Don't Drive Faster

Authors' note: Rumors of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated. It's just harder to write when we aren't six feet away from each other. By the way, be warned, massive amounts of sugar were consumed prior to our writing this chapter. In exchange for the long wait, we're playing spot the references. Spot them all and find out the next car death.

I hate these jobs.

Ranger is busy copping a feel on Steph, under the pretence of wiring her for sound. She doesn't seem to mind. He's still glittery from yesterday, but Steph is smart enough not to mention it.

Alejandro is currently staying far away from me. I've made my opinion of these things clear, and Alejandro values his life. And his balls.

Ranger casts a significant look at Steph's…assets. "What?" she asks. "They're Nerf balls." She's very adept at Ranger non-speak.

"Babe."

Steph is dressed to kill in a red dress that masquerades as a handkerchief in its spare time. She picked it up the last time that she and Mary Lou were at Macy's, and given the current state of her love life, this distraction may be the only chance she gets to wear it for a while. Three inch FMP's and extra mascara complete her outfit.

My dress is almost identical to Steph's, but it covers a bit more. I actually don't mind it so much, but a bar full of horny, disgusting men is the last place I want to wear it.

Ranger finally steps back, (how long does it take to place a mic anyway?) and Steph's mind snaps back into focus. Ranger turns to open the door for her, and she surreptitiously checks for drool.

This is gonna be fun.

As we pull up in front of the bar, the name itself fills me with foreboding, as it indicates the status of the patrons who frequent it. Broken Arms is more than its name. It's also what happens to the unwise visitor.

I've got a bad feeling about this, and I don't need my powers to tell me that.

Saying every head turned as we walk in sounds a bit cliché, but it doesn't fall far from the truth. The Macy's hooker dress suddenly seems too high class for this dive, and I devoutly wish my hearing wasn't so good as to pick up the obscene comments many patrons are making.

Dodging hands, we work our way to the bar, where the skip luckily has an open seat beside him.

Rafe Cardones is a real winner- in the fall off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down contest. This guy was arrested for armed robbery and multiple counts of assault and battery. The reason we're going after him is because he's always armed and usually surrounded by fellow gang-bangers. I have no idea how this guy made bail.

He leers rudely. "Can I buy you a drink?" he manages to slur. Unoriginal, but I suppose it's better than "you're hot; let's fuck."

Somehow, Steph manages to keep from throwing up and returns his interest. "Sure, what are you drinking?"

"Captain Morgan."

I can feel Steph considering getting one herself, and give her a mental kick. No more hard liquor for Steph on these jobs. Ever. I learned MY lesson after the first time. Steph, however, still requires the occasional reminder.

She orders beer in a bottle. Smart girl. I don't trust the glasses either.

I tune out their conversation- my stomach isn't that strong. I leave them just enough of my attention to alert me when something goes wrong, and turn to the rest of the bar.

Unfortunately, the Guardians in this place are just as creepy as the patrons. That's a common misconception about Guardian Angels. While many of us are moral and clean and sparkling (damn glitter!) and try to steer our charges along that path, others, well….aren't.

And this place seems to be full of the second type.

I'm kind of surprised that Cardones' angel is leaving me alone, but then he appears to be drinking as heavily as his charge.

As I'm an obviously unclaimed female, a Guardian reeking of beer, BO, piss, and smoke approaches me. Lovely.

"Hey angel, the word of the day is 'legs.' Let's go back to my place and spread the word."

Ew. I didn't think people actually use those lines. I wrinkle my nose. "I'm slightly occupied right now." I say, jerking a thumb back at Steph.

"Aww…don't be such a wet blanket. She can take care of herself for the night."

Apparently, this guy isn't going to take "no" for an answer.

"Come on baby, we can have some fun!"

"Sorry, not interested." I say, and turn around. Then I feel the hand on my boob. If he's done talking, then so am I.

I turn and deck the guy.

It's a little known Guardian Angel fact that our charges can feel the damage that we take. This explains the random aches that people get from time to time. Creepy Angel's charge obviously felt my punch, as he turns and decks the guy next to him, starting one hell of a bar fight.

Damn, I don't think Officer Angua can cause this much mayhem when it's her time of the month.

With the rest of the males in the room…occupied, I'm free to turn my attention back to Steph and Cardones.

Cardones, not wanting to miss a good fight moves away from Steph to join in the fray.

No, NO, BAD! If he gets away, then we have to do this again. Not gonna happen.

Steph's thinking a bit faster than I am in this case, and breaks her mostly-full beer bottle over his head. "I just wanted the pleasure of doing that myself!"

Tank, Ranger and a big, hulking RangeMan that I've never seen before materialize in front of us, Guardians in tow. Now they show up. Where were they when I was being hit on by every guy in this place?

"Sera, what the hell did you do!" Alejandro exclaimed.

"It's not my fault!"

"The hell it isn't!"

I look around and grin. "Oops."

As Tank and the random RangeMan haul Cardones to his feet, cuffs in place, Ranger looks at Steph and shakes his head.

"Babe."