North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,2

the whole vibe.”

“So kick them out,” North said. “You don’t have to have a good reason.”

“We tried that,” Daksha said. “They threatened to sue us. They’re in law school, and they say it won’t cost them anything. Wouldn’t matter even if it did. These kids, they’ve got tons of money—you can tell that just looking at them. I don’t have any idea if I can legally kick them out of the bar, but I don’t think it matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Shaw said.

“This place,” Daksha gestured to the bar, and another whiff of fresh lime carried in the air. “Lesbian bars aren’t exactly overwhelmed with customers, and we skate by on a slim margin. It wouldn’t matter if we won or lost a civil suit; they could put us out of business just with the lawyer’s fees.”

North looked at Shaw. Shaw nodded.

“Let’s get rid of some douchey bros,” North said.

3

BY SEVEN, a crowd was beginning to build in Radio Girls. By eight, it was a decent throng for a weekend night in a lesbian bar. At least, that’s what North thought. He’d never been in a lesbian bar before—and fuck Shaw, he thought absently, for those stupid jokes—but this was more business than he’d expected.

By nine, the bros were there. Thirteen of them tonight. All of them white. All of them wearing clothes that looked casual but had doubtless cost a fortune—North knew because he had gone to Chouteau College with this exact same caliber of bro, and he knew because he’d never had any money. They were loud. They laughed and high-fived and bumped fists and bumped chests and shouted and drank and drank and drank and shouted some more. They crowded around the booths near the east bar, just as Daksha had said, until the women in those seats grew irritated enough to leave, and then they spilled onto the banquettes, laughing and cheering and drinking and bumping fists.

Thirteen of them. North figured he could get three out of commission before the others realized what was happening. He wasn’t Rambo or Bruce Lee—there was probably some more current action-hero analogy, someone played by Jason Statham or Vin Diesel or the Rock, but it just wasn’t coming to North right then—but he had gotten in fistfights with Chouteau boys before. He’d been brawling while they’d been learning to stroke or sit a horse or speak Mandarin. Shaw could probably take out three before the rest of them got going. But that would leave ten, and ten guys, even ten bros like these, could still beat two broke-ass detectives.

“I think we could just talk to them,” Shaw said, bouncing on his stool, his eighteenth Coke sloshing in his hand. “I think if we explained how much this was upsetting the women, if we just made it clear—”

“They know how much it’s upsetting them. That’s part of the game.”

Shaw was squirming so hard he was about to slide off the stool. “I know, I know, but I don’t think they really understand. I don’t think they really get it. I think if we just—”

“You’re wired.”

Shaw tried to settle down. It was obvious. And after about fifteen seconds, he started wriggling again.

“No more,” North said, taking the Coke and setting it behind the bar.

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine, I’m just excited about the chance to help these guys open their eyes, really open their eyes and understand—”

“All right,” North said, checking his watch. It was half-past eleven, and the bros were starting to get sloppy. “Let’s go talk to them.”

The leader was a blond guy with a Romney boy haircut. He was waving a draft beer at the other bros, punctuating his story with dramatic sweeps of the glass, splashing beer all over the table in the process. When he noticed North and Shaw, he paused, his brain trying to paddle through the booze, and then he grinned. “Hey. Hey! We’ve got a bet going about you guys. We saw you. We saw you guys sitting over there. And we’ve got a bet going. We’ve got a bet about whether you—” He punched the glass toward Shaw. “—whether you’re a girl or a tranny because, you know, the hair. And that fucking face.” He burst into howls of laughter, the other bros aped his laugh.

North could feel his knuckles pop as he made fists. He felt a smile growing on his lips.

“Ok,” Shaw said, bouncing on his toes, the eighteen Cokes making his words shoot out machine-gun style. “Ok, hey, not cool,