The Tempest (closed for craygus13)

[DarkWarrioress]

Rumsey, Montana. Who would have thought it? Who in their right mind buys a drinking establishment in some hole-in-the-wall place? Her. That’s who. Darcy Norleen Kelley. A five foot, six inch tall, gray eyed, willowy, redhead whose family history was steeped with Irish immigrants.

There was only the soft tap of her heels on the floor as she walked from behind the bar to the front door, peered out the window before she turned the sign hanging in it from “Open” to “Closed” and locking the door. Done for another night. She supposed she should feel grateful that tonight there had been little trouble. The squabbles that had erupted, she had managed to disperse before it resulted in any real damage to Red’s. Her father had changed the name of the bar when his baby daughter had been born. Mac had come to Montana with his wife looking for a job. They hadn’t been hard to find, back then. Rumsey had been a busy mill town. Back in the day, the place had been called Mac’s Pub. All the men from the mill use to stop in for a drink and maybe something to eat, grouse about their day with their co-workers before they went home to their wives and family. On the weekends it became a jumping place with a live band, lots of alcohol. Everyone came to Mac’s. The place had seen its share of rowdy, but Mac had always seemed to be able to defuse things when it looked like something violent was about to erupt. Maybe it had been his Irish charm. Her mother always said Mac could charm a bird out the trees with his sweet talking ways.

Her parents got older. Mac wanted to retire. Darcy came home to roost and in a fit of insanity, offered to buy her father out. Mac wouldn’t hear of it. He offered to pass the bar down to her. Nope. Her parents could use the money any way they wanted to. Go on a cruise. Do those renovations Mom wanted to do to their house. She pointed out to her dad that he would have sold the place for money anyway. This way, it was still in the family and he still had cash in his pocket. It was a win-win situation. Her father could be stubborn, but she could be more so. In the end, she won. The bar was hers, free and clear. She had a funny feeling that her dad could have gotten more for the place if he had sold it to an outside source. However, she was willing to let her dad get away with it, this once.

Retracing her steps, Darcy went behind the bar and started putting away the clean glasses she had washed not long ago. The place was still turning a profit but for how long? This past year there had been several lay-offs from the mill. Nothing alarming yet, well, alarming for the individuals involved, but for her, not so much. Yet. There was a subtle shift in the bar crowd though. Tempers were faster to flare. It didn’t help that jobs were scarce in Rumsey these days. People didn’t want to lose their homes or pack up and move. Most around these parts had lived here for most of their lives as had their parents and their grandparents. Everyone knew everyone. There were grumbles when things changed. The economy was taking its toll everywhere. Hopefully, the townspeople could rough it out. She just hoped they didn’t tear up her bar doing so. She couldn’t afford higher insurance rates. She had submitted two claims for this month alone. Darcy had the local glass company on speed dial.

With a soft sigh, Darcy gathered up her coat, purse and keys. Time to go home. Morning came damn early. Besides, her feet were killing her. She could have opted for tennis shoes, but she was a jeans and heels type girl. She loved wearing both. Of course, she compromised and settled for one inch heels while she was at work. Shrugging into her coat, she let herself out of the bar, locked up and headed for her truck. She drove a battered old GMC. Under a cover, in her garage, was her pride and joy. She didn’t drive it very often. Where in Rumsey would she drive a Jaguar?

The drive to her house took all of ten, maybe fifteen minutes. It was a place on the edge of town. It was small, cozy and home. Darcy locked up the truck, though here in Rumsey, most people didn’t. Locking up was a habit with her. Letting herself into the house, she tossed her keys into a bowl on a small table in the hallway. Her gray kitten wound itself around her ankles just before Darcy leaned down and scooped him up, rubbing his head fondly as she walked into her livingroom.

“Well, hello Mr. Bo Jangles. Have you been a good---“

Apparently not. She sighed, setting the kitten on his feet as she reached for the shredded toilet paper scattered all over her wooden floor. Someone had found a way to amuse himself. All the way around the living room. Her eyes scanned the room. Little bits and pieces of white tissue were everywhere. In other places there were longer pieces littering the room. What had once been a big roll of toilet tissue, there was now, resting in front of the fireplace, a cardboard tube with a trailing square of tissue left connected. That state of being was fast changing. The kitten, feeling no remorse for his deed, had ferociously pounced on the tissue roll, holding it between white paws, his feet kicking at one end of it while tiny sharp teeth chewed on the other end.

Darcy sighed again, shaking her head. What was a girl to do?

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[craygus13]

The ferry crossing was taking longer than he remembered.

Mark leaned out over the railing, his arms folded over each other. It was funny how fast it came back to you... the mountains rising up from behind the treeline, the sounds of the lake lapping up at the bow of the ferry, the smell of black cottonwood ripe from the shore. He hadn't been back to Montana for over thirty years, and he could still pick apart the smells of the western white pines from the longpole.

Mark watched the landscape drift by quietly. Heading back to Rumsey definitely felt odd, but at the same time, there was a certain inevitability to it. Once you've gone everywhere else...

