The Veterans Association was situated in an abandoned business district in the middle of town. . Old muscles cars stood in the front of the building in a nice and neat line. I couldn't keep the image of gross old men driving around out of my head. A cheap big sign that said: VA was plastered above the door.
I parked my dingy Honda Civic and checked myself in the rear-view mirror. You can do this, Veronica. These guys are no different than anyone else. I darkened my makeup and let my hair down from a ponytail. I inhaled deeply and got out.
A guy in a leather jacket was bent over working under the hood of his truck. His red hair and beard stood out. He must have been a volunteer or something.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The guy didn't pay any attention to me.
My ankles were shaking. I wanted to run away. I hardened my lips and stood my ground. “Excuse me,” I said louder.
The man turned around and his eyes gazed up and down my body. Maybe wearing a low-cut top was a bad choice. He wiped his hands with an oily rag. “What can I help you with?”
I pulled out the paper that I got from Mr. Capshaw. “I'm looking for John.”
“And what business do you have with him?”
I gulped. This guy was big and strong. His muscles were bigger than my waist—he could probably squeeze my neck until my head popped off. He ate girls like me for breakfast. “Well, I'm doing an anthropology paper and I was assigned this club.”
The man cocked his head. He probably didn't even know what anthropology was.
I steeled myself. “I need to speak with John, please.”
He smiled at me. “No need to get your panties all bunched up. Follow me.”
We walked into a grand hall that was floor-to-ceiling wood. Pool tables stood in one corner and a large bar dominated a whole half of the room. “Holy Diver” by Dio played on an outdated boombox behind the bar. What was this place? Guys in leather jackets sat on couches while others hunched over the bar. A few scantily-clad girls walked around wearing the shortest skirts and tightest tops. How could they go out in public wearing that?
“Hey Bryce, go get me John.”
A young-looking kid with a hint of facial hair nodded and went into the back room.
I stood at the front and waited, not knowing if I should go further in.
The kid came back and an older man followed him out. Gray hairs covered his beard and was peppered throughout his hair. His leather jacket had a all sorts of Army patches on it. He wasn't as gross as I imagined.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, rubbing his scruff.
“I'm Veronica from the anthropology class. My teacher told me to come and observe you guys.”
John's face lit up. “So you're the one Mr. Capshaw sent! He's been begging me to join this program for years. I finally caved in when he gave us free tickets to the Dodgers game.” He grasped my hand and shook it. “I'm John, it's nice to meet you.”
I smiled back. I couldn't believe Mr. Capshaw had to bribe them.
“So what are you going to be doing here?” John asked.
“Well I need to observe you guys and do some interviews—see what makes this club tick.”
“Make yourself at home, Veronica.” John glanced at the bar. “Hey Hudson, get this lady a drink.”
I put my hand up. “No, I'm fine.”
“Veronica, if you want to know how this club works then you need to know what fuels it.”
Hudson was in his mid-thirty's with a bald head and handle-bar mustache that looked way too silly. I wanted to giggle but his eyes told me that would be a bad idea. He handed me a small glass that was filled halfway and handed another glass to John. Hudson glanced down at my cleavage and I felt a little uncomfortable.
“Cheers,” John said, clinking his glass against mine.
I hesitantly downed the liquid that instantly burned my throat. I'd only had alcohol at a few parties before so I was no expert, but my best guess was that it was whiskey.
“Make sure to keep it flowing,” John told Hudson.
Hudson grunted.
“Is there somewhere I can sit?” I asked, looking around the room.
“You can set up shop over there,” he replied, pointing to a picnic table.
“Thanks.” I stood up and the whiskey hit my knees. They buckled and I went crashing to the ground. John gripped my arm in a flash and pulled me back up.
“Maybe she should take it easy,” he told Hudson.
Hudson grunted again. He didn't say much.
I flushed with embarrassment. How could only one drink get me so tipsy? I walked over to the table, making sure to steady myself. My head was fuzzy but I felt amazing.
“Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the back room,” John said.
I nodded and sat down at the table. Everyone in the room was looking right at me, watching my every move. This place was so intimidating. I cursed Mr. Capshaw under my breath. This had to be punishment for being late.
“Everyone! This is Veronica. She's doing a paper on us for college and she's going to be hanging around for the next couple days. Make sure she's welcome here.”
I flushed crimson and gave a little wave, sinking further down below the table.
What was I supposed to do next? I didn't want to interview anyone yet. I took out my notepad and began recording what had happened so far. My notes were pretty sparse. There wasn't really much to report. At least this was more interesting than the Anime Club.
I glanced around the room, focusing on the small details. Everyone seemed at ease—not a care in the world. Did anyone have a job? Did they just hang out here all day and drink?
The front door opened and in came another member. My heart skipped a beat. This one was different: young, brown hair down to his shoulders, a little scruff under the chin, and a long scar over his right eyebrow. He wore the same clothes as the other members: a wife-beater, leather jacket, and blue jeans; he made them work to his advantage.
This guy was hot as hell. And not at all like I expected. I looked around the room and laughed to myself. John was the only old guy here. These weren't veterans of World War II. They were just veterans.
“Did I make it in time, guys?” he said with his arms outstretched in a v-shape.
“What took you so long?” the guy who helped me outside asked him.
“Well Wyatt, you know how it is when the cops are chasing you.” They clasped hands and flexed their forearms. They could be barbarians if we lived in a different time.
“Damn Gunner, you escaped them again?” Wyatt asked.
Gunner nodded.
“One of these days they're going to get you.”
“Not in this lifetime.” They both heartily laughed and slapped each other on the back.
Gunner sat at the bar. “How's it going, Hudson? Get me a drink.”
Hudson pulled out the same bottle of whiskey and poured him a shot. Gunner knocked it back and slammed the glass upside down on the bar.
Gunner threw a glance at me with his dark blue eyes, piercing my soul. My heart stopped and the blood in my veins froze. He was walking towards me!