Bloody Murder

Excerpt

I started the day with the hopes of meeting someone, but that shit didn’t happen. Two hours into the bar -- nothing. I called it a night. I headed to the front of the bar where someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Hey, big man, how are you?”

“I’m doing well.”

“Name’s Terry. I saw you about to leave. Let’s have a drink.”

“Nah, man, I don’t think I’ll be good company right now.”

“I got you,” Terry said as he rubbed the side of my face, coaxing me into submission.

I chatted him up for a few and then went up to the bar for drinks. Standing there, I remembered my mother saying, “If you’re really interested in a person, watch their back. Pay close attention to how they act when they don’t think anyone is watching. It’s the only position where they’re honest and real.”

Terry seemed authentic and I wanted to get drunk. After three Grey Goose and pomegranate juices, I had to hit the head. I pretended to be Naomi Campbell in six-inch Jimmy Choo heels as I flawlessly sashayed to the little boy’s room; I didn’t want Terry to know I was tipsy.

The bathroom at the Hangar is a renowned creepy man-hole. There are three urinals and one enclosed toilet, which has everything from disgusting flies to turds to urine sprays encrusting the dirty white piss-hole.

The toilet is the nastiest, but it’s the safest place to tend to your business. Otherwise you have to use one of the urinals and watch old men stand there, not pissing, but tugging at their cocks and watching each other.

I’d rather die.

Leaving the bathroom without being accosted, I saw Terry at our little table with some tall sexy Latino in my chair. That bitch was fierce -- he was just gonna bump up to my table and steal my man? And in my chair ... Oh, no, ma’am, I thought.

I must’ve looked like a buffalo charging through the crowd with not a second to waste -- I needed to get to my man before he ran off with this hunky Latin tool.

“Terry,” I said, trying to disguise the fact I lost my breath. “Who this?” I realized I sounded like that actress Rae Dawn Chong from The Color Purple. “Who this bitch be?”

I regrouped, pulling my T-shirt as far below my belly as I could without anyone noticing. “I’m sorry, doll, that’s my seat.”

“It’s all good, Charles, right?” Terry said.

The handsome stranger extended his lovely paw. Men are dogs.

“Yes, charmed,” I said without being catty.

Terry introduced us. “This is my best friend, Russell.”

“Oh, hi, best friend, do we need another round of drinks?”

“If you’re buying, faggot, I’m in.” Russell laughed.

“Yea, sure, what would you like?” I asked.

“Beer.”

I headed to the crowded bar. As I was leaving, I overheard Terry ask Russell, “Did you drive the van?”

“Damn straight.”