Mistakes, part 2
24 Sep 2017Darthjazzhands
Continued from "Mistakes"The tavern felt like it was tilting slowly to the right. That young handsome bastard had slipped something into my drink.
The two pirates simply watched me and waited. The older man's face was no longer the kindly priest. That persona was exiled, replaced by something from the darkest of Grimms original Fairytales. He was no longer a who. He was an It.
The younger man stared openly at my chest. Undressing me with his eyes. He'd done this before... Many times.
My head was clear but my speech was slurred, "What wasth in mdrink?" I tried to rise from me seat in the booth but my hips bumped the table, jostling and spilling their drinks. I landed on the cushioned bench seat.
The younger man laughed and nudged me aside with his hip as he slid into the booth next to me, blocking my only exit. With the same movement, he put his arm around my shoulder, letting the fingers of his right hand hang and "accidentally" brush my right breast. He took my tablet with the other and began to read my notes.
I tried to free myself from his arm and grab my data pad. He was faster. And stronger. He simply held the tablet out of reach with his left hand, squeezed me closer to his body with the crook of his elbow, and grabbed my right wrist with his right hand. He turned my wrist veins-up into the light and looked at it.
"Tattoo?" Doyle calmly used a napkin to mop up the drinks I had spilled. He waited.
"Dragon... New ink hiding old ink maybe," the younger man whispered as he turned my wrist this way and that. "Can't make it out... Wait... Burned the old ink off then covered it up good by the looks of it."
He was right. It must have shown in my face.
"Runaway?" Doyle cocked his head to the side and smiled through me.
I now saw Doyle through a rapidly narrowing tunnel. A new level of dizziness hit me and I knew I was running out of time. Instincts kicked in.
Years ago, when I started to go out with boys, my newly adopted mothers educated me extensively. Ferro, an academic and Marine pilot, preferred long meandering "I know he's a nice boy, but..." lectures. Vasquez, however, was a woman of action. This combat-decorated Marine Infantryman pulled me aside before each date for some "boy boot camp." It always started with a very candid chat about what all boys really want, followed by role playing worst-case scenarios she cooked up on the fly. It always got physical.
First lesson: how to make a scene.
I stared Doyle straight in the eye and made sure the entire Tavern could hear me, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU PUT IN MY DRINK, ASSHOLE!"
Doyle blanched. The younger pirate stiffened, then released my wrist. Both looked around the room as all heads turned toward us.
"SOMEBODY HELP ME!" I bellowed, not sure if I was slurring or not, "THEY PUT SOMETHING IN MY DRINK!"
"Quiet, bitch!" The younger man whispered hoarsely as he stood and leaned so his mouth was on my ear. His left hand on the table for support. He couldn't have seen I was already reaching for the fork. Doyle saw but his warning was too late.
Lesson two: everything is a weapon.
"FUCK!" The younger screamed as I stabbed the tines into the back of his left hand. He staggered backward toward the crowd and incoming bouncer while looking at the blood streaming from the wound, "FUCKING BITCH!"
He started toward me but the bouncer was on him in a bear hug and yelled in his ear, "Oi, oi, oi, mate! Calm the fuck down!"
Lesson three: repeat 1 &2 as necessary.
Staring straight into Doyle, I jammed the handle of the fork to the back of my throat and leaned forward over the table. Doyle cringed visibly as I gagged then dry wretched. I shoved the handle further and heaved forward involuntarily. Doyle made it out of his seat before my partially digested meal spewed across the table and into his seat.
Without a word, Doyle the priest returned from exile. His face a well-rehearsed picture of monk-like innocence, he turned and calmly walked out, passing the bouncer as he dragged his still-cursing quarry backwards to the exit.
Lesson 4: call "Moms."
I grabbed my tablet and quickly messaged Vasquez at a unique link created specifically for a worst case scenario. Even with all my dating, I had never used it before. The message was simple: todays date and time, a safe meeting location, and two words... "bad date."
I sat back, wiped the vomit from my hand and fork, then started gulping down my untouched glass of water. Two busboys quickly set up a shoji screen to block the view from the crowd, then covered the table with napkins and set about finding a way to clean it up. My server appeared with a pitcher of water and filled my glass without a word. She waited as I drained my glass and she filled it again. This time as she poured, her hand started shaking causing her long sleeve to ride up her wrist and partially revealed he tattoo of a slave.
"Let's get you a new table, dear," her voice was hoarse and tears were in her eyes.
"I'm staying right here," I rasped, then lay down on the cushioned bench and closed my eyes. "I'm waiting for Moms."
(To be continued)