The Pact by **Sigh** Copyright© 2020 plaintivesigh All Rights Reserved.

Epoxy.

An appropriately enigmatic name for a downtown bar, set in the basement of a building just east of downtown in Oklahoma City (OKC). This area was known as The Brickyard, an old warehouse district that had been renovated into a hip urban hangout filled with upscale eateries, hopping nightspots, a minor league baseball park, a cineplex, and select apartment dwellings. The Epoxy bar was probably as close to NYC or LA that you could get in this town; full of neon, low lights, some dry ice fog for ambiance, and avant-garde piano music trickling out of the hidden speakers. It catered to adults, especially singles, who wanted to be in a muted, sophisticated atmosphere. There was no cigarette smoke any more, not since a statewide anti-tobacco ordinance took effect a few years ago. Still, to some, it was the place to be.

A man, 30 years old, approached the street entrance of this bar. He was 6’1” and mostly fit, except for a slight paunch developing just at the beltline. A well-groomed mane of brown hair spilled down the sides of his face merging with a tightly tamed beard and mustache. He wore a blue shirt with a tie, sports jacket, slacks, and loafers. And a hidden pistol in a shoulder harness underneath the jacket.

Jack Rockwell, the man in question, smiled at the familiar neon sign. Epoxy was his hangout; he’d met some stunning women here over the past few years. He was not on the hunt tonight though, just killing time until he was to meet his best bud for a late supper at Oscar’s, a steak joint across the street. He glanced around, then descended the steps and walked through the door.

Upon entering, Jack did a quick scan and eval of the room. He couldn’t help it; his years as a detective in the local PD had ingrained this habit into his DNA.

New bartender girl; she looks nervous. Good looking redhead at the bar, drinking wine – that’s attractive – and she’s glued to her phone screen – that’s unattractive. Woozy looking older dude at a near table, with 5 empty shot glasses – he’ll need a ride. Aaaand … a weird-looking hombre sitting at the far table. One glass, nearly full, and he’s not sipping on it. His stare … too much white in the eyes. I’ll need to keep him on my radar.

He chuckled to himself. Damn. Can’t turn my work brain off, even when I’m off work. He bellied up to the counter.

“Hi what’ll it be,” said the thin, slightly hyper girl working the bar. She wore glasses, and her long stringy blonde hair seemed too thin, as if she had unlucky genes or maybe had a habit of pulling on it. Her speech seemed pressurized, as it flowed out of her mouth rapidly without pausing. She smiled, but her forehead and eyes appeared to be permanently wincing.

“A shot of bourbon,” Jack replied. “Just one; I’m meeting up with my best bud later. You’re new here. Got a name?”

“JC. Hey you aren’t a cop by chance or are you?”

“Why do you ask?” Admitting to being on the force was a liability these days, what with all the talk of de-funding the police.

JC evidently took that as a ‘yes’. “You see the creepy guy in the corner at the far table?”

“Don’t look at him. Yeah, I saw him when I came in. What’s he done?”

“Nothing yet he just looks creepy he’s got a stare and he hasn’t touched his martini.”

Jack smiled at her. “You’re pretty dang observant. If you ever stop bartending, you ought to try out detective work. I’m off-duty, but I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks here’s your bourbon,” she spouted and then left towards another order.

Jack glanced towards the redhead again. My god. She has the sweetest face, the sexiest lips and the curviest bod I’ve seen in a looooong time. If I weren’t meeting Brian tonight, I’d be talking her up to take her home. Well, I would if I could abide her obsession with her cellphone. Disappointing.

Bzzz-bzzz – the vibration was from the cell phone in Jack’s pocket. He looked at the screen to see a text notification; it was from his bud.

Hey, Jack. Sorry you’re having to wait for me. Be there in another 60 minutes. My rideshare left Tulsa half an hour ago.

