(43) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

One look at Blair’s face and I knew he wasn’t getting what I was trying to say, or maybe I just wasn’t saying it right. I’ve never been in love before if that’s what this is—what I’m feeling—so the words that I need aren’t there. Hell I’m just a cop. We’re all action, not emotions. So what do I do? Just spit it out?

I opened my mouth to do so, and let the chips fall where they may, when a loud voice rang through the room. A large, belligerent voice demanding another drink. I looked over at the bar. The man matched the voice and he was leaning over the bar, his hand twisting the bartender’s shirt as he glared at him.

“Be right back,” I told Blair before I pushed away from the table and crossed the room to the see if I could defuse the situation.

By the time I got to them, the man had released the bartender but he was still leaning over the bar, apparently trying to serve himself a beer.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said in a quiet voice.

“Who the hell are you,” he growled, turning bloodshot eyes my way.

“Detective Eddison.” I flashed my badge.

“Yeah? Well that’s a pretty piece of tin, ‘Detective’ Eddison,” he sneered. “But I ain’t done nothing wrong. It’s him.” He pointed at the bartender. “He won’t get me another drink and I’m still thirsty.”

I looked at the bartender, rolling my eyes. “He says he’s thirsty. Get him a tall glass of water.”

“Fuck that, I want my beer.”

“Water’s all you get now, sir. Either sit down and drink it or leave. Those are your two choices.” To emphasize my words I pulled my jacket back just enough so that he could see I was armed.

He took a deep breath and I could tell he was trying to decide which was more important, making an issue of it and being arrested or just going. Apparently something sensible made its way through his beer-addled brain because he slammed his hand down on the bar muttering, “Be that way,” and then walked, well staggered towards the door. I was about to follow, realizing he could be heading for his car, when I heard the rattle of keys behind me. When I turned to look at the bartender he smiled slightly, holding up what I figured were the drunk’s car keys, and then he thanked me for stepping in.

“Not a problem,” I told him before heading back to the table and Blair.