Friday Fiction: Murder in a Bar (Scene 2)
Written by:
Written by: Courtney Reese
Friday, April 9, 2010
For those of you who don’t know, Friday Fiction is a serialized story that we do here at Critique_This_WIP every Friday. This week, it’s my turn to add to the scene that Margaret posted last week. If you didn’t read the first installment of Friday Fiction, you may do so here.
This week, we are incorporating the two Blogfests that are going on into our story. Thank you Anne Riley for hosting the Murder Scene Blogfest, and Tara Fouts, for hosting the Bar Scene Blogfest.
And now, without further ado, here is the second installment of Friday Fiction.
Why the hell would a woman, traveling alone, pick up a hitchhiker? Didn’t she watch TV? Was she crazy? Should Shane be the one worried about his safety?
The woman, Erica, had picked him up along Highway 40, not ten minutes ago, but had yet to relax her white-knuckled-grip from the steering wheel. She was nervous, that was the only excuse. She’d opened up enough to tell him her name, her dog’s name, and that she was headed east. After that, Erica had concentrated on the road ahead of them as if it was the crowded streets of New York City, rather than an empty Arizona highway.
Ragsie, on the other hand, had taken to him with all the affection that a young mutt could muster. He’d immediately jumped up on Shane’s lap and licked his face in an excitement that bordered on hysteria. The dog hadn’t relinquished his new post for all the coaxing in the world.
“Have you had dinner, yet?” Shane asked, crossing his fingers that he could get her loosen up over a decent meal and a few beers. The silent tension in the car was driving him crazy.
“Uh, no. I’ve got some munchies in the back, if you’re hungry,” Erica replied, not looking away from the road as she gestured to the rear of the RV.
“How ‘bout I buy us dinner at the next town? Fill up the RV with a full tank of gas; it’s the least I can do for picking me up. That was awfully nice of you.”
And stupid.
“Uh, well, I am low on gas, but you don’t have to pay for the ride—”
“I insist. Come on, the next town is coming up,” he interrupted. She’d looked like she was going to resist, but there was no way he was going to sit in this RV for another five minutes with a woman who was scared shitless at the sight of him. If dinner and a few drinks didn’t loosen her up, he’d fill her tank and send her on her way.
Fifteen minutes later, Erica and Shane walked through the door of the Rusty Nail Saloon, the only place in the small town that served a hot meal. Deep down, Erica was relieved. She’d been on edge ever since she’d picked up Shane on the side of the road. No, it had been longer than that; ever since she’d picked up and left a good job with benefits to travel the country in a brand new RV, with a brand new dog. Yep. Erica had been on edge for approximately one week.
“Tequila. No lime,” she said to the bartender.
“I’ll have the same,” Shane said from her side. “Nothing like a good drink after a long day on the road.”
Erica ignored him, much like she had since she’d picked him up. It wasn’t that she was trying to be rude—she wasn’t a bitch by nature—but she’d just picked up a hitchhiker, damn it. A hitchhiker with long, blonde hair; her mother would be rolling in her grave.
The man could be a serial killer, like that guy from The Poughkeepsie Tapes. Oh God, what was she doing? Was this her idea of a midlife crisis? At thirty?
When the bartender slid their drinks across the counter, Erica downed hers in one gulp, slamming it down on the counter and signaling for another.
“Bottoms up,” Shane muttered from beside her. A moment later his glass sat empty beside hers. “Hard day, I take it?”
“Hard week.”
“Amen to that.”
The bartender handed them two full glasses and, just like she had before, Erica downed hers in one gulp. The tequila burned all the way down but left her with a relaxing buzz.
“Aah,” she sighed. “That’s better. Can I get another, please?”
“Slow down; you’re chugging that on an empty stomach,” Shane warned, as he leaned back, and followed her lead.
“You’re on an empty stomach,” she bit out on a hiccup. “You think just because you’re bigger than me, you can drink more? Well that’s just not fair mister, and I like fair.”
Had she really just said that? Maybe he was right; she needed to eat something.
“What’s on the menu?” Shane asked before she could find the proper words.
“My wife makes a mean roast beef sandwich. That’d be my suggestion, but we’ve got some chicken tenders and fries she can throw in the fryer, or I could get ‘er to make you up a couple of burgers,” the bartender said.
“I’ll take the burger. Thank your wife for me, will you?” Shane said.
“Can I get the roast beef sandwich? Oh—can I get fries with it? And pickles! I like pickles.”
“Sure thing, Ma’am,” the bartender replied. Then, to Shane, “You’re friend gonna be alright?”
“Once we get some food in her. But let’s hide the tequila, just in case,” Shane said with a grin.
“I don’t pick up hitchhikers,” Erica blurted, as the bartender slipped out of the main room. “I mean…I didn’t. Until now. You’re my first. I mean, not my first…but my first hitchhiker. Not that we’ll be…because we won’t. I just meant—”
“Relax, Erica. I know what you meant,” Shane said, laughing.
“I’ve never even owned an RV. And Rag’s isn’t even my dog.”
“Who’s dog is he?”
“He’s mine. Now, anyways. I got him from the pound, right after I bought the RV. I don’t know why; I just did. It seemed like the thing to do.” She was babbling; she knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself. But Shane didn’t seem to mind. “I had to leave the firm; to get out of Los Angeles and away from Richard Marks.”
“Who’s Richard Marks?”
