Jen

I walked towards the desk on the second floor of the Port Azrael Library. It housed the tiny section devoted to local history. Everything about Port Azrael was small after Austin. But here I was: this assignment gave me a reason to be in Port Az.

“Jenny Guffy. I’m here to see, uh, Inez Duran?”

“You came to the right desk.” Inez Duran was as round as she was tall. She had iron streaks in her jet-black hair. She peered gruffly over the top of her reading glasses at me.

There were fine crinkles at the corners of her eyes and she probably once had dimples, but they’d deepened to become just a few more lines on her face.

She scowled at me impatiently. I stiffened my spine. If I couldn’t handle the town historian, how was I going to do the rest of this?

“Inez. I’m from the Department of Public Safety, Records Division. They should have emailed ahead about me?”

“Yes. I think I remember something. You’ve got a grant or something or other?”

“Yes, the Texas Department of Public Safety secured a grant for historical preservation.”

“Just what is your work again? And how’s it going to interfere with my work?” She lifted one corner of her mouth and then settled her expression into one of pursed disapproval.

“All I need you to do is direct me to your local history section. My job grant covers one month of work and it isn’t disruptive at all. I promise.”

“The records we have here on local history are a real mishmash. Just so you know.”

“That’s to be expected. I just need to be where you keep original documents. I’m going to digitize it all. Well, as much as I can. That’s what the grant is for.”

“I don’t have much room. How much equipment is this going to be?”

“Ah, I need one desk, a power supply, and well, an occasional chair would be nice.”

Inez stood up and directed a Hrmph! at me.

She led me through a few rows of stacks and then past a half a dozen cabinets.

“You can take this corner here.”

“Ah, window even, very nice.” I didn’t want Inez to be put out or inconvenienced, but in the end, I didn’t really care. I had a job to do. I was there to copy old documents into the digital record. No one had to know why I’d pushed to be the one to do one of the most boring jobs possible for someone with a criminal justice degree.

“Yeah, it’s quite fancy.”

“Now that I know where to set up, I’m just going to go down to my car and get my equipment.”

“When you get back I’ll show you all we have about the storied history of Port Azrael.” Inez gestured like Vanna White. Sarcasm was her game. I liked that about her.

“Great.” I checked for the power outlet. Everything looked to be in order; I could make this work.

Port Azrael, I was finally here. I’d heard about it many times from my Grandmother.

She hated the place. She hated what it stood for, and she hated who lived in the town.

The Dark Saints.

The Dark Saints had taken away her son, my father, with a bullet during a bank robbery.

The trajectory of that bullet, ten years ago, had shaped my life. And here I was in the town where my father had died. I knew I had deep roots here and doing this project would help me uncover them. Well, I hoped.

My entire life, since the moment my Dad died, I had wanted to be what he was. I wanted to be a Texas Ranger. And I wanted to put Dark Saints behind bars any way I could.

Grandma taught me to hate them. And I’d learned the lesson well.

“Your Daddy paid the ultimate price and they’re still in charge of that town.” Grandma had raised me after Daddy died. Mother was on every anti-depressant known to man. Getting through each day was a victory for her. My Grandma though… the idea that the Dark Saints weren't disbanded after Daddy’s death? That made her bitter.

My hate-fueled Grandma and she’d passed it down to me: “When you’re a Ranger you can bring them down. One by one if you have to.”

People don’t just walk in and file an application to be a Ranger. There was a long process and I was just at the start.

You needed eight years of law enforcement work for the State of Texas.

I was fresh out of school and the academy. I was itching to work in the field. I wanted to prove I was Ranger material.

Unfortunately, I was the only one who thought that. My first three months as an employee of the Department of Public Safety involved answering phones, getting lunches, and sitting at one person’s desk while they got lunch. It was the farthest thing from exciting as a career could get.

Then I saw it: the posting for a temporary assignment in Por Azrael. No one wanted it. It was almost as boring what I was doing at the Department. The job was to sit in a library for a month.

It wasn’t hard to convince my bosses that I was the right person for the job.

Little did they know, it was my first step in helping to get my Grandma’s longed-for revenge against The Dark Saints of Port Azrael.

So, I had a legitimate reason to be in Port Azrael beyond my other agenda. I didn’t know how I was going to do it though – find dirt on The Dark Saints. But I would. At least I was in the right place.

I unloaded my gear in the corner Inez had assigned to my project.

She explained that she’d answer any questions I had, but she wasn’t going to lift anything. Her back, she said.

“Here’s a key. I don’t stay after 4 p.m. That’s my agreement with the library. If you want to stay late, it’s up to you. Just lock it up tight.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You can call me Inez. Ma’am seems old. I mean I am old. But Inez.”

“Thank you, Inez.”

It had been ten years since my Daddy had died in the line of duty. He was a hero. He’d stopped the bad guys but took a bullet in the process.

I didn’t know exactly how a person should go about bringing down The Dark Saints, but I would figure it out.

I was a quick learner.