The docks were coming into view up ahead. He turned, and picked up the hefty duffel that sat by his feet on the decking, and headed for the stairs that would take him down to the lower deck. The few other passengers were heading down as well, but there weren't that many cars. It seemed odd that so few people were headed into town, but they must have built new roads since he had been here last. Maybe the ferry was getting to be obsolete.

In short order, he was walking off the boat ahead of the few cars that were rolling through onto the paved dock. He shrugged his duffel up over his shoulder and looked around at the few buildings that stood around the landing. Not much had changed. He would have thought the town would have grown larger while he had been gone, but all he saw just seemed...grey. At least two of the businesses were closed. There were quite a few boarded windows even in the buildings that seemed to have functional businesses.

"huh..." he said thoughtfully. Maybe the landing was just a little run down because the town was accessible somewhere else. He turned, and started walking toward the town proper, a mile and a half down the road.

Two hours later, Mark was settling into a stool at the counter of a small, nondescript diner, dropping his duffel at his feet. The whole of the town was just as downtrodden looking as the landing. According to the town paper, the mill had just finished a fourth set of cutbacks, and was laying off even more of it's workforce. It didn't fit, in his memory Rumsey had been a place of industry, a whole community that turned on the clock of the Sawmills. It should have occurred to him that the down economy would have hit this town just as much as it had hit anywhere.

He was going to start looking for work in to morning. If the Mill wasn't going to be hiring, he'd just have to see what else was available... but if there wasn't anything to be found, he'd just have to rethink his plans to move back here.

After a turkey club and a piece of pecan pie, He found himself on the street again, following the waitress's directions to the small hotel down the street. it was dingy enough, with a mostly-functional neon sign advertising that the rooms have tv, but it would do well enough for now. He paid in cash for the night, and found his way up the creaky wooden stairs to the second level, and found his room. It was a dark, cramped affair, but it had a bed and a bathroom, so it would do for now. he would either be looking for another place to stay in the next few days, or he would be on his way.

He set his duffel on the bed, and started to unbutton his shirt. It had been a long day, and he had another long day in the morning...

http://i724.photobucket.com/albums/ww248/soylentmatt/MV5BOTYyMjYzNzI4OV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMjQ1MzEyMw_V1_SY314_CR110214314_.jpg

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Darcy didn’t ease into consciousness, she was bolted into it by a pouncing little whirl of fluff.

“Bo, not now,” she whined, pulling the covers over her head.

The little bundle of energy had other ideas. He kept attacking her feet and Darcy was glad they were under the covers. She knew from experience just how sharp those little claws were. As she lay there with the covers drawn up over her head, she felt little feet walking up her side and then felt a cold nose pressed to the side of her neck.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Hands exploded from the covers, unerringly finding the fluff ball and pulling him under the covers with her. The kitten allowed himself to be pulled under and started immediately purring. Darcy chuckled, her sleep tousled head poked out from under the covers in a mass of fiery strands. She stroked the kitten under its chin before attempting to brush her hair out of her face. A quick glance at her bedside clock made her groan.

“Damnit, Bo. This is my one morning to sleep in and you won’t let me. You’re such a brat.”

The kitten opened his eyes and gave her a look of sheer smug cattery, looking totally unconcerned and unrepentant for his antics. With a wry laugh, she tossed the kitten gently on top of the covers before she pushed them back and got up. The powder blue button down shirt she wore to bed hung off her frame and down to her knees. She had a thing about men’s shirts.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she padded out to the kitchen. The kitten scampered after her. Bo was winding between her slightly parted legs as she drew an empty mug from a cabinet. She glanced down at him.

“Can’t I get a cup of coffee first?” She grumbled. The reply was a soulful small meow.

Darcy was already reaching for a saucer and his cat food. One would think he was starving. She set the bowl on the floor and poured her coffee, taking it to the livingroom where she sat down on the couch, curling her feet under her. Her mind, once the kitten was seen to, was on work. A quick glance at the wall clock told her that Jimmy was accepting the delivery of their supplies. It was Friday. The weekend loomed before her like a specter. Weekends were good for profits, but not for her bar. Lately, things were beginning to get out of hand. The frustrations of the natives were taken out on Red’s. They felt the need to bust things and bloody each other. She knew Sam, the local law enforcement, would be on call tonight.

~~0~~​

The soft click of her heels warned of her presence as she made her way to the storeroom at the back of the bar. The back door was open and Jimmy was busy stacking the boxes of their inventory.

“Hey Boss.”

He paused in his work to acknowledge her. Darcy reached for the clipboard resting on a pile of boxes. Her eyes glanced at the bill of laden then looked up, a smile on her lips.

“Hey Jimmy. Any problems so far?”

“Maybe. Not sure really. Last week we came up a few boxes short of vodka. This week it’s tequila.”

She frowned, flipping through the pages. Without looking up from the clipboard, she replied.

“Did the driver say why?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Something about short supply.”

Darcy glanced up, a smile still plastered on her lips.

“Okay. I’ll look into it. Stock the bar for me when you’re done here, please?”

“Okay Boss Lady. Will do.”

