A Wolf at the Door

“That was nice of you,” I pointed out to Gretchen after the second time. “You could have told them to piss off.”

Gretchen shrugged her bared shoulders. “Those girls will tell everyone they know how cool I am. It’s good press.”

“Do you ever do anything that isn’t directly beneficial to you?”

“No.” And there were no regrets there, that much was obvious.

The hours dragged on slower, the later it got, and my body was adamantly reminding me that it was still on Missouri time. I folded my arms across the back of my chair and rested my chin there, just watching the swirl of colors around the enormous room. It was almost hypnotizing, a big swirling riot of noise and shiny.

A hiccup in the general movement of the place caught my attention, and when I brought my eyes back into focus, I spotted our server across the room, at another table. Now, why did that stand out? Something in the way she stood just didn’t flow.

I’d talked to her as the night went on. Her name was Traci-with-an-i, she was a college student, and wanted to be an actress. Her hair was dark and curly, just like Mira’s, and she reminded me a lot of my wife in younger years.

Now, I couldn’t see her face, but there was something to the set of her shoulders that bespoke tension, and when her serving tray clattered to the floor, I was already on my feet.

“Jesse?” I ignored Tai’s question and started working my way around the dance floor.

From the changed angle, I could see the man at the other table, just your typical nondescript douche bag if I had to guess. His dark hair was slicked back against his head, and his suit probably cost more than my mortgage payment. His mustache looked like something had died on his upper lip. One hand was clamped around Traci’s wrist, and I was pretty sure the hand I couldn’t see was planted firmly on the girl’s behind. She was obviously not happy about the situation, trying in vain to free herself without causing a scene.

“Hey, Traci?” Arriving at the table, I butted in like I had any right to. “Gretchen was wanting another drink, do you think you could…?”

The guy let her go when I approached, and she gave me a grateful look, gathering up her tray quickly. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” She vanished into the crowd.

Then I turned my gaze on Douche Bag, simply staring until he finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere. He raised a challenging brow at me. “What?”

“Do you have children?” I could see him blink, his mind trying to process a question he’d never expected.

“Do I what?”

“Do you have children? Y’know, kids? Offspring?” He was alone, I thought. There didn’t seem to be any menacing figures lurking in the background, waiting to jump to his defense. Alone and out trolling for a little piece of tail.

“Yeah, I do actually. And what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you teach them about the Golden Rule?” I could tell this was getting nowhere fast. Not a rocket scientist, our Douche Bag. “Did you teach them to treat people the way they want to be treated?”

“What the f—” He bit off his words when I leaned down right in his face. I wanted to make sure he heard what I had to say.

“And—following the Golden Rule—since you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, I assume that you also want some random stranger slapping their hands onto intimate parts of you?”

Ah, now he was following where I was going. His lip curled up in a snarl. “Do you know who I am?”

“Nope. Now ask me if I care.” I smiled. It’s a smile I practice, sometimes. It says “You’re about seven seconds away from learning about the afterlife.” “Don’t touch her again. Clear?”

I knew it was coming. I’d deliberately provoked it, after all. A guy like this, he couldn’t let some other dude come slap him down like a bad puppy. It’s hard on the reputation and even harder on the ego.

“Listen, asshole…” He raised both hands to shove me out of his face and I caught one before it could even touch me. With a small twist, his wrist was facing the wrong way, his fingertips touching the inside of his forearm, and whatever else he was going to say was lost in the surprised cry of pain. I held him there like that, pinned to his chair by a light grip on one hand. A bit more pressure, and I could snap it. I didn’t.

“You’re leaving now. I’ll cover your tab. Have a good night.” There were bouncers moving in on my flanks. I could see them from the corners of my vision. When they didn’t immediately jump in to break it up, I decided they were at least nominally on my side.

Douche Bag’s face was pale under his fake tan, sweat beading on his forehead as he debated his options, but finally he nodded his acquiescence. I released the hold on his arm and he rubbed his sore wrist as he fled, glaring at me every step of the way.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Traci appeared at my elbow, wiping the table down quickly.

“Somebody did.” I passed her Axel’s credit card. “Pay his tab. Add a good tip onto this for yourself, too.” Funny how easy money was to spend when it wasn’t mine.