The Convulsion Factory

In A Roadhouse Far, Past The Edge Of Town

He stood back, grinning with arms crossed, to watch those hips of hers sway while she threw. Had a wind-up that drove him truly and deliciously insane. This, after she’d kissed the tip of each dart for luck. Oh, she was overflowing with promises of finer things to come later in the night.

Sad about her aim, though. Darts all over the damn place.

“I don’t think this is your game.”

She turned chin over shoulder to stick out her tongue at him. “I got games you never even played.” She danced away to retrieve the darts, came dancing back with all six and handed him his three. Green ones, his lucky color.

“The trick,” he said, “is breath control. You breathe out on the throw, nice smooth exhale. And never, ever, take your eyes off the spot you want to hit. Not even long enough to blink.”

Down and dirty blues thumped from the jukebox while he sank all three darts in a tight cluster. He raised both arms to receive worldwide acclaim.

“Am I the master, or am I the master?”

“Careful you don’t stick yourself with one of those, or that shit you’re so full of is gonna run right out in the floor.”

He pretended to bristle. “Sure is a lot of sass coming from someone hasn’t even hit herself a bull’s-eye yet.”

“Keep making a big deal out of it” — she licked her finger and pretended to clean the zipper of her jeans — “and I know something you won’t be hitting again anytime soon.” A huff. “Anyway, I know what the problem is. I’m distracted.”

“By what, that music? Sweety-pie, the way you’re shaking your moneymaker, I dare say you’re making it work for you.”

“No, no, it’s not the music. It’s that goddamn barmaid! Never have I heard a voice that inspires more natural annoyance in me.”

She had a point. That voice did tend to carry. The gameroom was separate from the main bar, but still, they’d been listening to the barmaid going on nonstop about one thing and then another for the past hour. He sighed with the truth of it all.

“Sugar, go take care of it.” Turning kiddish on him, trying to wrap him around that sweet little finger of hers. “For me? Pleeease?”

“Where do you think we are, high school or something? Your problem, you take care of it.”

She pouted until it was clear he wouldn’t give in. Then her face went hard and she made for the pool table. Rolled the dead shitkicker slumped half across it off onto the floor and snatched that monster ten-millimeter she favored, next to his shotgun, and went stomping behind the bar. Through the doorway he watched her point the pistol down, out of sight.

Two shots. Then, after a long pause, another. Joker. Trying to throw off his aim. She danced back all smiles.

“You know, good thing you’re better with that than you are these darts.” He inspected her three, then set them aside. “Here, why don’t you try mine?”

“Look, green may be your lucky color, but it was never mine. I’ve always been more of a fuchsia girl, myself.”

“Forget color, look at the tips of those things.” He pointed at the rejects. “Look how bent they are. You been smacking fat boy in the forehead too long. Can’t keep hitting bone and expect these to stay pristine. Now, no sass — try mine.”

She gave in. Turned back to the guy lashed to the post near the dartboard, long past caring. Her first two throws went high, while the third drilled home with a sureness she found thrilling.

“Hah! Doesn’t get more bull’s-eye than that!”

He inspected more closely. “I do believe you nailed pupil that time.”

“Can we go now? I was getting bored with this anyway.”

He was about to agree when he stepped over another shotgunned redneck for a peek at the hogtied mess behind the bar. “Can’t say as I’m thrilled with what you done to our plans for later.” A sigh. “Your problem, your solution.”

She cleared his Mossberg twelve-gauge from the pool table. “Then start racking. Stick and balls, that’s more my game anyway.”

He chunked in quarters while she danced to the front window, glanced out at the night. Turned the sign from CLOSED back around to OPEN.

The crack of the break shot beckoned to all comers.