Darcy headed for her office. There was a set of stairs to one side of the storeroom that led upward to an office that overlooked the bar. Closing the door behind her, she tossed the clipboard on her desk and flopped into her office chair with a sigh. Swiveling around until she could see out the large plate glass window into the emptiness of Red’s. It seemed innocuous enough but her gut was telling her something else. The only problem was, she couldn’t figure out why. The ringing of the phone on her desk sidetracked her from her thoughts. Her work day was underway.

~~0~~​

The Night Riders were belting out tune after tune from the stage. Red’s was packed. People were two-stepping on the dance floor. People were drinking and they were running dangerously low on tequila. Darcy didn’t have time to think about that. She was too busy keeping the peace.

“Joe, now calm down. How about a drink on the house, hm?”

“Tell him to get out of my face first.”

Him was a tall, younger than Joe, solidly built cowboy. Darcy stood between the two.

“Look guys, I don’t want any fighting in the bar tonight. The way I see it, you have two choices, take your fight outside or both of you can have a friendly drink. On the house.”

“Pardon me Miss,” the cowboy touched the brim of his hat, “I’ll take that drink if you can get him to calm down and back off.”

“Why should I back off, boy? You come swaggering up in here like you own the place. I was at the bar before you.”

Joe’s voice was gruff with anger and resentment. Darcy sighed. Things were escalating. Not just with these two, but in general. She was beginning to realize that she couldn’t be out here on the floor playing peacekeeper between her customers and run the bar at the same time. She was going to have to do something about that and soon.

“Look Mister, I don’t swagger and I don’t think I own this place. I’m just passing through from the rodeo, looking for a way to pass my night in a friendly fashion.”

“Yeah? So that’s why you just pushed your way up to the bar, shouldered in and demanded a drink as I was ordering mine? Didn’t your momma teach you any manners, boy? Maybe I need to teach you some myself.”

“Now Joe---“

That was as far as Darcy got before Joe decided to take a swing at the cowboy. Joe stepped closer, squeezing Darcy out of the way. Which, was a good thing as Joe’s fist landed squarely against the cowboy’s jaw, the force of which sent the cowboy sprawling into a table behind him. The poor table splintered to pieces from the force of Joe’s blow and the cowboy’s weight. The cowboy scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Joe. People scattered out of their way. Voices began shouting. Before she knew it, fists were flying everywhere.

“Oh damnit to hell!”

Darcy muttered, dashing for the phone behind the bar and punching out Sam's number.

 

[craygus13]

The woman on the other side if the desk wasn't much for eye-contact.

Not that Mark could blame her. There were at least a dozen people outside; working class guys wearing their one good suit jacket, looking miserable in their ties and their brown dress shoes. The contractor was only looking for two dry utility workers, but with so much of the town out of work, there must have been over fifty applicants.

So the stout, tired-looking woman diligently entering Mark's information into her aging desktop computer had had to sit through dozens of 'interviews', trying not to let it show that all these people didn't have a chance at the job.

Mark folded his arms. He knew as well as the woman... Donna, the sign on her desk read... that he wasn't getting this. He could do the job, obviously, but with so many applicants, there was bound to be someone with more electrical experience. Still, he sat patiently, explaining his work history to Donna. She eventually thanked him for his time, and stood to shook his hand. He nodded with a half-smile, and saw himself out of the office.

As he walked through the waiting area on his way out of the building, he glanced back at the roomful of applicants. They didn't say much, just looking at the floor in front of them, or glancing up at him with a certain amount of resentment. They weren't just sullen, they were angry. There was an almost palpable sense of frustration in the room, of bitterness at their situation. Mark had the sense that half the people in the room were ready to explode.

He tugged his tie loose as he stepped out into the darkening street, unfastening his top button. That had been the sixth application of the day, and none of them had faired any better. It was disappointing... he had hung a lot of his hopes on Rumsey. He'd have to figure out where to go next...

One option crept into his thoughts, but he quickly pushed it away.

Rather than let himself stew over his frustration, he started walking. It was a haul to get down to his hotel, but it wasn't like he had anywhere to go in the meantime.

He looked up, his attention drawn by the noise from one of the buildings he was passing. It sat away from the road, sitting squat and proud over a wide parking lot. It was a brick building that had been expanded outward years ago, the extentions done in local longpole pine. It had an small patio just outside the main entrance, where a few people milled about.There was music coming from inside, drifting to him along with the sounds of people and the smell of bodies mingling and hard drinking...

'What the hell', he thought. He turned, and made his way to the door.

Inside, he found a press of bodies waiting for him. Burly working men and local girls young and old were milling together, dancing and drinking and shouting to each other over what sounded like a really enthusiastic Allman Brothers cover band. He worked his way toward the bar, hovering back behind the press of bodies until he could get himself a burbon, and started working to find himself a spot to sit...

“Why should I back off, boy? You come swaggering up in here like you own the place. I was at the bar before you.”

He turned his head, watching the ruckus that was starting to kick up by the bar. Best as he could tell, there were two people involved, but he could already sense just how little that mattered. The people in this town were angry. Everywhere, as the shouting by the bar continued, people were turning into it, getting ready to react, to strike out. They all just needed a reason...

