The address Angie provided led me to the loudest, most well lit bar off Northwest Highway. I passed Sláinte frequently to and from clients' houses. It stood out because protestors always hung out front to boycott it. It was owned by a witch. And from my understanding she wasn't a particularly quiet one.
I paid the cab driver and stood outside surveying the bar for a minute. Inside the bass had been turned up causing vibrations to travel up through the soles of my feet. It was Friday night. I expected little else from a bar tonight. A crowd of about five stood outside enjoying a smoke and chatting. If this Bridget person was inside I'd probably have a drink, then high tail it out. I was in no mood for the noise and the people. I hoisted the bat onto my shoulder and entered.
I plopped down at the bar, elbowing bros out of the way. A woman of medium height with dark red hair, that frayed out around her heart shaped face came over to me. She wore a Tom Petty tour t-shirt and lowriders. I could see a St. Bridget's cross tattoo peeking out on the flash of skin between shirt and jeans. Her face had a few freckles that managed to avoid being concealed by her make-up.
I slid a twenty at her. “Three fingers of Jack and a splash of coke. I've got more twenties and a need to be drunk.”
“Ugh, finally!” She shouted over the music. “I've been pouring out beers and fruity cocktails all night to punks. I disapprove of your coke and choice of liquor, but at least you're not pansying up my bar.” She held up her index finger. “One minute.” She had managed to hear the bar phone over the music and talking. I watched her mouth move and at one point she turned to me. Her smile was friendly when she returned. “Samantha?”
“Uh...” Angie said to come here. Had she set me up?
Reading my expression the woman shook her head. “Bridget O'Malley. That was Angie. We can talk privately later.” She screamed. “When it settles down.”
Settles down? The pre-audit meeting was tomorrow. I needed to be in bed and rested. Closing time was hours away. I didn't really think it'd quiet down before then.
“Here!”She produced an unmarked bottle from under the bar. Down the length of the bar another bartender, a black man about my height with beautifully maintained dreadlocks, frowned intensely at seeing the bottle. She pushed the twenty back in my direction. “You take a shot of this, I'll comp your next two drinks.”
A man around my age pushed up against me. He smelled like cheap beer and pizza. “I want my shit comped. I want in!”
I elbowed him into backing up. “What is it?”
Bridget had a glint of mischief in her blue eyes. The mirth didn't transfer to her lips. She actively frowned at the guy elbowing his way up to the bar. “My granddad’s special brew. One shot, if you keep it down and don't scream in pain, I'll comp your next two drinks. Yours too, Mr. Nosey.”
I held out my hand. We may be women, but I always ensured free stuff by entering into gentleman’s agreements. Just like my dad taught me. She took it and gave it a firm shake.
She grabbed two shot glasses and opened the bottle. Looked like whiskey, smelled like paint thinner. My eyes watered at the stench. She poured out two shots and pushed them forward.
“Ladies first,” the man said.
I cut my eyes to him and then rolled them. I downed my shot. I essentially drank fire. It burned my throat, heat tried to escape through my nostrils. I let my tongue loll out of my head.
“Fuuuuck...” I moaned.
“Here,” the bartender handed me a glass filled halfway with an off white creamy liquid. “It'll stop the burning. You're next, Buddy.”
Smugness on his face, the man picked up his shot. His friends slapped him on the back, cheering him on that he could beat a girl at a drinking contest. When the shot went in, it came right back out. He sprayed the bar with it and whimpered, crying. “Give me some of that.” He reached for my glass. Bridget whipped him with a towel.
“Only winners get that. You have to live with the burning taste of defeat.”
Like a beaten dog he slunk away, friends helping him along. I drank the liquid in front of me in one gulp. Its coolness leeched the heat and provided a sweet aftertaste. The things I do for free stuff.
“Well done, girlie.” She took away my empty glass and replaced it with a whiskey and coke.
The defeated man was complaining to the black guy behind the counter. He laughed at the guy and waved down at our end. “You beat granddad’s brew, even my friend, David, hasn't managed that.”
“Thanks, uh-”
“Way to take it like a champ, Samantha. That second drink,” she tapped the glass that had been filled with the white liquid. “It's my own personal brew. Holy water, garlic, and a hint honey for flavor. It helps repel vampires.”
“What does it do exactly?”
“Vampires can smell it on you, but if one is dumb enough to bite you it'll turn their mouth to ash.”
Maybe Angie hadn't set me up after all. I sipped at my whiskey and coke. “I am going to need these to keep coming my way.”