“Jim & Riley” by Liam R Woods
The root beer bubbled in Jim’s shot glass as he swirled it around. He took a cautious look at the bar patrons and then back at his drink. The dim, filtered light made him sleepy, but he could tell that none of the people in this bar, besides him and Christy, were human—even though they looked very much “human.”
“You always do that.” Christy told the OEF veteran.
Jim shifted his eyes toward her. “I don’t drink alcohol, and carbonation hurts my stomach,” He said, as flat as his soda. “Plus, I’ve been on the wagon for years. Why do you always invite me to bars?”
“It wasn’t my idea this time, Jim,” Christy said, throwing up her hands. “This is where Riley wanted to meet.”
“Who’s this Riley?”
Christy shifted a little in her seat and looked at the bartender. A tall, hairy woman that glared daggers back at them. “That bartender? You think she can hear us?”
Jim leaned over and looked at the fearsome brunette. “Yep, but don’t let that change the subject. Who’s Riley?”
Glancing side-to-side like she was about to cross a street indoors, Christy kept her voice low to an almost whisper. “New to Selcouth City. She’s looking for her sister.” Looking around again like she was watching for a bus to come barreling through the bar, she corrected herself. “I mean, she’s not that hard to find. She’s probably the biggest real estate owner in the entire city, but Riley needs a person of your unique talents to get her.”
“This sounds fishy. I’m talking harbor-market-in-the-middle-of-July fishy.”
Suddenly, the front push-bar door swung open, and silhouetted in streetlight was a voluptuous woman in a white fur coat. The bar went silent except for the pounding rain and howling wind outside. Making her way toward Jim and Christy, she eyed the place like a wary cobra, gazing at each table with wide, dangerous eyes. Sitting down next to the two, she snapped her attention to the hairy bartender. Her voice was cold, exacting, and hissing. “One SShirley Temple. Extra cherriesss.”
“Right away, ma’am!” The bartender snapped to work.
She looked back at the two. Her eyes locked on Jim as they gave the ex-soldier an uncanny vibe. They looked like pools of varying colors as they faded in and out like living rainbows of Rorschach blots. She outstretched her hand. “Jim Tarnish. Riley. Pleasure to meet you.”
He took her hand, and it was cold and slimy. “You sure?” he asked.
“I hope so.” Riley motioned toward Christy. “She tells me you are the best at what you do.”
Jim’s gaze slid over to Christy like an angry wolf. “She says a lot of things.”
Riley smiled as her hair seemed to move on its own. “Has she told you what you’re doing here?”
Jim crossed his arms. “Something about your sister?”
Riley nodded. “She is the entrepreneurial, humanitarian sort. In this town, a rare thing to be as sssuccessful as she’s been.”
Looking back at her churning, tie-dye eyes, Jim could feel his brain churning with them.
Those eyes were boiling something into his psyche. A vision of a horrible act he had not yet committed against a lady that looked very much like Riley. Accompanying this was her voice, repeating how to do it and what to do.
He backed away from the table and stood up, knocking his chair to the floor. Jim swallowed hard and glared at Riley.
“Why, Mr. Tarnish, are you all right? I hear sssoldiers who sssuffer from PTSD are prone to violent actsss.”
Jim knew exactly what she was getting at. He was skilled and trained enough to know subliminal messages, all the while mentioning his pain to use as a plea deal after doing the terrible crime.
This Riley wasn’t the first eldritch beast he had faced down with this kind of power.
Standing his ground and folding his hands into fists, he glared back at her, telling her resoundingly, “You heard wrong!” He then looked at Christy. “I’m out of here.”
He was nearly out the door when he heard Riley say to Christy, “Forget him. I know somebody better.”
That was when Jim stopped and turned to see a picture of the hairy bartender with another woman—the same woman from his vision. The placard under the picture read: Silver Bane Bar & Grill/Mixologist Gwendal with new Bar Owner Medusa/1978.
Jim said to himself, “Not if I get to her first.”