Sandy Morrison and the Pack of Pussies

Chapter 14

Post-Katrina, New Orleans had lost a great deal of its charm. After the flood, a lot of grandstanding had been done about speedy reconstructions, but in the years that followed, all of those promises proved to be as hollow as the gutted houses in the area still awaiting demolition.

The bar the group arrived at was the only open business on the block, an uninviting flat grey building with a dimly lit grey vinyl awning stretched over the front of the building. Hung under the awning and above the swinging wood door was a simple wood sign that named the bar Hair of the Dog.

Everyone remained seated in the rental van. From where she sat on the back bench with Kyle and Trisha, Sandy could see that no one else moved once the van was parked.

She didn’t ask why, because everything about the bar said bad idea.

It was nowhere near the more touristy parts of town, and all of the vehicles parked out front looked to be held together with duct tape, coat hangers, and prayers. And this was all before a patron had staggered out, giving the van and its occupants stink-eye as he wandered around the side of the building to take a leak.

When he released the contents of his bladder against the wall of the building, Trisha muttered, “Charming.”

“And that reminds me,” Kyle said. He scowled at Trisha. “Whatever you see in there, bite your tongue. If Donald isn’t in here, we have to come back tomorrow night. So please, don’t make any enemies with your mouth.”

“Why am I the only one who gets the warning?” Trisha complained.

“Because your mouth is the one most likely to get us killed,” Kyle said.

“God, you are such a jerk,” Trisha said.

Sitting in the middle seat behind Ray, Leon chuckled and said, “You two should just have sex and get it over with.”

“Amen,” said Darlene.

“Ha!” Trisha said. “No way am I doing this jerk. I wouldn’t do him with her dick.” She glanced at Sandy and added, “No offense.”

Sandy smiled back. “None taken.”

This brought the conversation to a close, and a long silence followed. Ray drummed the steering wheel with his palms and said, “Well...”

Something should have followed, some agreement made before everyone worked up the courage to get out.

But nobody did. Sandy didn’t blame the cats. This was clearly a hard place for hard people, and while Ray and Darlene could pull a hard look off, everyone else’s appearance screamed “creampuff.” They were all dressed too good, like tourists who had lost their way.

Ray again said, “Well.”

This time, Kyle answered, “Yeah.” He sat forward, and then turned in his seat to look at Sandy. “You could stay out here until we know it’s safe.”

“No, we already know it’s not safe.” Sandy offered him a smile as she got up to exit the van. “We’ll just go in and look quietly for Donald.”

“Uh...” Ray hung half in and out of the van. “Actually, we don’t know what Donald looks like, so we have to ask around for him.”

“Oh,” Sandy said, and then looked at the building with newfound fear. “So, we have to make small talk.”

“Something like that.”

Trisha whimpered, and then said, “This is how horror movies start, Ray. A group of dumb rich kids walk into the wrong bar and get eaten alive.”