“My lying, cheating ex. The bastard. He’s a lawyer; did I tell you that?”
“That explains it. Lawyers usually are lying, cheating, bastards.”
“I’m a lawyer,” she said, softly. “Or I was, until I quit.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“I hated it. I never wanted to be a lawyer; that was my mom’s dream. She would have been good at it.”
“Where’s your mom now?”
“Dead; two years. Car crash.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“So what do you want to do? Since you never wanted to be a lawyer,” he added.
“I don’t know. Drive east in an RV, with a new dog, picking up hitchhikers, I guess.”
“I don’t really suggest the picking up hitchhikers part,” he said. “Not that I’m not grateful, because I am.”
Erica laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. She didn’t know why she found him so funny, but she did. Turning to look at him for the first time since she’d picked him up, she gasped, her laughter coming to an abrupt halt.
“Holy shit. You’re hot,” she blurted, then clasped her hands over her mouth. Damn alcohol. She’d never drink tequila again.
Shane blinked and tried not to grin. “Uh, thank you… So where’d that bartender go?”
“I have to pee,” she announced, needing an excuse to get herself together. Slipping off her stool, she stumbled as her full weight came down on her feet. Before she could reach out to grasp the counter, Shane had shot out of his seat and grasped hold of her upper arms, pulling her against him.
“How ‘bout I help you out,” he said, steadying her. “But once I get you to the stall, you’re on your own. I know how your gender likes to seduce men into ladies rooms so you can have your way with us.”
“I don’t want to have my way with you!” Erica sputtered, trying to jerk away from him.
“Relax, Erica, I’m only kidding. I’ll get you to the restroom, then go find out how long our food will be.”
It was a challenge, getting to the restroom, but by the time Shane had dropped her off, she’d shut the door in his face and sunk down to the cool tile floor, not bothering to turn on the light. Her eyelids were heavy, but when she closed them, the room only seemed to spin faster. She certainly couldn’t drive in this condition.
It had only been two shots of tequila. Two. What was her problem? When was the last time she’d had anything to eat? Oh—that was her problem. She hadn’t eaten anything other than bubble gum since yesterday. All the stress of breaking up with Richard and her newfound interest in RVing had zapped her appetite.
Okay, so all she had to do was eat dinner, maybe take a nap, and she’d be fine. Hell—maybe Shane wouldn’t mind taking over the wheel for a few hours.
Resolved, she stumbled to her feet and flipped the light switch. Light poured into the room, burning Erica’s eyes. Squinting and blinking, she took two steps forward before she caught sight of something thin and pale lying on the floor.
A delicate, female arm stuck out from the side of the L-shaped bathroom, the body attached to it, trailing out of sight.
“He—hello?” Erica whispered, taking a step toward the body. Because of the shape of the bathroom, she couldn’t see around the corner, but clearly there was someone lying on the floor. Was the woman passed out? Had she fallen and hurt herself? “Ma’am?”
No answer. The arm remained perfectly still, a sign the person wasn’t conscious. Erica took two more steps forward before she cleared the corner and saw the woman on the other side. She lay sprawled on her back, a pool of blood surrounding her and soaking into her sundress. Her eyes stared up to the ceiling, glazed over in what could only be death. She was dead, the gleaming, white hilt of a knife still sunk into her belly.
Erica tried to scream, but no sound came out. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman as she bumped into the wall behind her. Panicked, she tried again, and, finally, the scream poured from her mouth like the breaking of a dam.
Oooooh. I'm totally impressed you managed to get the bar scene and the murder in. Good job. Can't wait to see what happens next....
Yay! It's great that you worked in both the blogfests. I'm loving Friday Fiction!
All right, I confess : you fooled me. I was trying to figure out who was going to murder who : the frazzled lawyer or the apparently good-guy hitcher. The answer neither.
Bravo. You looped me in with the puzzle of why a single woman would pick up a hitcher.
If you have the time and inclination, come check out my own entry in this murder fest. It's from my historical fantasy, RITES OF PASSAGE, set aboard a transatlantic steamer bound for Paris in 1853.
http://rolandyeomans.blogspot.com/.
Thanks, Roland.
Great job. I thought that the MC was going to either murder or get murdered and her she goes stumbling into a murder. Bravo.
Wow. Great job of merging the two blogfests. I really like these two characters. Their dialogue is spot on. And it was very cool that she finds the body in the bathroom. :)
Great combination - murder and the bar scene.
I love your Shane - fabulous character.
This section I trly loved - such a great image:
"She couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman as she bumped into the wall behind her. Panicked, she tried again, and, finally, the scream poured from her mouth like the breaking of a dam."
Excellent - and two-in-one. I was so into the characters I really wanted them to get together, not have one kill the other! Nice twist. Loved it.
Of course, I literally LMAO - check out my bar scene, you'll get it ;)
I'm glad you went with a two-for-one! This worked really well-- I like Shane a lot just from what you present here. I'm guessing that the murdered woman is the wife of the bartender?! (It would explain why their food was taking so long!)
You've got great voice, but I think I said that about your other scene too! The contrast between the two pieces really shows how dynamic you are as a writer.
I was really getting into the connection between Shane and Erica, that I forgot a murder was going to be included. The shock Erica felt finding the murdered woman in the bathroom mirrored my own. Awesome!
I love how the two blogfests were blended in here... Erica suddenly realising Shane was hot was hilarious... This was really good; drew me in from start to finish.