And in the middle of it was one lone, slender woman. She tried to talk down the two at the center of the vortex, but the instincts crackling through him told him that they were too close to the breaking point already. They weren't even listening to each other anymore.

He started to set down his glass so he could move toward the door. He wouldn't let himself get caught in another fight. Not here. He'd just move to the door, and it would all be behind him...

But the woman...

He hesitated, and the inevitable happened. The two in the center exploded at each other. the crowd swelled backward as the bodies collided. fists swung, arms twisted and bodies were flung...

Without meaning to, he found himself twisting his arms inward around an incoming body, trapping his attacker against his own momentum, and quickly yanking his arms behind him, twisting him to the floor, and jabbing his palm against the man's solar plexus. The strike was an instinct, but it was too much, too obvious with too many people around him. You couldn't follow opponents to the ground in a brawl... you left yourself wide open.

He quickly stood, looking around the bar. There were at least eight people throwing punches and grappling with each other. bottles were breaking, chairs were shattering...

One of them threw a punch at him. This time, the body was too close. he quickly twisted his arms within the strike, folding them together to step closer, moving his body to inside his opponent's strike zone, and quickly thrust both arms together into a small, compressed flurry of blows into the rib cage, staggering him backward at the force... He could still make it to the door, but where was the woman? Had she made it out?

A pool que came at him from the side... He turned himself inward toward the body of the attacker, driving a downward leg kick into his instep, and a elbow up unto his throat... There she was... behind the bar...

Too late, he felt the insweep of air behind him that warned of an oncoming punch; he was making himself too much of a target. he managed to get his arm underneath the blow, barely getting his grip on the oncoming wrist to twist it back under his attacker's arm, driving him down to his knees...

He didn't have a chance to disable the one on his knees before another one came at him from the side... Mark's standing front kick was so sloppy his sensi would have hit him, but he managed to knock the second attacker back without letting go of the wrist of the one on the ground, and quickly divert his attention back long enough to drive his knuckles into the base of the kneeling man's spine...

The one he had kicked was getting to his feet. There was a moment before he would have his footing, so Mark lept forward in a simple Muai Thai strike, hammering his knee in to the man's ribs...

He turned...

No one...

There was a wide open area around him. several bodies were scattered around him, all writhing in pain... most people didn't have any idea how to take a properly thrown strike. The crowd had backed up, trying to get away from the melee...

Leaving him standing in the center of it all when the door flew open as the sheriff came in.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Darcy stood behind the bar watching the all too familiar scene explode in front of her eyes. This had to stop, but how? How did one reassure people out of work that everything was going to be okay when they had mouths to feed and bills to pay? What had happened to the timber industry? They lived in God’s Country for crying outloud. Several emotions chased across her face, frustration, despair, hopelessness and resignation to name a few. A small soft squeak of panic left her as she swiftly ducked down to avoid the chair that came flying out of seemingly nowhere toward her. Darcy covered her head with her hands as she crouched down, feeling the shower of wood splinters and glass as the chair broke into pieces against the wall along with the glasses that been lining it.

DAMNATION AND SATAN’S BALLS!

She had enough. Surging to her feet again she reached for the shotgun under the counter, pumped it once, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. It was loaded with birdshot, but it was certainly going to get attention. The butt of the shotgun rested her hip, her finger on the trigger guard. The door to Red’s flew open and Sam came striding in. His two deputies flanked him. The deputies didn’t wait for instructions, they simply started pulling fighting people apart and shoving them outside. Sam’s eyes scanned the room, a look of relief coming into his eyes as soon as he spotted Darcy behind the bar. Even across the room, she saw his eyebrow elevate as his eyes slid to the shotgun on her hip then back to her. The look on his face said it all.

What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?

She made a face and stashed the gun back under the counter. Desperate times called for desperate measures. It wasn't like she was going to shoot anyone. She just wanted to get their attention and stop the fighting. Darcy had learned to shoot from the time she was old enough to hold a gun. When she was growing up, she looked forward to the days she and her father spent the afternoon shooting. It was one of those father-daughter things she had enjoyed.

“You okay, Darce?”

Sam’s strong, gravelly voice came to her ear after he had waded through the scuffling people.

“Hey! Get off him.”

Sam pulled a woman off a guy’s back by the scruff of her neck, setting her on the floor. He ducked her wild swing with the ease of someone use to such things and sent her on her way with the threat of locking her up for the night, ringing in her ears.

The place was slowly clearing out. Sam got to Darcy’s side. She gave him a grateful look.

“I’m fine, Sam. Thanks for coming so quickly.”

He grinned. She responded in a likewise fashion. It was a standing joke between them even though the matter at hand was no joke.

“Say, who’s the guy standing over there?”

He nodded toward a open small circle formed by unconscious bodies or writhing ones on the floor. Darcy’s eyes followed Sam’s nod. She studied the man in question then shrugged.

“Don’t know. Never saw him before. “

“He’s quick. You know, Darce…”

Sam leaned casually against the bar on an elbow. His eyes were on the dispersing crowd. His voice was casual, calm and thoughtful. He took a moment to look at her briefly before his eyes went back to the drunk people heading out the door like quiet lambs now.

