OUTLAW COUNTRY
The young woman strode into the empty bar with a purpose. She tapped on the counter to get the bartender's attention.
"Hey, Delilah." The bartender turned around and gave her a broad, familiar smile, as he dried and polished a glass.
"Please, tell me you managed to get a hold of them, Bill,” Delilah said, almost begging for his success.
"Wasn't easy," Bill replied. "The guy was like 'I get fifty calls a day just like yours.’ But, he said he'd send someone down to the bar tomorrow night to listen to you."
"Yes!” Delilah exclaimed. She thumped the counter in excitement. "You're the best, Bill! I'll have everything set up and ready. I'll clean up afterwards, too."
"Relax, sweetheart," Bill cut in to her excited promises. "I'll help you do the setting up if you need it. You just sing like the angel you are."
"Thanks again, Bill," Delilah repeated. "Thanks so much."
"Are you really that eager to get the hell out of this crappy old town?” Bill asked. He put away a clean glass and started polishing another one.
"It's not crappy," Delilah replied sentimentally. "It's just small, too small for me and my dreams. I know I have the voice and the talent. I know I can make it big out there. All I need is a chance to convince a music producer that I've got what it takes."
"And I don't want to stand in your way," Bill answered. "No one does. Just don't forget about the rest of us when you're out there making it big."
"I won't," Delilah promised with a smile. "Thanks again, Bill. See you tomorrow."
"You have a good night, darling,” Bill replied, returning the smile. Delilah turned around and walked out.
***
A vintage, 1960s Harley-Davidson pulled up outside the bar. The rider switched off the engine and got off. He undid his helmet and hung it on the handlebar before he stepped inside. The rider was tall and powerfully built. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, and motorcycle boots. He had a small moustache and a goatee with a thin line of stubble growing down the edge of each jaw. His head was full of wavy, black hair.
He took off his shades as he entered the bar, just in time to see Delilah as she left. His eyes followed her swaying hips and shapely curves as she walked straight past him. She didn’t even return his glance as she exited the bar. The biker continued forward with a natural swagger in his step. He walked up to the counter and leaned casually against it.
"Oh, nice seeing you, Micah," said Bill. A look of surprised recognition flashed across his face. "You want a beer?"
"I want the money you owe me, Bill," Micah replied a little tersely, "but a beer would also be nice."
"And here was me thinking you'd come in just to say hi," said Bill. He put away another glass and handed Micah a beer bottle. "That'll cost you ten bucks by the way."
"Fine by me," Micah responded. He popped the bottle cap and took a sip, "But, that's still another one-ninety you owe me."
"Tell me something, Micah," Bill said. He kneeled down to a safe and dialed in the combination. "Why is it every time you come down here, it's always to break my balls?"
"You tell me, Bill," responded Micah. "You keep getting yourself into trouble and I'm always the one who has to bail you out."
"Point taken," Bill conceded. He handed Micah a small wad of cash. "Still, it'd be nice just to get a social visit from the Blood Brothers' esteemed vice president once in a while, instead of a debt collection run."
"Relax, Bill," said Micah. He counted the money note by note and put it in his pocket. "We’re not loan sharks and I'm not some mafia enforcer here to break your legs. Besides, the money's all paid back, now."
"Whatever," Bill said dismissively. He returned to polishing glasses.
"How've you been, Bill?” Micah asked, as he took another sip of his beer.
"Nice of you to ask," Bill replied. "Business is pretty good. Debts
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