There's Always A Dame.

I looked down through the bottom of my glass at the dingy bar, the grain of the wood distorted by what little whiskey remained. Rolling the coin in my hand over and over, I traced the outline of Washington's head. I could almost count the rivets around the edge of the quarter, if I didn't get distracted by the conversations nearby and the conversation in my head.

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath. I swiveled around in the brown leather covered stool, grasping the cool brass rivets as I pushed myself up and off of my perch. Squinting through the smoky atmosphere of the bar, I looked in the direction where I thought I saw the telephone when I walked in an hour and three Jack Daniels ago.

The black handset felt cool against my ear, flush from the effects of the whiskey. Dial tone. Haven't heard that sound in forever, I thought to myself. I dropped the coin in the slot and punched in the only phone number I'd memorized since high school. One of the characters at the bar stared at me, trying to make it look like he wasn't. I scowled at him and turned towards the wall. The phone rang three times before she picked up.

"Hey, it's me. No, I know. Look, I wouldn't have called if it wasn't... Would you just... I'm in kind of a jam here, I didn't have anyone else to call. What? Yeah, I'm at a bar. I don't know, maybe two. God, why does it matter? Would... Why are you bringing that up? Listen... No, I know... I know that. No. Yes. I need you to listen to me. I need some help."

The whiskey helped dull the feeling of my nose breaking as some thug grabbed my hair and slammed my face into the wall. I stumbled backwards and a fist hit my stomach like a freight train and I buckled over, gasping for breath. I could feel my face swelling and through tearing eyes I could make out the goon's friend grasping the phone, putting it on a collision course with my temple.

I came to in the back of a van, with a bag over my head and a herd of wild animals running through it. My hands were cuffed behind my back and I could hear the rhythmic thump thump of the car driving over a bridge. The van smelled like cigarettes and BO: the scent of two men sitting for hours, waiting.

Waiting for what? For me?

I was in bigger trouble than I had initially thought. She must have something to do with this. Not the one on the phone. She wasn't the type of girl who knew goons like this existed outside the movies. It was the other one. The one who waltzed into my life three days ago. Three days filled with one thing after another, where having my face slammed into a wall and being kidnapped in a van didn't even come as a surprise.

Was she worth it? If I had known the turns my life would take would I have parachuted into that hurricane? Honesty, I probably would. She was one of those girls. One of those girls you'll do anything she says. Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.