No prob, Brian. You explained that earlier. Brian had flown into Oklahoma from Pittsburgh earlier today – but to Tulsa, to do some business with a client. He now was coming the last 100 miles via auto to OKC. Hey, we can talk on the phone; it’ll be quicker –

Actually can we just text? Don’t want this Uber guy to overhear the convo. I know, I’m paranoid.

Sure – why didn’t you just rent a car to come?

Rental rates are sky-high – believe it or not, this was cheaper. And I’m already on my way whereas otherwise I’d likely still be at rental counter.

OK. Just can’t wait to meet up with you again. 4 years – way too long. Don’t even know what u look like now.

Jack’s mind went back to high school, just over 10 years ago. Brian had just moved to OKC and was starting his junior year at Kennedy High, just like Jack. The two met in English Lit and bonded together over a love of horror/monster flicks. Brian thought Freddy Krueger was the ultimate slasher while Jack staunchly stuck with Jason Voorhees. Despite this serious disagreement, the two became fast friends.

Over the next 2 years, the best buds did movies, camping and fishing trips, and even family vacations together (Brian went to Nashville with Jack and his family, then Jack returned the favor going to the Florida west coast with Brian’s). They double-dated, shared anguish over cheating girlfriends, and sweated advanced calculus. Jack had never had anyone else in his life before or since who had understood him as Brian did; they had a real soul connection.

After graduation, Brian went to the east coast while Jack stayed in OKC. They saw each other about once a year, and did video calls; but after a while, work schedules and other life pressures just eroded their communication. They promised to keep in touch better, but somehow in the last 4 years neither had contacted the other much more than once yearly for “hey, happy b-day”. So, that promise had been broken.

Then there was the pact. The stupid, embarrassing pact. Jack was now 30 years old, like Brian, and so in a year the pact would be broken also. Good. Good riddance. I can’t believe I proposed that idiotic agreement in the first place, Jack mused.

Hey Jack. U free 2 text some more til I get there?

Sure Bri. ‘bout what?

How’s your love life, dude?

Jack sighed. Ugh. What’s a love life? Since we last really talked, Carrie left me – for an ex-con I put away 8 years ago! So that’s 2 marriages in the garbage now. Now, I do manage to hook up with some fine female specimens – usually find em in the Epoxy bar, where I am rite now. But no one I see that I want to settle with. Been burned too badly. Probly stayin single from now on.

Well, if that’s what you want.

OF COURSE IT’S NOT WHAT I WANT. It’s what I’m left with. This subject is spoiling my mood so I’m turning it on u. How’s YOUR love life.

Not much better I’m afraid. Every – and I mean EVERY – girl I’ve ever dated has friend-zoned me. Been told I’ve got a “beta” personality with a “beta” body. My last 2 relationships were abusive, including one that just ended 4 months ago.

Sorry 2 hear that bud. We’re a couple of sad sacks aren’t we?

Yeah. At this point, we might have to activate THE PACT.

Jack’s blood froze. “Shit!” he said out loud, then returned a text.

You actually remember the pact? I thought u were drunk – thot we BOTH were.

I remember every word of it. Do u?

After a long pause, Jack replied – Yes. Every word. His mind drifted back to that fateful night 12 years ago …

Two friends were laying on the hood of a Ford Mustang parked on the banks of Lake Thunderbird. It was late at night. Both had on prom tuxes – Brian’s was black, Jack’s was baby blue – and both had a couple of beers in them.

“What’s the matter with us?” Jack yelled into the dark sky. “Are we both just colossal losers? I mean, for both our prom dates to ditch us for other guys!”

“OLDER guys,” corrected Brian. “They had to have come from OU, down in Norman. Where're the shitty chaperones when you need them?? How could they just crash our party and take off with the best girls? What a disaster.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a total disaster for you, Bri. Amanda has never treated you well, in my opinion. She believed she was ‘settling’ by being with you; like if a more hunky guy showed interest she’d drop you faster than a greased cue ball.”

