Underground Legends: The Hunt

Chapter 8 - Saint

Saint Botero - (Male P.O.V)

October 14, 2074

Rusty's. It was a single-story bar where the rats outnumbered the occupants, and every feen came to fuel their addiction. Whether it was alcohol, sex, drugs, or gambling Rusty's had it all.

The neon sign displaying the bar's name above the entrance flickered as I entered the building. My footsteps slowed as my eyes swept over the small, dimly lit entryway. There was no furniture, only two speakers imprisoned in cages in the corners.

The bass booming from the devices vibrated my body and shook the drywall loose. Neither of the two bouncers paid it any attention. They only maintained their position on either side of the short passage leading further into the bar. When I passed by them, they gave me a quick once over but said nothing.

Shrugging, I kept moving forward. Just as I neared the end of the passage, a bunch of wires jutting from the wall caught my attention.

A single handwritten sign was the only warning to the bar's occupants.

Touch at your own risk!!

It read.

It was a lawsuit waiting to happen. But the patrons didn't seem to care. A few swear words, phone numbers, and penis drawings surrounded the message in response.

Lightly shaking my head, I stepped out the doorway. Only to be engulfed by wiggling bodies grinding on the makeshift dance floor.

After deterring a woman's attempt to use my leg as a pole, I scoped out the crowd. It only took a second for me to spot Quinton seated near the center of the bar. His massive frame slumped as if weighed down by an invisible force. The fingerprint-smudged mirror hanging behind the bar enabled me to see his reflection, albeit a slightly distorted one.

A deep frown marred his forehead as he stared down into the glass of amber liquid clutched between his palms.

I groaned.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was must be downright terrible to send him on this downward spiral.

This wasn't like him.

We had known each other for twelve years since meeting in ninth grade. And during that time, I had only seen him drown his sorrows in alcohol twice. Both times involved cases that ended catastrophically.

A similar incident must have occurred today for him to be in this seedy place.

I headed his way weaving through the sea of warm sticky bodies. Fending off the occasional groping from the octopus-armed assailants slowed my pace, but eventually, I reached his side. Sighing in relief, I plopped down on the only unoccupied stool to his left.

"Hey!" I thumped my fist against his shoulder, getting his attention. "Rough day at work?"

I swallowed hard while inwardly cringing at my less than smooth approach to address the subject.

For a second, he didn't say anything, just blinked twice.

"Yeah," he finally said, sliding the glass back and forth between his hands. "What gave it away?"

I gestured to our surroundings, but it went unnoticed by Quinton. The liquid sloshing against the rim of the glass held his full attention.

So I said, "You're in this shit hole of a place drinking during the middle of the day."

He grunted. "I'm sorry, princess. Should I have chosen another place to drink my problems away?"

"Is that what you're doing?"