Woody’s Lounge, across the street, would be my first stop. I had been told that was where a lot of Saints hung out. I’d play the unaware newcomer to town and wander into their lair.

From there I’d take it one Saint at a time.

* * *

Woody’s Lounge was a dive bar. The word on the sign barely covered up the fact that it used to be Tom’s Lounge; ‘Woody’s’ was simply painted over the faded ‘Tom’s.' Everything about the outside made you want to walk on by. Which was probably a smart move for most and probably why The Dark Saints liked it.

There was a sports bar in Port Azrael and a new micro brew had opened in the last few weeks. I may have checked those out if I was here for fun or as a tourist. But I was not. The Dark Saints didn’t do sports bars.

I thought about trying to look like a tough biker chick. I thought maybe that would be how I could get close to The Dark Saints. But I was there to work at the library. Biker chicks didn’t work at the library. So I’d chosen the exact opposite plan. I was going to look as innocent as possible.

I was a damsel in distress, a vulnerable librarian. Hopefully that would catch the right eyes.

It was also hot as hell season in Texas. I had no idea if biker chicks wore leather all the time, but I imagined that would be about as uncomfortable as wearing a snow suit. I was glad I’d abandoned that idea pretty quickly when I saw how out of place I’d have looked, pretending to be something I clearly wasn’t.

I was too young to act like I was some grizzled old cop. I knew that. So, I was going to have to go with dumb. I could play dumb. I was confident enough to be totally fine with underestimation. I’d need to use it.

Even though it was the middle of the day, Woody’s Lounge wasn’t empty. There were people milling around. Getting a drink in the middle of the day was a foreign concept to me. But there they were.

I looked around. There were pool tables, with a haze of cigarette smoke hanging over each one. I choked back my revulsion. I hated smoke.

I pep-talked myself a bit, went up to a barstool and planted myself on it. I was supposed to be there. I could handle myself. But I did feel ridiculous, like an imposter in my own life.

“Can I get a sweet tea with lemon?”

The man behind the bar game raised his eyebrows.

“Living on the edge eh?” he said. I supposed I should have ordered liquor. I had a lot to learn about all of this. But tea for a librarian? That worked, dammit. Fake it until you make it was going to have to be the plan.

“Yes, I guess so,” I said.

“I’m out of lemon.” The bartender was looking at me through squinted eyes. I ignored the not so subtle cue to get out of his place. He was skinny and grizzled looking. Like he’d been here for decades. Maybe he had.

“Okay, but you have to have tea right? Everyone has tea.”

“I don’t have to, but I do.” The bartender softened.

He’d taken a page out of Inez’s playbook and tried to run me off with a gruff exterior. But my Grandma invented gruff. A scowl wasn’t enough to get rid of me. My Grandma could scowl with the best of them.

I sat on a corner stool at one end of the bar and stirred a packet of sugar into my tea.

“You know, there’s a nicer place, closer to the water,” the bartender said.

“Oh, it’s my first time here in Port Azrael. I’m going to be working across the street at the library for a while. This seemed perfect.”

“You’re a little too pretty to hang out here.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re a little too little to do anything about it.” I gave him a wink.

“Sassy thing. I’m Woodrow. If you need anything else, just give me a holler. I may be skinny, but I’m ornery. Just like you, it appears.”

“I think we just became best friends, Woodrow.”

He nodded and walked down to the other end of the bar to handle a customer who was shaking an empty tumbler.

Maybe it was too early. Maybe The Dark Saints only came out at night. Maybe this plan to meet one was as ridiculous as it was feeling right about then. I didn’t doubt my secret mission, but my methods were as untested as possible. A criminal justice degree and the police academy were good training. But they weren’t real world training. Answering phones at the office also had not prepared me for a damn thing.

I said a prayer under my breath, “Daddy, can you help me out here? Am I in the right place?”

Almost as if Daddy had heard me, or I summoned something to appear, the doorway became dark.

The light that had been streaming in was now blotted out. The dark frame of a giant set of shoulders filled the space.

The sun behind the windows made it impossible to make out a face, but the rest was undeniable.

A beast of a man, in worn out leather, and worse off boots, took three big strides forward. For a moment he looked like was headed straight for me.

As he got closer I could see rough hands, a massive chest, and a beard that made him look part grizzly bear, part professional wrestler, but in the end, clearly, all biker.

When he moved, the air seemed to get out of his way. In its place, electricity crackled. I wasn’t one to ogle the opposite sex, but I realized I was staring at him. I had zero chill, from the second his frame filled the doorway. I was sure he was headed for me. I was the only one in a skirt in the place.

I got a whiff of leather and fresh air from him. They were good smells, real smells. It wasn’t the oppressive body spray that choked you at every college or sports bar in the state.

Behind him was another man, dressed similarly. One, two, Dark Saints at the door?

“Woodrow, set us up,” the first man growled at the bartender and Woodrow got to work pouring three shots of Whiskey.

The men were not headed straight for me after all; they were headed straight for a booth just past me.