“You might want to consider hiring someone to oversee this wild lot. Someone who can head off trouble before it starts. It’ll be a lot easier on your pocketbook than paying out higher insurance premiums. Give it some thought. I’m going to step outside and make sure everyone is playing nice on their way home.”

Sam shoved off from his leaning stance against the bar and sauntered outside. In the meantime, Darcy looked around the bar in dismay. Maybe Sam was right. She needed someone whose sole job was to spot trouble and head it off before it could escalate. Someone who could be discreet but firm. Someone who could handle themselves and any trouble that did come up with minimal fuss.

She started to clean up the bar area around her with a resigned sigh. It was going to be some time before she was going to get some sleep tonight. More importantly, she wondered where she was going to find right person who could handle the drunk fighting happening in her bar. She couldn’t be sure yet, not until she looked at the numbers, but she was losing business. Who wanted to come to a joint where fighting broke out when all you wanted to do was have a good time? It was subtle. The change in the bar’s environment. More drinking, sure. There was more trouble too and all that needed to change. Once again, she silently wondered how.

 

[craygus13]

The crowd started to move under the sheriff's gaze.

He was a steely man in his early forties who carried himself with an unhurried authority. He wore jeans and a tan uniform shirt with brown epaulets... his badge and gun were both clipped to his belt. There were two men with him... deputies, likely. They must have been expecting some sort of trouble tonight to have come so quickly.

Mark turned, looking at the bodies around him, and as he did a few shards of broken glass fell from his shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair... a few of the scattering flecks of glass had made it there too.

The table where he had set his drink had been smashed. He exhaled, starting toward the door with the others. Not exactly the homecoming he had been hoping for. just... fucking fantastic. He'd check out of the hotel in the morning, but lord knew where he'd go next. maybe west into Washington...

The sun had started to set while he was inside. The parking lot was full of small groups getting their bearings after the fight. He looked up at the wide swath of luminous orange that was the encroaching night sky, rolling his shoulders for a moment feeling the familiar swell of sensation as the endorphins lighted through his blood. He started to reach up to pull off his tie...

There wasn't any warning that the attack was coming. he had been looking up at the sky, not at the short, angry-looking kid in the flannel jacket that was drawing a hunting knife from his belt. One second he was contemplating finding a package store, and the next, he was yanking his center of gravity back, pivoting his rear foot to keep his center mass away from the oncoming thrust. Instincts that had been second nature to him when he had been 19 had saved him. the attacker, finding his footing, tried again to lunge at him with a vicious backswing, baring his teeth and growling in rage...

Mark didn't even think, he just reacted. Fighting someone with a knife carried a different set of rules... you wanted to quickly protect yourself, disarm your opponent, and disable them. The thrust of his Krav Maga strike moved within moments, jabbing into the cluster of nerves within the forearm of his knife-wielding attacker, then griped and wrenched his knife arm down and back, forcing him to loosen the grip on his knife...

More pressure, and the knife jabbed into it's owners own abdomen, drawing a deep gash that started to soak his clothes with blood...

Mark thrust his elbow forward, cracking wetly against his assailant's throat, dropping him in a sad heap.

Someone screamed.

Mark turned, seeing the people looking at him. He felt his throat tightening, knowing what would come next. His forward foot moved outward slightly, squaring his center of gravity, balancing on the balls of his feet, letting his arms slacken, ready for the next...

"Put your hands up buddy! keep them up!"

One of the deputies. he had his hand on his gun, holding his other open hand out in front of him, pointing at Mark. People started to step back from the scene... not sure what would happen next...

Mark rolled his eyes as he slowly lifted his hands over his head. Whatever else he was, he wasn't about to fight a cop. The deputy stepped forward, grabbing his wrists and clapping his handcuffs on them, bringing them behind his back.

"you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. you have the right to an attorney..."

he faded out, feeling them lead him to the car. It all felt inevitable... like he had been heading there his whole life. They frisked him, put a hand on his head and lowered him into the back seat of the police cruiser. There wasn't much space for his legs, and with his arms behind him, he found himself sitting more on his side.

There was all kinds of ruckus outside the car, but he had stopped caring. Maybe this was why Rumsey had felt so inevitable... because this is where it finally happened. He was where he belonged...

Why the fuck hadn't he just left? He knew he had had a moment where he could have just set down his drink and left. As the deputy climbed into the front seat, the question churned away... He could have walked away, and prevented this, it only for a little longer. Why? Why hadn't he just left?

There was a flash of something outside the cruiser, back by the bar. Color, a shock of brightness amongst all the drab browns and greys and blacks...

The woman. She was out on the patio, talking to someone.

He started to turn, trying to get a better look at her, but the deputy started the cruiser, and they were off.

------

The sheriff's office was a small building in the center of town. He was taken out of the car and processed... had to give over his wallet, watch, cellphone, belt, and necktie. They had individual holding cells, which was good because there were a number of people that had been arrested from the scuffle that night. He lay back on the hard bunk, his hands behind his head. He wasn't meditating. He didn't do that all that often anymore. Still, the breathing techniques helped him sleep.

