Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1)

Chapter Twelve

Daisy paid off the cab driver and entered the dingy pub. The stench of stale beer and sweat filled the air. A babble of male voices slowed and stopped. She smiled and gave a little wave in greeting. Way to go. The bar was full of men. Fat men, skinny men, bald men, hairy men, young men, older men-but they were all men. Except for the busty brunette behind the bar, who was definitely a woman. Head held high, Daisy crossed the room. This was the twenty-first century. Women were allowed in pubs on their own, even dodgy ones. The barmaid shook her head.

"You must be brave, stupid, or both."

"Why?"

"That lot have been in here since the doors opened. It's Mick's bachelor's do, and they're waiting for the stripper to arrive. You don't look like the stripping sort, but they're wound up so tight any woman will do. If she doesn't show up soon, we'll both be fighting to keep our clothes on."

Daisy leaned forward and whispered, "Aren't you afraid?"

"Nope. I've taken my kegs off for them before. The wages in this place are shit, and those boys pay well. So, are you staying?"

Daisy glanced around the room and noticed a man sitting alone in the corner. He looked like an escapee from a seventies rock band. If Steven Tyler ever retired, this dude could step in and take his place, assuming he sang and didn't just dress the part.

"I'm staying. I'll have a white wine please, and another of whatever the guy in the corner's having."

"Zut?"

"If that's his name, then yes, Zut."

"That'll be twelve pound fifty. I'll bring 'em out to you. You might want to watch for wandering hands on your way over."

Daisy took a deep breath and skirted around the edge of the group of rowdy blokes. Thank God she'd caught a cab. If Solomon were there he'd go mental. Although if Solomon were there he would also protect her from the man who currently had his hand halfway up her leg.

She glared at the offender and grabbed his arm. He winked and tugged her toward him. Unable to stop the momentum she slammed her heel into the top of the man's foot. Sneakers were no match for spike heels. He grimaced and let go. She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't touch me again. And before you ask, I'm not a stripper, and the last man who assumed I was is still in hospital. The doctors are searching for his left nut, which I pocketed behind his liver with a pool cue."

The man's face paled, and the conversation hushed.

"You all right, Mick? Don't tell me you've finally got the balls to try and hook up with a woman now Sonja has you firmly on a leash." The pimple-faced youth sitting to Mick's right snorted into his pint. "Too late to sow your wild oats now. You'd have to ask Sonja to give you your balls back first. If I'd have known you were interested I could have given you some of me leftover women. They're not fussy about a man's performance."

She could imagine any woman who hooked up with pimples was desperate enough for anything. In forty years he would slip into the role of dirty old man with no problem at all. Daisy turned her attention to the man who had accosted her. Apparently she'd been fondled by the groom. Now she looked at him she could see he was a lad in his early twenties. She felt bad humiliating him at his own buck's show. The boy was probably just overenthusiastic about enjoying his last moments of freedom and wanted to show his moronic friends he was a real man.

Daisy reached out and ran her fingers through Mick's dark hair. "Mick doesn't need leftovers, do you, babe? Mick's better than all right; he's fantastic." She gave him a wink. "See ya, cock."