“Yeah, I could kind of tell that too. I guess I just stuck with her in hopes she’d one day fall in love once she got to know the real me. But your ex-date was even worse. She never cared about you – just felt entitled to your time and your money. She hated your family and friends – boy did she ever detest me! – and wanted you to ignore us so she could have you to herself.”

“I know, I know. It’s easier to see that now that she’s left. Good God, Bri. At this rate, will we ever find our soul mates? I don’t wanna just sleep around all my life; I want what my mom and dad have. The closest thing to what I desire in a wife is – now, don’t take this the wrong way buddy – YOU. I mean, I’m not gay. But – crap, this isn’t coming out right –“

“I think I feel you, Jack,” laughed Brian. “If you could take my personality and have it in a pretty girl’s body, that’d be ideal, right? Believe it or not, I’ve made that futile wish myself at times – just with you being the chick.”

“No offense buddy, but you’d make a better female than I would. But this is stupid talk.”

“Nah – it’s drastic talk. But you know, if ten years from now I haven’t found my one and only, I’d consider something drastic.”

“We ought to make a pact, just in case,” Jack laughed. If we get to 30, and neither of us has found true love, then one of us gets a sex change and we get married.”

“Ha ha ha! Yeah, that’s a plan! Who gets the surgery?”

“I dunno. We flip a coin.”

“Okay, bro. That’s what we’ll do. It’s a pact then!” chuckled Brian.

“It’s a PACT!!” yelled Jack.

A pithy, throwaway idea, made under the influence of alcohol. It should have been forgotten by the next morning. But Jack never forgot it. In times of dissatisfaction or loneliness, he would fantasize about Brian keeping the pact with him. They would flip a coin, Bri would choose heads but it would come down tails, so he would have to be the woman. A beautiful woman whose soul was as gorgeous as her body. Jack’s perfect match, his perfect mate. Sometimes he let the daydream linger, proceeding to engagement, then marriage, then the honeymoon … oh, the honeymoon …

Jack shook his head. “No, I’m not going there. Not tonight. Not when he’s meeting with me in less than an hour,” he told himself silently.

“Hey Mr. bourbon Mr. police guy,” a voice urgently whispered into Jack’s ear. The bartender. “The creepo’s about to do something and I’m freaking out so stop him.”

Jack shook away the mental cobwebs and looked towards the far back table. The man with the crazy stare was standing up; he was reaching under his jacket towards the back of his belt.

“Drop a bottle – distract him,” Jack fervently hissed at the ‘tender. He then moved away from the bar, headed towards the starer. 40 feet away. Almost there.

But the unbalanced man suddenly broke into a run towards the front of the bar, passing only ten feet in front of Jack on his way there. Jack pulled his pistol. “POLICE! FREEZE, OR I’LL SHOOT!”

The man didn’t freeze. Instead he arrived at the bar and grabbed the cell-phone-obsessed redhead around the neck; he pulled his own pistol out and pointed it at her temple. “DROP YER GUN, PIG COP! OR I’LL SPLATTER HER BRAINS ALL OVER!”

Jack put his free hand up in a “stop” gesture. “Whoa, man. Just calm down.”

“I SAID, DROP. YOUR. GUN!!!” The lunatic’s thumb cocked the hammer on his piece.

“Okay! Okay. I’m putting it down, see? Just work with me here. No one has to get hurt.” He carefully lowered his gun to the floor.

“Everyone put their cash and purses into this bag,” snarled the man. “If I don’t see enough here, I’ll shoot!” He produced a large trash bag, and most of the people in the place started to slowly comply.

“Girl behind the bar – empty the till in there!” Shaking and sniffling, she opened the cash drawer and poured it in.

Satisfied – or antsy, or both – the man grabbed the sack and began sidestepping towards the exit, dragging the shrieking redhead with him. “You’re coming with me as an insurance policy, bitch. The cops won’t shoot with you as my shield.”

The redhead and bartender both looked in Jack’s direction with pleading eyes.