There was the clatter of the outer bars opening.

"O'Rourke..." said the voice of one of the deputies. "Someone here to see you..."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

“Sam, it was self defense. You saw it and so did I. That kid came at him with a knife.”

They were standing on the patio as she watched the police car drive away, the man she was talking about, in the back of it.

“I thought you didn’t know him, Darce.”

“I don’t but that doesn’t mean I can’t be fair to a total stranger.”

She had followed Sam outside after another quick glance of disgust, resignation and frustration at the state of her bar. Sam and she had been talking quietly on the patio as the people dispersed. The sudden scream had both their heads jerking toward the sound and what had happened next, had fascinated yet appalled her. The kid had come at the stranger with the knife and the man, to his credit, was merely defending himself. She watched in silent horror as the blade slid into the kid’s own abdomen, blood staining the front of his shirt. She knew that what had happened hard on the heels of that, had been instinct. The stranger’s elbow shot upward and into the kid’s windpipe.

What was it her father had taught her? If you have to shoot someone who is threatening your life Darcy, keep shooting until you know they’re dead.

The kid was lucky. So far. The ambulance arrived just as the police car was pulling out. The kid was still alive. Her eyes flashed to the disappearing police car and all she caught was a face looking back, toward her or so it seemed. The car was already too far away for her to make out any of the stranger’s features. A strange feeling of responsibility came over her. She turned toward Sam again and began speaking.

~~0~~​

Somewhere, tucked away in a large city, surrounded by tall skyscrapers, the city was coming alive with nightlife. A man sat behind his desk, looking over some papers when his phone rang.

“Bennett here.”

His voice was smooth, deep, commanding. His features were obscured by the lamp on his desk as he sat back in his big comfortable chair, listening to someone on the other end of the phone.

“You know what needs to done next then. Close the mill. Do whatever you need to. I don’t give a fuck if she’s like her old man or not. Close the damn mill and apply more pressure. I want her vulnerable and ready to sell. I want that land. I hired you to get it for me without drawing me into it. Now do your fucking job.”

His hand dropped the receiver back into the cradle with a soft click. It was an ominous sound. Across the room, off to one side, highlighted by small lights was a model of a casino.

~~0~~​

The cell door opened, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. Dave really needed to oil that damn door. She stepped just inside the small cell, her eyes on the man lying down with his eyes closed, his hands behind his head. Darcy held a large manila envelope in her hands. Her fingers were griping it tightly. O’Rourke, Dave had called him.

“Mr. O’Rourke?” She was soft spoken. Her voice held a slightly smoky note. There was also a thread hesitancy there.

“I’ve paid your bail. Here’s your things. Usually Sam doesn’t allow anyone to take possession of them except the owner but he made an exception for me. One of the perks of a small town.”

She was babbling and bit her lip instead, holding out the envelope to him. Why the hell was she here? There was a bar waiting for her to clean up yet. Sam had argued with her. He had called her a trusting idiot. She had fired back that trust had to start somewhere. Maybe so, but she didn’t know a damn thing about this guy. Maybe not, but she wasn’t stupid either nor completely trusting. Darcy had been churning an idea over and over in her head. Maybe it was a crazy idea, but she liked the way the stranger handled himself. Quietly, yet efficiently. Okay, so he would need to tone it down some, but she had a hunch he would do okay. So, here she stood, inside the stranger’s jail cell, holding out the sealed envelope with his belongings, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

 

[craygus13]

The cell doors squeaked fiercely. Mark didn't look up... not yet. He wasn't awake, strictly speaking, but he could hear the footfalls of someone coming into the room. It wasn't one of the deputies, they moved with too much deliberation. This person was hesitant, smaller...

“Mr. O’Rourke?”

He opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. "Thanks, I don't need any medical attention..." he said absently. He turned to face his visitor...

And realized he was looking at the woman from the bar.

“I’ve paid your bail." she said as she approached. "Here’s your things."

He was silent for a long moment, not sure what to make of her. She was a little older than he had first imagined... she had a slender, athletic figure, and it had thrown him, left him thinking that she was one of the college kids. Seeing her now, he actually put her in her thirties. Her hair was striking... the sort of thing you saw in magazines, but never on a real person. What a woman like her had been doing in a place like that...

"They let civilians handle the checkout of prisoners?" he said, not quite sure what was going on. If she was at the bar, then she would have known what he had done... what he was capable of doing.

"Usually Sam doesn’t allow anyone to take possession of them except the owner but he made an exception for me." she said, indicating the items in her hand. "One of the perks of a small town.”

He lowered his arms, sitting up on the cot. "Well... ." he started, reaching up and running his fingertips through his hair. "Thank you, ma'am."

He rolled to the side, dropping his legs to the floor. "They've already charged me with assault... did the sheriffs just turn me loose, or am I still in custody?"

 

[DarkWarrioress]

His face turned toward her. He sounded like a man resigned. As if, he was use to being in trouble with the law. It made her hesitant and something else she couldn’t quite define in that moment. As he took silent inventory of her person, she felt… conspicuous... standing there in black heels, her sapphire blouse tucked into her form fitting black jeans. A hint of something silver peeking out from under the hem of one jean clad leg.

