in freebies.” “One good deed, you know.” She drew the pint and handed it to him.

“I’m Helen, Helen Myers.” “John Puller.” “You’re a bit…” He looked around and

grinned. “Older than your usual clientele.” “That’s very delicately put.” He

took a sip of his beer. “Is this your place?” “What makes you say that?” “You

look like a lady in charge.” “Well, I am as a matter of fact.” “Good for you.”

“How about you? What’s your line of work?” “Uncle Sam.” “You look military. What

branch?” “Army.” “My father was in the 82nd Airborne.” “Hell of a division.”

“That’s what he said, right up to the day he died. He was career military.

That’s where I got the idea for the Grunt. He was enlisted.

 

Guy in the trenches.” “Me too. I’m sorry I had to pull a couple grunts out of

line. They had fake IDs.” She frowned. “I know. I hate that. You’d think if

you’re old enough to fight and die for your country, you’re old enough to buy

and drink a beer. It’s stupid.” “Preaching to the choir.” “Then you probably saw

our bouncer, Paul.” “I did. He looks like he can take care of himself.” “Oh yes

he can. Have a second beer. On the house.” He raised his glass. “No, that one

I’ll pay for.” She smiled, walked across the room, and went past the security

guard and up the stairs, passing through the door, which she closed behind her.

 

Puller watched all of this and then turned his attention back to the woman. Her

“friend” had left her and she was fumbling with something in her purse.

 

He walked over to her. “Got a minute?” “Excuse me?” She glanced up at him as she

pulled out her lipstick and redid her mouth. Puller figured most of what had

been on her lips had ended up on the guy’s face or down his throat. “I’d like to