Desire Is Death

Quiet nights in Oakland threw Riley. Despite his age, he craved action. He strolled in the direction of his usual bar, took in the sidewalk sights. Always be the first person to see everyone and everything, a rule he lived by. He didn’t know how many others lived by it, only that he didn’t want to be with anyone who didn’t.

Skinny white girl with no ass walked up the street. Riley watched. Too young for him but not too pretty. What he needed was a beer and a female version of himself: old, weathered, and horny.

He got to The Hurricane, sat alone. Late afternoon, not late enough for the after-work crowd. Riley didn’t work, not that kind of job anyway. His hours varied.

Eva brought him his usual beer and whiskey. She was young and pretty but a good bartender anyway.

“Hey, Riley.”

“Eva. You good?”

“You know,” she said. “I hate people.”

He smiled. Always liked Eva. “No reason to like them.” Looked at the TVs. No hockey. Eva loved hockey and maybe her boyfriend. Outside of that was the world. What did she have to be happy about?

His eyes were up and down the bar and around to the pool tables, no women his age, except maybe the pretty one who approached. He figured her for a daytime lush. Nice ass, Riley could tell by the walk, plus old enough and seemingly hostile enough. Maybe not drunk yet. If only she was ugly. At least her nose looked like it had been busted before. He wondered what she wanted from him, figured a free drink. He was good with it, if he could trade up.

Between jobs, Riley wasn’t good for much but drinking. And fucking, if it happened before he drank too much. One of his skills was drinking too much. And he had a high tolerance. The right woman and he’d cut back on either the beers or the shots. Never both. And she was never the right woman for long. Something about him being an asshole.

“What are you drinking?” he said before she was past him, and patted the stool to his right.

She took the seat. “Margarita. Salt and lime.”

Eva had moved close enough to hear the order, was already mixing it.

The old broad had brown hair tinged with gray, like she hadn’t fucked with it, no need to. It looked good natural and so did she, not too busty, a good shape and a face that hadn’t aged much. The break looked recent. Could be trouble. Riley had seen plenty.

Looks-wise she was out of his class—he always pulled them in with personality—but if she’d drink enough to fuck him that would work.