She was frozen on the spot, even as he sat up, swung his legs to the ground and reached for the manila envelope. Snapping out of it, she took a step closer, letting his hand take it from her. She shoved hers into the back pockets of her jeans once she was free of the envelope.

“I’m afraid you’re still in custody but under the circumstances, Sam said he’d release you into mine. He’ll be contacting the District Attorney’s office in the morning after he checks on the kid that attacked you. No sense in waking Jesse this time of night. So, can I give you a ride someplace? I still have to go back and clean up the bar, but I can drop you off wherever you like. It’s the least I can do.”

He was older than she first thought from the sparse glimpses of him she had caught earlier. He had a firm square jaw. Inwardly she grinned to herself. Could mean he was stubborn. He had massive biceps, which was one of her feminine weaknesses. They gave a girl something to sink her fingers into. He was solidly built but she couldn’t see an inch of fat on him. He could move like silken lightening as she remembered how he handled the guys that came at him. He had the face of a man who had seen things and done things. He was someone who had lived life and that suited her needs. She needed someone who could read people, would not tolerate bullshit and could kick ass when it was necessary. There was hope. Maybe.

 

[craygus13]

"I'm afraid you're still in custody..."

He tilted his head, as he took the envelope and turned it over the hard plastic bunk, spilling it's contents. He reached for his belt first, and stood, starting to pull it through the loops on his suit pants... now far more wrinkled then they had been at his interview.

Finally standing next to the woman that had bailed him out, he realized that she wasn't as tall as he had been imagining her... she just seemed it because of her heels.

"If I'm still in custody, why are they letting you post my bail?" He asked, clasping his belt closed.

"Under the circumstances, Sam said he'd release you into mine."

He tucked his wallet and cellphone back into his pockets as he looked at her, not sure what to think of her. She was a decent enough woman, you could tell that much just by looking at her. Gorgeous, but in a way that made her seem approachable... honest and hardworking. There was more to this than simple altruism, though... he felt like she needed something from him.

"more benefits of small town living, I guess..." he said as he fit his watch back on and refastened the clasp.

"He’ll be contacting the District Attorney’s office in the morning after he checks on the kid that attacked you." She said... her smile a little bit infectious. "No sense in waking Jesse this time of night."

He regarded her for a moment as he slipped the pocket knife the deputy had taken when he had first been arrested back onto his belt. What was she playing at? She was acting like this was no big deal... like she took custody of prisoners all the time...

"So, can I give you a ride someplace? I still have to go back and clean up the bar, but I can drop you off wherever you like. It’s the least I can do.”

He grabbed up his tie, and slipped it into his pocket. "I'm sorry ma'am..." he said, folding his arms. "It's not that I'm not grateful for you posting bail, but this just doesn't make sense. The sheriff is letting you take me, and you're just going to turn me loose?"

Tilted his head, looking across the cell at her, the distant sounds of some drunk shouting in his cell filtering down to them. "You have to know I'm going to leave town the second I get a chance, and you're left in the lurch for the bail. Why would you do that? What are you hoping to get from me?"

He raised an eyebrow, moving his hands down to his pockets. "Who ARE you?"

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Until the moment he actually stood up from the bunk, Darcy hadn’t realized just how close she was to him. She suddenly became aware of him in an awkward, slightly exhilarating, sort of way. His action caused her to take a couple of steps back. Her eyes watched as he began threading his belt through the loops of his slacks.

"If I'm still in custody, why are they letting you post my bail?" He asked, clasping his belt closed.

Her eyes shot up to his face. Um, yeah. How was she going to explain this? Surely he thought she was some sort of crazy woman or worse yet, a stalker who liked strangers.

“There’s a reason for that, actually.”

But before she could elaborate, he chalked it up to small town living. Her eyes slipped from his face to hands again as she watched him pocket his wallet and cellphone, then his tie. His next three questions made her nervous for some odd reason. She hadn’t given a moment’s thought that he’d skip bail. She guessed she was use to small town thinking. That alone made her realize just how different she was now. No longer was she the big city girl where no one trusted anyone and people were barely grateful when someone did something for them. Rumsey, no, the people of Rumsey, had taught her to take chances, open herself up to people and not expect anything in return. Here, everyone knew everyone and they all depended on each other for various things. They were a tight-knit, small community that would fight tooth and nail for each other and their town.

“I’m sure not much of this makes any sense to you, Mr. O’Rourke. “

She glanced at his suit, her own eyebrow lifting slightly as her eyes traveled over his person until they reconnected with his face.

Somewhere else in the jail, there was some drunken shouting. Probably Bill again. He seemed to go on a drinking binge more often these days, ever since he lost his job at the mill. Her gray eyes stared directly into O'Rourke's. Her look was firm and unwavering.

“I’m here to offer you job, if you’re interested, Mr. O’Rourke.”

 

[craygus13]

“I’m here to offer you a job, if you’re interested, Mr. O’Rourke.”

