"I texted him right after. He'll call tonight."
She folds her hands on the bar. "Then we need to talk about a few things. All three of us. Don't even try to cut me out of this."
She looks at me with the direct, no-nonsense clarity of a woman who is about to run a military operation.
"Baby, until this is handled, you need to stay close to us. I don't mean close as in the building. I mean close as in one of us is with you. Always. You don't walk the beach alone. Youdon't take out the trash after closing in the dark. You don't go to the parking lot by yourself. If you need air, you tell one of us and we go with you. This isn't a cage, you hear me? This is a perimeter we need to set up until this is taken care of."
"Okay," I say. "I can do that."
"Not forever," Tex says. "Just for now. Just until we deal with this."
"How are we dealing with this?" I ask.
Tex leans against the bar. "I'm calling Denny tonight."
The chop shop guy. The one who took the Sportster apart.
"Ron's going to be looking for that bike," Tex says. "Not because he cares about the bike. Because it's his excuse. His reason for being in the area, his cover story. He's going to check shops, yards, anywhere a bike might turn up. Denny knows everybody. He knows every shop owner, mechanic and parts dealer in three counties. I'll tell Denny to watch for a man from Alabama asking about a Sportster and to call me the second he shows up. And I'm going to tell Denny to spread the word around."
"What word?" Sheila asks.
"The truth. I'm going to tell Denny and anyone else who'll listen that Ron Jackson from Alabama is a predator. That he hurts young men. That he finds boys with nothing and nobody and he takes them in. He uses them and he beats them and he calls it charity. That's what I'm telling Denny. That's what I'm telling everyone."
"Is that okay with you, Stormy?" Sheila asks, glancing at me.
I nod at her. I'm not embarrassed for others to know my story. It's part of me.
"Then tell them exactly that," Sheila continues. "And Tex, when this man comes back—because he is coming back—you call Mickey first. You hear me? Mickey first. Before anything else."
"I'll text Mickey the second I see his truck."
"No texting," Sheila says. "That takes too long and your fingers are fat. Set up a system. You see him, you call Mickey. Let it ring one time and hang up. You don't even need to talk. And I'll call 911." She says it as if she's already planned exactly the way this is going to go down when Ron arrives. "If he walks in and goes after Stormy, I'm already on the phone. I'm reporting a man who has been stalking my employee. He's here and he's attacking Stormy. That's the call. That's what dispatch hears. That's the record."
"Sheila—"
"Don't argue with me. I have been calling 911 from bars since before you were old enough to drink in one, Tex. I know what to say, when to say it and how to say it so that when the police pull up, the report reads the way it needs to read. You let me handle the phone. You handle everything else. I will control the narrative as soon as I place the 911 call."
"Mickey needs to be the first cop here," Tex says. "When it happens, I call Mickey before anything else. He's ten, maybe fifteen minutes away. He arrives first. He's first badge on the scene. He takes the statements."
"What about bikers?" Sheila asks.
"The bikers will be here. When Denny puts the word out and people know what's coming, this parking lot is going to be full. Every Friday. Every Saturday. Every night that matters. Not because I ask them to come. Because that's what they do.That's how this works. Somebody threatens the bar, they show up until the threat is gone."
Sheila glances over at me. "Baby, are you hearing all of this?"
"Yeah, I'm hearing it."
"But are you believing it? Because we need you to believe that we've all got your back. When Ron shows up, things might get squirrelly."
"I'm believing it," I say.
"You better believe it." Sheila slides off the stool. As she passes me, she puts her hand on the back of my head. Just for a second. Her palm against my hair, warm and firm. Then she stops and turns back.
"One more thing. Both of you. When this is over, we're going to have a night at this bar where the only thing we think about is ribs and cold beer and terrible music. I've been managing a crisis for weeks now and my blood pressure is a situation. I'm owed a calm evening with my favorite guys. The universe owes me that."
"Yes ma'am," Tex says.
"That's right." She disappears into the back with her bag of restaurant supplies.
