“Fuck if I know,” Carter shrugged. He shook his head, and pointed around. “When I was a kid, this place used to be filled with people. Motor clubs, mostly. The Harleys out front were parked two rows thick, instead of the one or two you see now. You could barely walk through the place.”
“I know,” I sighed, pointing around to the walls. “I’ve seen pics.”
“There were fights every night,” Carter continued. “Rallies. Wet T-shirt contests…”
“Those went out in the 90’s, apparently,” I lamented. “Sorry we missed those.”
“Yeah, me too,” he agreed with a grin. “My father told me stories about raking in fistfuls of cash each weekend. My granduncle had to buy an extra safe.”
“He ever hear of banks?” I quipped.
“The man hated banks, and you know it,” smiled Carter. “He didn’t trust any of them.”
I could only imagine what it must’ve been like, walking in here back in the 70’s and 80’s. The Refuge was packed wall to wall with G.I.’s, fresh from the war. All of them looking for a place to drink and commiserate. To drown their sorrows, and try to forget.
“Times change,” I shrugged. “It’s not like that anymore.”
“No,” came a deep, gravelly voice from behind us. “It isn’t.”
With that, Grizz drained the rest of his beer, and pushed the empty forward. Carter refilled it for him, wordlessly.
How long had he been listening? How many of the things we’d just described had he actually seen?
“It’s strange how a place like this can feel so different,” Grizz spoke, hoisting his glass our way, “when all the right people are gone.”
~ 32 ~
HAYDEN
“Get him get him get him GET HIM!!”
I threw my head back in frustration, as the cat leapt from the floor, onto the bar. It scurried down the bar’s entire length, causing patrons to leap back from their stools in surprise.
“Gizmo, NO!”
The old tabby’s swaying tail and steady gait didn’t miss a single beat as it fled from the sound of my voice. If it heard me, which I’m sure it probably did, it was choosing to ignore my orders. Just like a cat.
“Hayden!”
I whirled, not ready for whatever crisis came next. The petting pen Jason had set up in one corner of the refuge was woefully undersized, and the cat had escaped easily. It was supposed to be leashed. It was supposed to be—
“Quick, grab Maverick!”
I gasped before twisting back in Jason’s direction. All the while knowing exactly what I’d find when I finished turning around.
“Holy shit, thedogtoo?”
Maverick hadn’t just escaped, he’d wreaked near total havoc on his side of the bar. He’d knocked down three chairsthat were stacked on empty tables, and had dragged his leash across the legs of two people just trying to order drinks.
“Sorry!” I mumbled hastily. “Sorry, he’s just—”
“Hayden, get over here!”
Monica’s voice reverberated loudly, rising above the chaotic din. She was sitting with a young, smiling couple who were already petting a German Shepherd puppy. The animal must’ve come in recently, because I didn’t know its name.
“Did you bring the second part of this form?” Monica demanded, holding up some adoption paperwork.
“I… I thought I did.”
