Hunter's Heart by Rita Henuber Page A

not leaving here without having a talk with them.”
    LT folded his arms across his chest and gave them a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t say anything about leaving before we had a chat .”
    All right . They gathered around and LT gave them the plan.
    “Our friends ”—meaning the SOAR and 10th guys—“and I will be staying here tonight. We’ll be having a few beers and watching a John Wayne movie. Maybe sharing recipes.” He tossed the van keys to Bambi, the platoon’s best driver, sober, drunk or half-dead.
    “No one here unloads first.” LT went serious. “Let them instigate. You are not there to start a fight. Should one break out, do your duty and end it. Then get the hell out before the cops are called.”
    Hunter had the feeling no one in the bar would be calling the cops right away.
    They nodded.
    “One more thing. It’s a bar fight, not combat. No body count.”
    There was bar damage to consider. Even if they took their conversation outside fast, there was bound to be some breakage. “Pony up.” He stuck out a hand. “I figure five hundred should cover our share.” He had the amount in less than a minute.

    The Crossroads’ parking lot was pretty empty and Bambi parked the van where they couldn’t be hemmed in and could make a fast evac. Sherri saw them enter and was lining the bar with frosty longnecks by the time they reached her. The Army pukes had taken up their usual places in the back around the two pool tables. Hunter counted. The numbers were three to one—Army’s favor. Which, he figured made the odds even. Bug and Kirk snagged their beers and went for the cue rack as if intending to play. As the senior enlisted of the group, those two claimed the honor of wading in first.
    “You think you’re gonna play pool, Mr. SEAL?” a guy with his arm around a blonde said. Just identifying them as SEALs was enough reason to wipe the floor with the shit’s face.
    “Yeah,” Bug said, “ Mr. Army . Thought about challenging you to a few games. Figured if you play pool as bad as you play Army I can go home rich.”
    The air crackled with tension. The blonde squirmed from Mr. Army’s grip and joined the other bar bunnies across the room.
    Hunter smacked the five hundred on the bar. “Our share.” Sherri nodded and quickly disappeared the cash into her ample bosom.
    “Did you just say the Army sucks?” Army cocked his head and used his cue to poke Bug in the chest. Bug shoved it away and took a step.
    Hunter took a pull on his beer, set his feet and prepared to jump in. The rest of the boys did the same.
    “Nah. I said your unit sucks,” Bug said. “Wait. Let me expand on that. Your unit is fucking pathetic.”
    The jackass swung the cue at Bug’s head. The slender stick was jerked from his hand and cracked alongside his own head before he could let out the breath he’d just taken in. The brown stuff hit the fan and it was on. A burly man lunged for Kirk and was introduced to Kirk’s fist. As the rest of the SEALs rushed to join in, bar bunnies rushed to get out of the way. Fists, elbows, bodies flew.
    “Outside. Take it outside.” Sherri screamed as Hunter traded punches with two guys. No one paid attention. A blast into the ceiling from a 12 gauge showered bits of ceiling tiles and insulation over the brawlers. That got their attention. The room went quiet.
    “Out,” Sherri bellowed, “or the next shot goes into somebody’s backside. So ya know—these are rock-salt shells.”
    The bar warriors staggered to their feet and stumbled out the door. In seconds, they were at it again, grappling and battling in the dirt like gladiators. Hunter wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It was finished when Sherri hollered the local peace keepers were on their way. He delivered a last blow then went to Bambi who was using a car bumper to haul himself up.
    Bambi gave him a bloody grin. “Man you look like shit,” he said.
    “’Bout like you,” Hunter said back.
    They piled or were helped