The Spiral (Chapter 1)

Story by Mr Flannery

The Smoking Barrel was at low ebb. To late for the after-work crowd, and too early for the late-night rabble-rousers. Scattered men, single and in groups, kept the background noise low. Sal, the bartender, was idly refilling the little undercounter dishwasher in preparation for a full night of yelling, spills, and fights. Lunette wondered why every bar like this had a bartender named Sal. It almost seemed prerequisite to being a true 'rough place'. If you named a kid Sal, what sort of future did they have ahead of them?

She glanced down at her drink. No matter how many she was exposed to, no matter how hard she tried to get used to it, no matter how often she reminded herself that the ingredients determined the color of the spirit, she thought that whiskey looked like piss, and nothing was going to change her mind. She hated whiskey, especially the Old Fashioned that she was often forced to drink with her consort for the evening. She watched the ice cubes spin lazily in the dark, tobacco-stained liquid, and supressed a shudder. It was going to be one of those nights.

Another glance down her decolletage confirmed that this wasn't going to be an easy one. She could picture herself in her mind, because she knew what he wanted. Cleaned up, she would probably be quite the glamorous looker, but she could see the little telltale signs that showed what he truly wanted. The dress was cut too low, the hem was cut too high, the makeup was applied too thick, and the figure... even cosmetic surgery would be hard-pressed to get an hourglass like that out of a born-and-bred American girl. She could feel the outer slopes of her burgeoning chest brush against her biceps as she tried to adjust her dress, to no avail. Rico's hand was there a moment later, pushing it back up.

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"What did I tell you, missy? Huh? Leave it up. The fuck's the good of a body like that if you gonna hide it on me, eh?"

She sighed. "You can hardly say I'm hiding jack shit in this dress," she said softly, French accent coming through her attempts to sound appropriately Italian for the man. "Red crinoline with black trim? Who is zis girl, a fucking lingerie model?"

Rico's arm spasmed, and she flinched, which immediately drew a chuckle from Rico. "That's hardly proper language to be coming out of such a pretty mouth, is it? I know you don't bruise right, so you had better try to stay on my good side, and my good side says you ain't drinking your damn drink, ok?"

She took a deep breath, and part of her withdrew into herself, fled from the night that stretched ahead of her. She picked up the glass, and sipped it, the well-practiced smile plastered onto her lips. Insincerity didn't play through when the men wanted her to look like this... she was insincere from head to toe. They got off on it. They always did. The tears didn't even try to come anymore.

It burned down her throat, and soon it would help her block everything out. As far as blessings went, she no longer found it odd that she preferred her consorts to be raging alcoholics. With any luck, they wouldn't even make it out of the bar tonight.

The front door, a heavy oak slab, squealed as someone new entered. The newcomer wasn't a regular, she was sure... she spent enough nights drinking and flirting to know just about every semi-regular joe in the county. He was big, he was greying, and he was dressed simply in jeans and a black t-shirt. There wasn't even a pattern on the shirt, not even a simple band logo. He clearly didn't know what bar he was in, but he clearly didn't care. She hoped he behaved. She loathed violence. It angried up the blood, as her father used to say, and a sly glance at Rico confirmed she didn't want that happening to anyone tonight.

The man sat at the bar, and after a brief discussion with Sal that involved the posturing 'low-talk' she had come to associate with made men, ordered a beer and a tumbler of scotch. She realized she'd been staring only a moment before she was very firmly reminded with the hand that still rested on her thigh tightened like a vise. Her back stiffened, but she didn't make a sound. Experience kept her quiet.

"And why, missy, and you staring at someone other than me? You's mine for tonight, remember?"

"Do you know you always talk in questions?" she said with a sweet smile, glaring at him. "Is it because you don't know the answer to anything?"

The hand squeezed again, sausage-like fingers digging into her soft flesh. A thick nail snagged a nerve, and her leg spasmed, kicking the table. Their drinks rattled, and the pressure eased as eyes turned to them. Rico was a very large man, in a very large black suit, with very large gol

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