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A holograph of the President was pasted to the wall. Mike
moved to the right, and the eyes seemed to follow. A set of black horns came up
from the wide, bare forehead to give the man a leering appearance. Mike shrugged
and did not smile. The real thing was a lot scarier.
“I want this,” Mike told the men. One smiled. They pulled
knives and a small zipgun. Mike showed them the .45 in the shoulder holster.
Taking a deep breath, one man took his drink, sliding out the
side opposite Mike. The others followed.
Mike helped Creel in but took the corner for himself.
Creel’s head eased down till his chin touched his chest, and
he began to snore in a wet, sickly noise.
A girl sidled up with a hopeful smile on her face.
“Care to buy me a drink, man?”
Mike glanced at her. Makeup covered her face, but a wet spot
told of a running sore.
“Sorry, no. My partner here has a problem.” Mike gave her
a crooked smile. “We . . . ah, you know.”
She gave them a wise look, saying in a low voice, “Don’t
I know it. I figger if I’m careful I got a few weeks before the dogs get
me.” One thumb jerked towards the east and the city zoo. “Guess they gotta
eat too, but why me?” She sank into the seat next to Creel. Her hand slid into
his lap.
“I, ah, don’t think you should do that.” Mike took her
arm, winced at how thin it was, and lay the hand on the table. “He’s
contagious. Very painful.”
Eyes wide, she scrubbed the hand off on her dress and inched
out of the booth.
“Damn shame. He’s kind o’ cute.” She eyed Mike.
“You, too. From down South, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah. North Carolina.”
“Hm.” She smiled. “Are you contagious?”
“Well, like you said, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Geez. I got protection, but a lot of them bugs will eat
right through the plastic.”
Mike nodded. The chubby lady from the kitchen hustled over
with a cold look on her face.
“LeAnne, you. Out,” she said, backing up her anger with a
wave of the butcher knife.
With a cold sniff, LeAnne stalked to the door. She glanced
back, then was gone.
“What do you want?” Dolores snapped, eyeing Creel. “He
contagious?”
“Only if you kiss him.”
Dolores burst into a short laugh and settled for grinning.
“Well, I don’ think you the kind to catch it, then. What are you drinking,
and do you wanna see the menu?”
“Make my partner a hot pepper toddy, no water. I’ll have
a regular one.”
"A hot what?”
Mike sighed. “No civilized drinks this far north. Just
bring him a water glass full of the strongest whiskey or brandy you have, and
bring me one of those boilermakers, the one you call a widow maker.”
“Menus?”
Mike glanced at Creel. His nose was running and drool hang
from the corner of his mouth.
“Lady, you have got to be kidding.”
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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