Read Online Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller by Jeff Menapace - Free Book Online

the parking lot where I’d left it.
     

14
    I pulled into the parking lot of Mick’s Tavern and spotted Paul’s gray Jetta with the Yankees bumper sticker already in attendance. I bet myself he would already be sidled up to the bar, beer in one hand, pretty girl in the other.
    The moment I entered, I collected on my bet. Ironically, Paul was a people person, the complete opposite of me. He was so utterly likeable that even a complete xenophobe (fear of strangers; I looked it up) would not hesitate to jump into his lap upon meeting him for the first time. I envied him at times, not so much for who he was, but for his outlook on life—the glass wasn’t just half-full for my friend, it was half-full with liquid gold. How we became as close as we did was a paradox I never bothered dissecting. Why would I? Paul was like a windfall from a relative you never knew. You don’t dig too deep into that kind of thing, you just enjoy it.
    “What’s up, my brother?” Paul said as I approached, getting off his stool to give me a hug.
    I returned his hug and added a firm couple of pats on his back. It was good to see my friend.
    The girl he’d been chatting with smiled and said to him, “It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you later?”
    Paul smiled back. “Definitely.”
    Both of us looked at her ass as she walked away.
    I said: “I smell or something?”
    “She’s shy,” he said. “And yes, you do.”
    The bartender appeared. Tall, good-looking dude, built like a superhero. Probably took home a different girl every night.
    “What can I get you, man?” he asked me.
    “Shot of Beam and a lager.”
    He nodded and left.
    “Coming strong out of the gates,” Paul said. “Thought you had to work tomorrow.”
    “Let’s worry about that tomorrow.”
    The bartender brought my drinks. I pulled out my debit card and handed it to him.
    “Wanna keep this open?” he asked.
    I pounded the shot then took a heavy pull on my lager. “Yeah—” I pointed to my empty shot glass. “—and an encore on that please.”
    The bartender nodded, spun, plucked the Beam bottle from the shelf, spun back, filled my shot glass, then spun back again and replaced the bottle on the shelf.
    I threw back my second shot and took another swig of my beer.
    “Dude, pace yourself,” Paul said. “What about that phone call from your manager? You wanna talk to her hammered?”
    ( Yeah, Calvin—what happened to staying sober in case Angela called tonight? Guess my flight to Fantasy World will be right on schedule—that is if I don’t drown first. )
    I squeezed Paul’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine, man. Just taking the edge off.”
    ( So sad. You just can’t help yourself, can you? How does the saying go? One drink is too many; a hundred is never enough?)
    “Day was that bad, huh?” he asked.
    I nodded. “Could have been better.”
    “Anything you wanna talk about?”
    I raised my beer to his. “Nah—I’m good.”
    He raised his beer and we clinked glasses.
    “You sure?” he said.
    I shook my head with conviction. “I’m good.”
     
    * * *
     
    A few cocktails later and I was greeted by my old friend Mr. Buzz. Paul had his back to me, busy chatting up the girl he’d met earlier. I had a feeling I was going to be without conversation for a few minutes, so I went and ordered myself another round, intentionally skipping Paul so as not to disturb him. Don’t get me wrong; I knew Paul would eventually introduce me to his new friend, but I thought it best to leave him be for now.
    The fact that I knew Paul would definitely introduce me to the girl was probably one of my favorite qualities in his character. There was no doubt the man loved women, but he also loved his friends, and his friends always came before pussy. So many friends claim unbridled loyalty, but the moment a pair of tits bounced in their face you were a stranger, a threat to Mission: Laid.
    Not Paul. Not ever. The man could be in bed with Salma Hayek, I could bang on his