wizard-of-the-pigeons

might bring his woman here, but not his lady. It was not a place for quiet talking,
for the sharing of thoughts or companionable silences. It was a place for displays
and competitions, challenges and threats. It was a place where misplaced men
came to prod balls around a table, to drink and mutter angrily and helplessly at
one another, and then to fight short, ugly fights. Not a place to bring a friend one
valued. So why had Lynda brought him here? And who had brought her here
before?
No answers to those questions, but a solution. Leave. He rose from his stool,
feeling a strange rubberiness in his knees. It passed and he took Lynda’s arm
firmly. He was certain now of the danger here. She had tempted it, but she had
fed him. The least he could do was take her to a safer place.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was a shade short of baby talk, her mouth a
plump little pout. Charades for Teddy.
“Nothing, yet. But if you want to sit and talk with me, we have to find a place
to talk where I don’t feel exposed. I like my back to a wall. When I’m with a
lady, I like to concentrate on the lady, not worry about someone behind me with
a pool cue.” He listened to himself in surprise. So he did know how to do that
kind of talking. It came out of his mouth too smoothly, too glibly, for it to be
new talent. Even the words seemed practiced in their sentences. It poured out of
him almost like a Knowing; almost.
“Well—but—let me finish my drink first, then.” She pulled gently away from
him, and he saw her eyes dart to Teddy. She wanted him to notice this exchange,
to see how Wizard had taken control and wanted to be alone with her. She
wanted the other men in the room to see that she was desirable, that this man
wanted her. He needed to follow that thought, but the sense of danger pressed
against him, squeezing his mind to action. He coughed and, lifting the drink,
drained it to clear his throat. The warmth spread through him anew.
“I think we should go someplace quieter, more private.”
These words came even more smoothly. Lynda turned in surprise and gave
him a suddenly measuring look.
“Oh. I see. Well, keep your shirt on. The night is young; there’s no rush.
Besides, I want to finish my drink.” She leaned to bump her shoulder gently
against him, filling his nostrils with her scent. She was enjoying this. He wasn’t.
“I want to leave here now, and I want you to come with me,” he said bluntly.
“I think you’d be stupid not to. You could get hurt.”