Dancing with the Devil (Ravens Ruin MC 3)

You’d think the liquor store would be a dangerous place for a woman to stroll past alone, but around the corner is Pappy’s. The coin laundromat is the real test of courage. Kept warm with the use of the dryers inside, the laundromat attracts all the people not allowed to stay inside the liquor store and consume their purchases.

Any other day, I’d walk right by the cracked picture window, head held high and daring anyone to mess with me, but tonight I’m still raw from my choices twenty-four hours ago. Instead of turning the corner and crossing the road a few blocks down, I cross right after the liquor store and keep to the shadows along the closed storefronts opposite of the laundromat. None the wiser, the degenerate population inside drink from cans stuffed in paper bags and don’t even raise their heads from their card game as the sinister darkness turns into a more respectable area of the neighborhood.

The paper-thin divide separating the contradictory areas of town on Parker Street are always battling for dominance, but lucky for me, tonight isn’t one where either side is wrestling with the other. Tonight, the streetlamps and the lone light in Tito’s small parking lot are lit, and there are no teenagers looking for trouble across the street to hassle people needing to walk by.

The false sense of security crackles around me. It’s not a good thing no one is out causing trouble. It’s curious more than anything. The air is different, crackling at the wrong time, surrounding me in a bubble that’s sure to pop at any minute.

Blaming the cold, I shiver when I step inside of Tito’s, but the malevolent sensation doesn’t subside even when the tinted door closes behind me. A collection of spices invades my sinuses, and I know, if only for a few moments, things will be fine. It’s amazing what the promise of tacos can do to a person. Getting two tacos, fries, and a drink for just five bucks isn’t a deal many people would turn down.

“Can I get the special, beef with extra pico?”

The cashier behind the counter jots my order down on a generic menu pad. “To go?”

She may not know my name, but every other time I’ve stepped in here, I’ve asked to have my food packaged to carry back home. The idea of being caged in this windowless building has always teetered on the edge of too confined for me. Tonight is different, however. Tonight, going back outside is what activates that low hum of fear deep in my gut. It’s the promise of what could happen that forms the response on my lips.

“To go, yes.”

The same fear that drove me to cross the street earlier than normal mere moments ago is the same one that urges me back outside immediately after collecting my bag of food and Pepsi from the counter. My life is spent in a never-ending game of chance. Last night I almost lost. Most often, I somehow manage to slide through unscathed. Those nights are the ones I find most disappointing.

Still focused on their card game, the guys in the laundromat don’t so much as give me a passing glance when I cross in front of the window. The homeless man that has become a permanent fixture on the front stoop of the liquor store isn’t around either.

Silence in a busy town is eerier, more alarming than gunshots and arguing as far as I’m concerned. You expect the violence, the raw and uncensored humanity of people unhappy in life and no real means to change. The people around here don’t hide who they are. They don’t bite their tongues until a later time when voicing an opinion contrary to their current company is appropriate. If an emotion bubbles up their throat, they spew on the sidewalk as if it’s their God-given right to let the world know they are unhappy, or sad, or pissed they caught their best friend on her knees in the alleyway sucking a cock that didn’t belong to them just for that bump they needed to make it through the night.

What is unusual right now is the false tranquility that seems to engulf the entire neighborhood. There’s a sinister energy surrounding everything. Like dogs who can sense the tornado and impending storm just by sniffing the air, the folks up and down Parker Street seem to be taking cover.

Chilled both from the early spring air on my bare arms and the vibe that’s crackling around me, a soul-deep shiver runs down my spine as I cross the street from the liquor store. The headlights of a car blind me as it closes the distance. I stare straight into the blinding light. momentarily wondering if the vehicle will pop over the curb and strike me down. A grin forms on my lips at the thought.