The worst thing about having an active imagination is that you usually imagine a situation to be worse than it really is. You come into a room expecting a bomb had gone off, and it's not as bad as all that.
This was not the case.
We come through the doorway into the bar, our hands still linked, and I almost lose my resolve as I look around. The tables and chairs are all in disarray, splinters and shards of glass and wood cause the floor to glitter as though covered in diamonds. The gaping hole where my door use to stand firm against the elements is more than half gone, the other part barely hanging on by the hinges.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying but the tears well up in my eyes anyway. This is worse than I imagined, worse than I could have ever dreamed. My eyes trail around the room, observing every broken window and hole in the walls. A few bottles behind the bar are broken as well, from the bullets he fired through the door. I shudder to think of any of them hitting me.
Jason goes around me and heads into the storage closet next to the bathrooms at the front of the bar. He emerges with a couple of brooms and leans one against the wall next to me. I thank him, but sit still a moment to get over the overwhelming sadness I feel as I see the destruction of my beloved bar before me.
I rise after the moment is over and begin to straighten up the chairs that were tipped over. The chair Jason had thrown during the scuffle was broken beyond repair from the impact and I ask him to take it outside. He acquiesces and I continue moving tables aside to open the middle of the floor for cleaning.
We continue this way for some time until I hear a vehicle drive up. Jason gestures to me to hang back and he approaches the doorway in a defensive stance. I see his shoulders relax and he moves aside for a young officer to step through, carrying a folder of papers.
"Melinda Stearns? Hi, I'm Officer Lane. I was sent by Burle with your order of protection. Do you have questions?" I shook my head as I took the bundle from his hands.
"If I do, I'll call," I answer. The officer tales a quick look around the bar and whistles lowly.
"If you need anything, be sure to call the station. Good luck, ma'am." Officer Lane tipped his hat gently my way and bid his farewell.
I opened up the papers and looked over the legal work. It was mostly lawyer jargon but I shrugged. The papers pretty much guarantee Joseph would be arrested should he have the audacity to show up around me. Within 300 feet.
Jason turns from the doorway after watching the officer drive away and walks towards me.
"Well, at least there's that," he says. "I just hope he isn't stupid enough to try anything." He reaches around me from behind and holds me to him, resting his chin on my head. "I'm telling you, I'll probably kill him if he does."
"So he's not your favorite person, I take it?" I ask, teasing him and grinning about it.
"Far from it," he answers, chuckling more at the fact I made a joke than at the joke itself. We stand like that for a solid few minutes before he sighs and releases me, seemingly reluctant. I bend down and retrieve a large splinter of wood, a shot-off piece of my door... Or what use to be so.
We clean this way, silent and pondering, until darkness begins to fall. I'm surprised by the lack of people attempting to get in for service, but this is a small area, word gets around fast and I assume everyone has pretty much heard about the destruction of the bar.
I take a separate broom after clearing the middle of the floor and begin to sweep as Jason picks the larger pieces of wood and glass out of the way. We fill a second garbage bag and a third before too long.
"What the hell happened here?!" Cries a surprised voice from the shattered doorway. I look up at the same time as Jason, who walks briskly to my side.
"Hey, Roger," I say in greeting. "Have to close the bar for the time being, pal, sorry about that." Roger looks around the bar and shakes his head.
"Did you get hurt?" he asks. The 48-year old has been coming to my bar since I opened all those years ago, a dedicated drinker on the weekends with no family and a part-time job. This may as well be his second home.
"No, I'm good, Rog, thanks for asking after me though."
"Well, alright then," he says, turning his back and heading out the door. He stops and turns, facing me once again.
"Y'all need some help with that at all?" he asks. "I don't know much about fixin' stuff, but I can handle a broom if ya need it."
Jason looks to me, I smile and hand the broom to Roger as an answer to his question.
"Free drinks for a long time for this one, Roger. Thanks a bunch," I say. I continue taking garbage outside to the burning pile behind the building and around 1am I call it a night.
I crack open a few beers from the fridge behind the bar and hand them out to my helpers.
"Thanks again, Roger," I say, after taking a long drink from the bottle in my hand. "It was hard work but with your help, we got more done than I expected us to today. Maybe, if you're not busy, you can come by tomorrow and help finish up? Then I can board up until insurance comes by."
Roger doesn't say anything immediately so I add:
"I'll pay you in beer, all you can drink," I bribe, waving my own beer in his face. He smiles and says, "Alright, girl. You got yourself a deal."
Roger heads home after shaking Jason's offered hand and I grab an old blanket to put up on the gaping hole of the doorway, giving it some sense of privacy, if only superficially. Jason clears away the table we sat at while I stand on a chair to fix the blanket to the wall, stepping down and pulling the chair back into its rightful place when I'm finished.
"Ugh," I groan, looking at my hands and clothing. "Yep, first thing I'm doing is jumping into my shower!" Jason chuckles and pulls a piece of wood from my hair.
I smell something acrid and unpleasant in the air.
"You know, we could save water if-" I place a finger on his lips and hush him. He looks at me with laughing eyes until he sees my face, then he asks, "Mindy? What is it?"
"Do you smell that?" I ask him, pulling away from him in wonder, trying to pinpoint where I've smelled such an awful smell before, sniffing around to figure out where it was coming from. There's a window to the left of the entrance of the bar, my nose leads me there and I'm struck dumb with what I see as I peer out of it.
My truck. On fire.
I shout to Jason to call the police in a numb panic. Jason lifts the receiver then looks at me.
"The line is dead," he says, placing the phone down and coming towards me quickly.
"What?? I don't und-" I begin, but I'm silenced by the unexpected darkness that falls suddenly around us.
YOU ARE READING
Sugar and Spice
FanfictionMelinda Stears is a kick-ass and take no names bartender. When trouble comes she can't control, Jason Momoa not only saves the day, but maybe even rescues her jaded heart!