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At any rate, the alcohol at Thomas’s was free and I was always invited, so it was perfect for the person who was running low on cash. Thomas didn’t realize that my income was limited, however, and he and his friends kept pushing coke on me, hoping for the day when I would become a regular and they could start charging me for it. I continued to steer clear of the drugs and by doing so, almost got myself killed. The cold winter weather had set in, but still we had no snow on the ground. My money was running out and I didn’t have enough to foot my share of rent or utilities. I promised Paul that I would get the money, but I still wasn’t sure how I was going to pull it off. I’d applied for bartending positions at a half dozen places around town, but hadn’t had much luck. Most of the places weren’t looking to fill positions right away or at all. Many of them were in the habit of stocking up on applications, so that if the need arose, they would have numbers to call. It is notoriously hard to find dependable bartending help. Most bar managers expect high employee turn over as a fact of doing business. Still, nothing opened up for me. I found myself at Thomas’s again, working on a bottle of tequila. The faces that night weren’t familiar. The women were more hardcore; beautiful from a distance, but once you got closer you could see the hardness in their eyes and the fine lines in their face. They’d been through the wringer of life, but they didn’t know any other way. Their boyfriends weren’t the typical Wenatchee yokels that Thomas dragged up to his pad to indulge in illicit highs. These guys carried a palpable aura of menace with them. Dressed in designer leather jackets and silk shirts, these two carried themselves with the same bravado I liked to project. Often I hang out with friends that are big, and, even though, at my healthiest, I top out at around one hundred and fifty pounds, I like to project that same attitude. I’ve never shied away from confronting people. Call it guts or call it stupidity, I don’t care. I come across with the demeanor of someone that weights between one hundred and eighty and two hundred and ten, bench presses three hundred pounds, and boxes professionally. This is the attitude that would greatly contribute to my near death experience. Thomas introduced them as Lee and Chance, friends of his who were up visiting from Seattle. They eyed me warily, when I didn’t back down or defer to them. Evidently they were used to being the big fish in the pond, and it bothered them that a runty guy with a bottle of Cuervo in one hand was giving back as much attitude as they were putting out. I saw Chance pull Thomas aside and have a little heart to heart, complete with furtive gestures and glances in my direction. Evidently, Thomas allayed whatever concerns Chance had about me, because the party went on and soon I was chatting with the both of them. On some subjects, they would join in and share a bawdy tale or two. As soon as the conversation began to approach them or what they did, they became noticeably tight lipped. Likewise, their girlfriends offered no illumination, and when the conversation veered in that direction they would excuse themselves to snort a line of coke- or to freshen up in the bathroom. About eleven o’ clock, Lee excused himself to go run an errand. He left the house, and through the front window I watched him start his Corvette and, high beams blazing the way, roam off into the night. I wasn’t much concerned with whatever urgent errand had caused him to leave his woman behind, but I found that she was all too willing to flirt with me
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