Mission: Interrupted

Chapter 5 - Fancy Meeting You Here

          

It was just past nine when Meg drove into the parking lot of Stella's Roadhouse. It was an enormous warehouse that appeared abandoned, except for the neon motorcycle lit up next to the hot pink awning over the door painted the same bright color. There were about thirty motorcycles parked in the lot, and she found a place next to one under a streetlamp.

Inside the door, she took a moment to look around. To her left at the far end of the warehouse was a stage for live music, with space for dancing in front. The surrounding walls were lined with tables and booths. To her right were two pool tables and behind them were two dart boards. In the center along the back wall was an enormous bar.

Could be any bar in any town, but what set it apart was the fact that the décor was a luxurious cream, gold, and black, with splashes of pink. The chairs were all plush bucket seats and covered in velvet or leather, and the lights were chandeliers. Behind the bar, the three bartenders were all men and all extremely attractive. They were wearing tight jeans and black leather vests over their bare, albeit very well-built, chests.

Meg took her phone wallet out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket, folded it, and placed it and her helmet in a cubby next to the front door. Once sat at the bar, she was quickly approached by one of the ridiculously adorable bartenders.

"What can I get you?" He asked with a smile. His hair was dark brown, almost black and lay over his eyebrows. His eyes were hazel green and surrounded by thick dark eyelashes. He really was just ridiculously cute, and about a sniff past twenty-one years old.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "What's your name, you ugly bastard?" He laughed out loud and she reached in the wallet case of her phone and brought out her Amex and a $50 bill.

"Nick."

"Well, Nick, I know this never happens to you, but I have a proposition."

"Proposition, yes. From a fine ass woman like you? Never."

"Look at you... I haven't even laid out the terms and you're already earning your money." She laughed. "Seriously, Nick, I'm gonna ask you to serve me a drink that might not be on your normal menu. I'd like you to get a highball glass and put 2 cubes of ice in it and pour it ¾ of the way full with Jameson Signature Reserve Irish Whiskey. I see the bottle up there on the top shelf. I don't care what you want to charge me for it, put it on the card and if you keep it full this $50 will be your tip when I cash out."

"But, we charge like $12 for..."

"...three fingers, I know." She rolled her eyes for affect. "Good thing that Amex has no credit limit. Now, get to work, Nick, before I start deducting from your tip."

"Yes, ma'am" he said and reached for the bottle.

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Norman walked into the bar around 10:30, and it was pretty full for a Thursday night. The rest of the guys were on the French Quarter, but he'd come here because he wanted to check it out before the official meeting tomorrow. He'd tried to be as low-key as possible by wearing his signature shaggy hair hidden in a beanie cap and his eyes covered in mirrored aviators. As he walked around the pool tables towards the bar, he slowed as he saw a familiar head of hair. His eyes moved from the hair to the arms and now he froze in place as his thoughts were confirmed by the tattoos running up and down both arms.

When he was able to move again, he quietly moved up behind her and took the seat to her left. She was focused on her phone, where she was apparently typing either a text or an email. He waited a few seconds before speaking.

"Seven."

She finished her text before setting her phone down and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "That's two more than I would have guessed."

Damn. Did this woman ever lose her composure? Even though she was admitting she was wrong about something, it made him feel like he was somehow less in control.

"So," she asked, looking at him with her head cocked to the side, "how long until you uh... took matters into your own hands?" Her gaze dropped knowingly to his hands and then to his crotch, then back up to his face. There was a miniscule smirk on her face, daring him to lie to her.

"A little after five tonight," he admitted.

"Wow. More than ten hours. Those must have been some blue damn balls."

"Actually, a little over eleven hours. You forgot the time change."

She bent her head towards him. "My bad, you're even more of a masochist than I gave you credit for." Straightening back up she said "That means you either broke the speed record, or you reeeeaaaaaally took your time with it."

Norman snorted. "How do you do that?

"What?"

"Say the dirtiest damn things and make it sound like you're discussing the weather?" he asked. "Did they teach you that in the SEALs?"

She laughed and took a big gulp of her drink. "Your mind would short circuit over all the things I learned while serving my country."

"I have no doubt, lady."

She got a funny look on her face, and suddenly held her hand out, "Meg MacAndrews, and trust me, I'm no fucking lady."

"Norman Reedus," he said with chuckle while he shook her hand.

"Where's your posse, Norman?"

"They're hanging with the tourists on the French Quarter, Meg."

She grinned at him, a real life grin and his heart skipped a beat. She wasn't a traditionally beautiful woman; in fact she was quite unique looking. While her hair was deep reddish brown, shot through with silver, her skin had an olive tone rather than the normal pale skin you'd expect. However, there were freckles across her nose and high cheekbones. Said nose was long and straight, and her upper lip was puffy and bigger than the lower lip and straight across with just the slightest indention in the center. He'd never seen anyone with lips quite like hers before. Her best feature, of course, were those large round eyes. They were the green of fresh cut grass, and were surrounded by thick, black lashes.

She had turned to the bartender and was motioning towards him. "Add him to my tab, Nick. I'm heading to the ladies room, and I'd like a fresh drink upon my return, please." Norman and Nick both watched her walk off before looking at each other.

"What can I get ya, man?" Nick asked.

"Bring me whatever local Porter you got, but I'm not letting her pay. In fact, I'll take her tab."

"Man, this'll be her fourth Jameson Reserve. You're talkin' eighty bucks."

"She's had three of those big ass whiskeys?" Norman asked. "She ain't even slurrin'."

"I know, and I swear that's full strength whiskey," Nick added quickly. Norman pulled his sunglasses off and got his wallet out of his pocket. He handed over his Visa.

"I don't care how much her tab is, switch it to mine," Nick looked at his face, and then down at the name on the card and his eyes slightly widened.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Reedus."