That was the last thing he expected. He looked down the figure of the woman standing in front of him, trying to take stock of her. She was gorgeous, obviously, but she didn't carry her beauty like it earned her anything. If anything, she wore it like a battle scar, like her being stunningly beautiful was something she had had to overcome... something she had moved beyond.

What could she want from him? The answer was fairly clear... she had only seen him do one thing. He had avoided fighting for money for most of his life... he had seen horrible things happen to people that went down that path. People he cared about.

Still, looking at the earnest redhead before him, he couldn't quite see her being the object of his downfall. How could anything this woman asked him to do really be all that bad?

"Tell you what..." he said tentatively, reaching around her and sliding the bars back... a rough approximation of holding the door open for her. "The least I can do is hear you out. Let me just get signed out, and you can tell me what you have in mind on the way to my hotel... is that fair?"

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He was thinking. What he was thinking, she wasn’t altogether sure. Still, she opened her mouth to clarify something and closed it again as he reached around her to slide the barred door open. Darcy turned and exited the cell, speaking as she did so.

“Fair enough.”

She waited for him to sign out then turned in tandem as they headed out of the sheriff’s office. She nodded toward the old beat up truck once they got outside.

“My truck’s over here.”

She led the way, going around the front of the truck to the driver’s door and paused before opening it. She gave him a pointed look that held firm resolve.

“Mr. O’ Rourke, if you’re thinking I want to hire you as some sort of henchman, forget it. I need muscle, true enough but if that’s all I needed, I could hire just any man out of work here in town.”

She nodded toward the passenger door even as she opened her own.

“Get in. We’ll talk.”

Darcy got into the truck, shutting the door firmly. She wasted little motion in inserting the key into the ignition and turning it. The old beast turned over immediately. After snapping the seatbelt into place, she risked another glance in his direction and waited for him to get in and buckle up. Only after he had done so, did she put the truck in gear. They rode in silence for a bit as she gathered her thoughts.

This man could be lethal with his hands. He had shown restraint however. There was a time to be “nice” and a time to be “not so nice”. So far, they had been lucky. There was no reason to be not so nice. She hoped there never was but she had to face facts. The men of Rumsey were getting antsy. Quite a few of them had been out of work for awhile now and there didn’t look like there was any prospect of that changing any time soon, unless the mill rehired shortly. Something didn’t make much sense to her. It wasn’t like they were running out of timber to process or sell. So, why was the mill laying off men now?

 

[craygus13]

The truck she led him to looked like it was driven by a lumberjack. It's suspension was elevated, and someone had welded a custom grill to the front instead of using a factory one. It looked like it had fought other trucks and won. He glanced at her, following along as she headed toward the driver's side. Definitely a Rumsey girl , he thought.

The look she gave him as she reached for the door handle was as straight as they come.

“Mr. O’ Rourke, if you’re thinking I want to hire you as some sort of henchman, forget it. I need muscle, true enough but if that’s all I needed, I could hire just any man out of work here in town.”

He raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze. She was definitely right about that... there was a surplus of thugs in town. If tonight was any indication, she must be getting tired of having her place torn apart by them all...

He turned his head.

Oh.

"You're... looking for someone to ride heard in there." he said tentatively. It hadn't occurred to him. She didn't want him to fight, not exactly. She wanted a bouncer... someone to shut the fights down.

She nodded at the passenger door as she climbed into the cab.

“Get in. We’ll talk.”

He watched her for a second. This was... something that hadn't occurred to him before. He climbed into her car, pulling out the seat belt and clicking it slowly. He looked up at her as she pulled out into the street. He was closer to her now. She was a little older than he had though back in his cell. As beautiful as she was, it wasn't a youthful beauty... there were soft lines around her eyes and mouth. She was tough, but had been dealing with a lot of stress.

"It might not look to good to the DA if I'm arrested again the very next night in a fight in the same bar..." he said softly, turning to look ahead as they drove down the dark small-town road.

"What should I be calling you, Ma'am?"

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She winced when she heard that Ma’am of his. It was just a matter of manners, she knew. Still, she hated hearing it in relation to herself. Heaven only knew how many times she had done the same thing to someone else. Her lips quirked at the corners and she cast him a quick amused look.

“For starters, you can call me Darcy and I assume you have a first name, Mr. O’Rourke.”

She turned her head to look out the windshield again. Her head bobbed slightly a few times in acknowledgement.

“That’s about the gist of it. I need someone to ride herd on the crowd. The natives are growing restless in these parts but I’m sure you realized that. I need someone who can be genteel with the ladies, yet firm. Someone the male customers will come to respect and if that means taking a firmer hand, then doing so with discretion. Make them take it outside. People come to my bar to have a good time. In bar fighting is not good for business.”

She stopped the truck outside of a motel.

“I’m just guessing this is where you’re staying. There’s not too many places around here. Listen, Mr. O’Rourke, take me up on my offer and I can offer you a couple of places to stay. It won’t cost you a thing. One of those places comes with meals, if you want them. I’ve watched you. You’re quick and you’re good with your hands. I’m willing to bet there’s some fighting experience someplace in your background. Name your wages and we’ll talk. I don’t expect you to come cheap. I can pay. So what do you say?”