Jack squinted a glance at the maniac. “You’re a damn idiot. Badass? Yes. But smart? No. You are the dumbest shithead I’ve seen all year.”

The maniac’s stare grew even wider. “That’s not the thing to say to THE MAN WITH THE GUN.”

“She’s not a shield, moron. She’s a whore, a high-end prostitute. Anyone with a lick of sense can look at her and see that. Hell, if they shoot at you they get two scumbags for the price of one. If you had any brain at all you’d choose a different hostage. Me. I’m a cop. They won’t dare fire a bullet if there’s a chance they’ll hit me.” He took off his jacket and his shoulder harness and put both hands in the air. “Don’t be a dumbass. Take me and let her go.”

The crook stood still for a few seconds as his mental gears ground slowly; the only sounds besides the music were the sobbing of the barkeep and the ginger hostage. Suddenly the man released the auburn-haired girl and shoved her away. He pointed his weapon at Jack as he briskly walked up to him. “You wanna be a hero, huh? Well after we’re safely gone, I’m going to make you suffer for all the shit cops have ever put me through. You’ll beg for death,” he half snarled/smiled. He held the gun to the back of Jack’s head as they walked to the exit.

“Sure wish that someone had dropped a bottle,” Jack sighed loudly.

Something clicked in bartender girl’s brain, and she grabbed the half-empty bottle of bourbon and heaved it with all her strength into the huge mirror behind the bar, diving to the floor as she did so. The CRASH was so loud the crazy man pointed his pistol in that general direction and fired.

Jack moved quicker than hot mercury. He grabbed the lunatic’s pistol arm and kept it extended, pointing it towards the ceiling as the criminal pulled the trigger over and over. The cop then pulled that arm down, hitting the wrist on a table edge; the gun came out of the hand and hit the floor. The would-be robber hit the floor also, on his back. Jack landed butt-first on the man’s chest and began whaling away with his fists on his foe’s head until the man was unconscious.

The commanding officer at the crime scene shook his head and laughed. “That sounds like the full story; all the other witnesses corroborate it. Boy, Jack. Don’t you know that it’s your night off?”

“Yeah, yeah. Trouble follows me like cats chasing a tuna truck,” Jack sneered. “Hey, if we’re done, I need to talk to two ladies over there.”

“Hey, JC,” the detective yelled. “Thank you. You saved my life by smashing that mirror.”

“There were like at least 15 more shots in that bourbon bottle I threw so I expect you to recompense me for each one just kidding,” she nervously laughed.

Jack next walked towards the Redheaded Cell Phone Woman, who was just ending her report to the police present. “Are you okay, ma’am? Were you hurt?”

“Not physically.” She sniffed, and dabbed a kleenex at her eyes. “but you called me –“

“A whore, a high-end prostitute. I am so, so sorry. I had to get that creep to release you, and that’s the first thing that came to mind. You don’t have anything close to the appearance of a prostitute. Will you please forgive me?”

The girl smiled. “I might … if you take me out to dinner sometime.”

Jack began to politely decline. Nope. I don’t need failed marriage #3. But there was something intriguing about this girl, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Bzzz-bzzz went his phone. He pulled it out. A text from Brian again. Brian! In all the hullaballoo he’d forgotten about the dinner at Oscar’s! I need to get there pronto.

Jack turned towards the redhead. “Hey, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go –“ he bit his tongue. The girl was engrossed in her cell screen once more. Okay. I just need to leave.

Bzzz-bzzz! Brian again. Jack looked at the screen, expecting a frustrated “where are you”. Instead, it read:

You were so awesome just now. Taking down that crook.

Jack did a double-take. He examined the screen again. Yes, that text was from Brian.

Saving my life! Even though you did call me a whore.

Jack’s chin hit the floor. He looked towards the redhead. She was waving at him.

“Hi, Jack. It’s me, Brianna. I'm here to fulfill the pact.”

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