Opia

Chapter 4

Was it so much to ask that his team have a winning season just once?

Dean frowned in disgust as he watched the football highlights. No matter how many times they replayed the film, the fumble that cost them the game was not going away.

"I'm gonna need another," he said gruffly to the bartender, holding up his empty bottle.

"That bad huh?"

"Gonna be an ugly season."

Dean knew he put a little too much stock in to the outcome of the games, but it made him feel normal for as long as his attention was on the TV. If he had never gone through Opia, if he hadn't been turned in to a weapon, he'd still have watched sports. It was something normal people did.

The stool he was on squeaked in protest as he turned away from the flat screen to see what was going on in the bar.

Fuzzy's was pretty calm since a lot of his hunters were out on jobs. He figured things were going pretty good since no one had called him out to finish anything. That or his people had been killed, and he'd never hear from them again.

Man, his thoughts were getting more morbid by the day.

They were alive, he told himself. All of them. They just didn't need his help, and that was a good thing. After the abrupt ending to his phone call with Artis, he would have been way too sidetracked if someone had asked for him.

It had been two hours since the phone call had ended. Not a good ending. In fact, it had sounded like a very bad one. But she was alive, or at least had been. And a prober who was still kicking was a force to be reckoned with. Especially Artis.

An image popped into his mind of Artis lying dead on the ground, a bullet through her chest, blood pooled around her body.

Way too morbid. He banished the thought.

His first instinct had been to head for Burnsville and find out what was going on. He had resisted the urge because of that stinkin' rule Artis had been kind enough to remind him of. No matter how bad a situation seemed, four hours had to pass without hearing from a prober in order to justify a search party. He was a leader. A lot of people looked up to him, so he'd sit tight and follow the rules, much as it killed him inside.

"Hey, Dean." A brunette with a body that could compete with any model sidled up next to him and laid a hand on his arm. "Cora and I were thinking about ordering an early dinner. Wanna join us? Looks like you could use a distraction."

"Not now," Dean answered distractedly.

Unmasked surprise covered her face. She looked down at herself as if trying to make sure she still looked as hot as she usually did. There wasn't anything for her to worry about. In skin tight jeans and a fitted, black, V-neck t-shirt, she looked more than fine. For once, Dean just didn't care.

"Well, ok then, you know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Yep." He reached out for the new beer that had been set in front of him and took a long swig as she walked away, her stilettos clicking against the floor.

"She still hasn't called back?" Joe slid on to the stool next to him, mercifully holding back the jabs about Artis that Dean knew were swirling around in his head.

"Nah, but she'll be fine," he answered with a shrug.

"You saying that 'cause you believe it, or to make yourself feel better?"

"Both."

"That's what I thought." Joe stretched his hands over his head and then cracked his neck in that way that he thought looked cool but actually wasn't. "So, you're going to hang out here until you hear from her?"