirds empty bottle of bourbon stashed in the back of one of them, behind some pans, and figure I'm way more in need of this right now than Harry, will risk him noticing it's gone. Ain't like he can exactly do much to me these days if he catches me, anyway.
Slumping on the threadbare couch with my feet up on the table, I crack open the bottle, pour myself a more than generous measure, knock it back and refill the glass. Find myself thinking again about where I can get enough money to cover all we need at home, what trouble Angela's going to get herself in this week that she'll need me to fix, what the River Kings are planning next—'cause if they're taking out Lewis' guys, they aren't likely to leave me alone either, and then to top it all off, whether Leigh's someplace getting friendly with that other loser right now.
Hell, people think I got it made, being a gang leader. Shows how much they know, 'cause lately not one day goes by without some new problem rearing its head. Resort to pouring myself another drink, aiming to forget all that I got to deal with—for tonight at least.
A/N: thanks as always to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. As you've probably all figured out, Tim's story has now caught up with the book timeline—hope you liked it? :)