The Rival

[Tw: alcohol, harassment, mentions of drugging.]

[sorry :( ]

The bar was dim but filled to the brim with noise. People chattered over drinks and food and laughter echoed off the red brick walls. Detective Palmer surveyed the room, bored out of her mind. 

Her gaze dropped quickly to the drink in her hand when a man came sauntering by, “Hey there, sweetheart,” he leaned against the bar, his hip sticking out awkwardly around a bar stool, “You lookin’ for someone?”

She turned the other way, drink still in hand, “Not really,” she hoped her gruff tone would scare him off. 

Unfortunately, it only made him bolder. She could feel him slide between the barstools, much too close for her liking, “How ‘bout coming home with me, then? I don’t bite,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Unless you want me to.”

She turned enough to glare, “I’m not interested. Go back to your table.”

He scoffed, “What are you, a prude? I bet you’re only like that because you're shy, aren’t you? There’s no need to be ashamed of your lack of experience, I prefer it that way, actually,” her snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, “Why don’t you let me teach you a few things?” 

Immediately, she whipped around and punched him square in the nose, sending him back a few steps. 

She almost laughed at the feeling, it was exhilarating being back in control of the situation. 

He stood there for a minute, clutching his nose and glancing wildly around the bar, no one was going to help him, “You- you bitch!” he sputtered. 

She shrugged, lifting her drink and setting it aside once she downed the rest of it. 

The man came up behind her and slammed her face into the bar counter, she could feel the blood pouring down her chin when her head snapped back up. A couple people stood to help her but she only grinned.

She spat out the blood, much to the distaste of the bartender. She made a mental note to tip extra. 

The man reached out to her head again and she ducked, faking a punch to his face and quickly changing gears when he flinched, hands raised instinctively to his chin. She kneed him in the crotch and took advantage of his hunched shoulders to pull him down and knee him in the nose. It broke on impact and he came back up, sputtering through blood. 

Obviously spent and not in the mood to fight anymore, the man plopped onto one of the stools, catching his breath and wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

Palmer picked up her purse triumphantly, paying for her drink and leaving a generous tip.

“You running away already?” the man asked, almost hopeful.

She laughed, turning to face him, “If I was, there wouldn’t be anything you could do to stop me.” 

He sighed, “This week just couldn’t get any worse”

She leaned on the bar counter, arms crossed, “It might’ve been better if you knew to respect other people’s limits. Looks like I ended up teaching you something instead of the other way around.”

He groaned, gently trying to plug his nose, “I didn’t make you bleed nearly as much. I think you owe me a drink.”

She laughed, nodding at the bartender and sitting on the stool. 

He eyed her warily from the corner of his eye as the bartender handed him a drink. 

“You know, fights don’t normally end with drinks and pleasant conversation.”

“It’s been an odd week.” she sighed as she ordered a water. She much preferred to have a clear head around men with bad intentions. Though, she missed the burn of alcohol already. The water tasted too much like iron. She blamed the blood in her mouth. 

He seemed to deflate. The creepy flirt and loud voice melted away into a tired, husk of a man. One obviously just doing whatever it took to get by.

She kept her eye on him though, “Your girlfriend leave you?”

The husk began to move, rolling his shoulders and sitting up like it just realized it was still alive, “No, my job did. Got let go for budget reasons.” he spoke as if he’d said it a million times. Maybe even rehearsed it. 

Det. Palmer narrowed her eyes.

As he continued his story of pay cuts and hours increasing, his thumb rubbed the glass. 

“Your manager, what was his name again?” she asked. He had mentioned a manager a few times, mentioned he suspected he was giving himself a pay raise and blaming corporate. 

“Oh, um, Johnson. His name was Johnson.” A very generic name. But that’s not what caught her attention. He glanced to the right while he said it. 

When remembering, right-handed people tended to look left. And after the fight they just had, he was definitely right-handed.

This man was lying.

She glanced at the knife strapped to his hip. Why hadn’t he used it? Had he meant to lose? Or was he just that confident he’d win? 

Questions ran through her mind as he continued his story. 

“And you don’t have any friends to help you out? Surely there’s other jobs in Cordova. And since you were fired, you can file for unemployment.” she watched him tense up a bit.

“I am getting help from friends. They’re going to recommend me to their boss, see if I can get a job with them.”

“What kind of job?”

He squirmed a bit. He wasn’t expecting so many questions, she realized. 

“It’s a security job. Making sure people don’t break into jewelry stores at night. You know how it is in Cordova, security’s the best business to be in!”

“And the worst,” she mumbled into her drink. Why did it still taste metallic? “You’d be in a lot of danger there, crime in Cordova is the highest in the state. I heard a shopkeeper got murdered a while back. All for some convenience store items.” 

He leaned in, that playboy grin slipping back onto his face, “Are you worried about me?” 

She grimaced and pushed him back onto his stool, swaying from the force of it “Just making sure you’ve thought this through. You seem to harass random women in bars when you’re miserable.” 

His smile slipped into something deadlier, “Oh, you weren’t random.” 

The bartender avoided her rapidly blurring gaze as the man slid an envelope of cash across the bar.

“Thanks for the help, John.”