Standing outside ‘Durangos,’ Melissa hesitates, something she’s not accustomed to doing. But it seems as if today is going to be the first for a lot of things. She looks down at herself, feeling cold and uncomfortable in Ali’s leather get-up. Neither of them had much of an idea of how women actually dress in MC clubs, so she can only hope that they haven’t gone a little overboard.
When they’d pulled up outside, Ali had tried one more time to persuade her not to go inside. “It looks a little sketchy.” She’d wrinkled her nose at the blacked-out windows and the line of motorcycles outside.
“That’s kind of the point, Ali.” She smiled reassuringly at her friend and stepped out of the car, looking more confident than she felt.
“I’ll pick you up when you’re done being Lois Lane.” Ali virtually shouts out the window and Melissa waves her away hoping that her friend hasn’t just blown her cover, but there’s no-one around to hear.
Suck it up, Potter. It’s show time.
She shakes off the last vestiges of nerves and feels the adrenaline pumping through her veins. It’s a feeling familiar from the karate championships she’s used to competing in. She takes a deep breath and walks through the door of the bar.
Almost instantly she’s struck by the smell of pot and it catches her off guard. Melissa had only smoked a couple of tokes in college but the smell was pretty difficult to forget. She blinks as her eyes become accustomed to the low-level lighting in the bar and sweeps the room quickly, taking in as many details as she can, memorizing them to write about later. Aside from the pot, it looks like your regular run-of-the-mill hangout, the only difference being that the clientele of this place definitely wears a whole lot more leather than she’s used to seeing.
Melissa strides confidently towards the bar and hops up on a stool, trying to ignore the fact that the place has definitely gone quiet as she’s walked in. A cursory throwaway glance tells her that a good number of the men gathered around the tables are staring at her and not all of them in a friendly way. She takes in a group of guys shooting pool and can’t help but stare at one in particular as he lines up his shot. With his snug t-shirt and perfectly fitting jeans, it’s hard not to look at him. But he’s taking no notice of her.
She leans forward a little over the bar, trying to get the attention of the grizzled bartender who’s doing his best to ignore her. He finishes up his conversation with one of the bikers at the end of the bar and they surreptitiously exchange something between them. It happens so fast Melissa almost wonders if she’s imagining it. But the cagey look that the biker gives her when he realizes she’s watching them is enough to tell her that she wasn’t making it up.
The bartender, however, seems completely unworried and unhurried. He makes his way over towards her in his own sweet time, looking at her with a completely unimpressed expression plastered across his face.
Melissa swallows the sudden nervousness she feels under his glare. “Can I get a beer please?”
The bartender huffs out a sigh as if to say that she’s wasting his time and Melissa sits up a little straighter wondering if she’s somehow managed to blow her own cover. She’s aware that she probably sticks out like a sore thumb in this place, but she’d figured that she wouldn’t get made quite so quickly. She’s only said one sentence!
“I haven’t seen you around here before.” The bartender crosses his hands over his chest, looking her over. “You with the Kings?”
Melissa sweeps an auburn strand of hair out of her face, stalling for time. “I’m not with anyone.” She throws him a sly smile and hopes that she looks sassier than she’s feeling. The bartender keeps looking at her, nonplussed and she feels herself getting frustrated. “So can I get a beer?” She locks eyes with him, wondering why he’s making it so difficult to order a damn drink.
She’d been trying to keep a low profile and this protracted conversation with the bartender wasn’t helping her any. Then it occurs to her – she looks young, even DeVry had said so. She was used to being ID’d in bars. Hell, she is only twenty-two. She’d let herself get carried away, wondering why the bartender was giving her a hard time when the answer couldn’t have been more obvious. “Look, I can show you my license if you need to check I’m over twenty-one.” She reaches for her bag but the bartender waves her away.
“That’s all right, doll. This isn’t that kind of place.” He shoots her a sly grin and grabs her beer, flicking the cap off with practiced ease.
Melissa decides against asking exactly what kind of place ‘Durangos’ is, instead opting to take a swig of her beer for some Dutch courage. Between the dealing of whatever that was that she’d witnessed and the bar’s lax over 21s policy, it wasn’t hard to see why it was a popular hangout for the Kings. Anywhere willing to look the other way to the club’s illegal dealings would inevitably do good business with the bikers.
The bartender is still assessing her when she puts her bottle back down. Bartenders and priests, they know where all the bodies are buried. It was something one of her journalism professors had said and it came back to her now. They see everything. People confide in them, drunk or sober. She figures it might be time to test that theory.
“You mentioned the Kings.” Melissa watches as his eyebrows rise, but he keeps looking at her with that amused expression like he knows something that she doesn’t. “So are there any of them around tonight?” She asks the question lazily, as if it’s just idle chit-chat.
But the bartender doesn’t seem to be fooled. He smiles at her knowingly, but there’s a little concern in his eyes. “Aren’t you a little young for this?”
Melissa prickles at his words, wondering if he would ask the same question of a guy. “Young for what? Having a beer on a Friday night?”
The bartender shrugs as if to say that’s not what he meant, but he doesn’t expand, brushing over whatever his point had been. “There are a few Kings here tonight. Anyone in particular you’re looking for, doll?” He leans back, crossing his arms again, looking like he has all the time in the world, but Melissa sees the way his eyes flick around the bar like he’s keeping an eye out for what’s going on, any possible trouble. There’s no way this guy is just an employee. The way he’s monitoring all the goings on and his proprietorial air tells her that he’s the owner.
“Matt, when you’re done yacking, can you get me four beers and two Jacks, straight up for the boys?” A petite woman with a bad blonde dye job appears at Melissa’s corner, making her jump as she throws a tray down in front of the bartender.
“Now, Felicia, is that any way to talk to your boss?” He jokes with her good-naturedly and just chuckles as she scowls at him.
Once she’s satisfied that Matt is fulfilling her demands, she turns her attention to Melissa, looking her over and clearly not liking what she sees. Melissa returns her stare, refusing to be cowed by this diminutive fake blonde. She’s a few years older than Melissa with a killer body that her tight jeans and cut off top highlight. She’s pretty, but there’s something in her eyes that makes her look sad, like she’s seen too much of the world and none of it good.
“You done staring?” Felicia gives her a no-nonsense look and Melissa realizes that this tough girl act must work on most people, but she’s not fooled.
Melissa just shrugs. “That depends, are you?”
Felicia’s mouth quirks up, like she’s fighting a smile at Melissa’s feistiness. She takes a look over Melissa’s shoulder and seems about to say something, give her some kind of a warning, but Matt interrupts her.
“Drinks are up.” He slams them down heavily on the tray and Melissa is amazed to see that he hasn’t spilled even a drop.
Felicia spares a look at Melissa and the words come out of her mouth forced, as if she’s doing a good turn even though she doesn’t want to. “You want to watch yourself with some of these guys.” She speaks quietly, telling Melissa a secret.
Melissa stifles her instinct to smile gratefully at the blonde, reminding herself that she’s here to play a role, not to be herself. She needs to come across as confident in these kinds of surroundings, like she’s used to hanging out in biker bars. So she laughs off Felicia’s advice. “You’re sweet, but I can take care of myself.” She takes another swig of beer as she wonders how many times she’s had to say that phrase today.