Page 62 of Rough

Wearing my wife beater, jeans, and boots, there shouldn’t be a problem getting in. I glanced in my rearview mirror, straightened my helmet-hair, and then walked to the front door.

The doorman looked me over and then pushed the front door open. “Have a good time.”

I stepped past him, and inside the bar.

Loud music blasted from stage mounted speakers. As a D.J. shouted into a microphone, a fog machine sprayed smoke out over the screaming crowd. The center of the bar was filled with men and women who danced as multi-colored lights flickered to the beat of the music.

I walked to the bar, ordered a beer, and glanced around. After five minutes, I’d spotted four men who could have been Brian. I made my way through the crowd, checking each man for a scar.

The third one had one.

Over his left eye.

He stood with another man, trying to talk over the loud music. He was a few inches shorter than me, and built like a professional bodybuilder. As I sized him up, he met my gaze.

He looked me up and down, and then grinned. I nodded and smiled in return. His grin transformed into a smile. He patted the man he was talking to on the shoulder, and then stepped around him.

“I’m Brian,” he said with a smile.

At least he’d eliminated all doubt.

“Bradley,” I said with a nod.

He studied the tattoos on my arms for a moment, and then looked up. “So--”

I narrowed my eyes and pointed to my ear. “I can barely think in here. Can we go…” I motioned toward the door. “Can we go outside?”

“Sure.”

I turned toward the door. “Come on.”

He followed me outside, and onto the side walk. Luckily, there were several people waiting to get in.

“Maybe we should go over there,” I said, pointing to the parking lot.

Before he could respond, I started walking around the corner of the building toward the car-filled lot.

I stepped between two parked cars, looked at him, and smiled.

“Bradley, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “And you were?”

“Brian. It’s loud in there, isn’t it?”

I glanced at my boots, paused, and then looked up. “Are you the Brian who used to see Marcus?”

He let out a sigh. “Marcus. Marcus has a big mouth. You know Marcus?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I just wondered if you--”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. But--”

I punched him in the teeth as hard as I could. As he stumbled, I glanced over each shoulder. After seeing no one, I got him in a headlock and pulled him down to the ground.

Out of view from passing cars, and hidden from the bar’s patrons, I felt comfortable I could do what need to be done.

As I squeezed his neck between my left arm and bicep, I punched him in the face repeatedly until he went limp. I released my grasp. He fell into a pile at my feet. While he laid motionless, I removed his wallet and took out his driver’s license.