"Below if the unedited first draft of V-Life Book III, Chapter 1. I have no idea how much this will change between now and the final version, but it's always fun for me to watch the evolution. And now you get to share it with me. Hope you enjoy. And thanks again for being part of the journey."
-Honey Parker

Pelea De Bar ​(Translation: Bar Fight)

“¡Retírate, idiota!”

     “¿O que?”

     “No quieres verma enojado.”

     “¡Yo no quieres ver tu cara de coño azutado ahore!”

​     Let the games begin! Punches and beer bottles began flying as the bachelor party's half-dozen or so sauced up young men moved to the next phase of their pre-wedding festivities: the drunken-bar-fight phase. 

     While Sugar’s command of Spanish was far better than it had been when she first arrived on Spain's Costa Brava, she couldn’t make out the specifics. They were speaking too fast. But she was able to piece together enough words to know that the groom-to-be was defending his betrothed from a groomsman-to-be’s accusation of resembling a particular breed of dog. Since Sugar couldn’t translate the exact dog breed, she was unclear as to how bad the insult was...So she continued sitting on stage, strumming her guitar and singing in English while the fight continued in Spanish. Not my circus. Not my monkey.

     It had been almost five years since Sugar started her “residency” as the regular headliner at Tías et Tíos, a beach bar catering to locals and the more adventurous travelers. Situated in a charming little town with a relaxed vibe, its owners had taken to Sugar immediately. How could they not? Lidia and Joe were Sephardic Jews with an ear for talent and a need to parent. While their own two children worked for them, Lidia always had room for more kids—especially an exceptional vocal talent like Sugar. And there was, of course, Sugar’s magnetic vampirical charm. 

     When hunting for a town in which to lay low for however long it would take for her sworn enemy Angél to die, Sugar had several criteria. The place needed to be off the beaten path—yet have enough traffic to allow her to sustain herself as an entertainer. The locals needed to be friendly—but not nosey. And the view had to be striking enough to stir what was left of her soul. It also had to be someplace where she knew no one, and where no one she knew would stumble upon her—not even after being pushed. Per her dear dead friend Thomas’ suggestion, she wanted a warm beach and a gentle breeze in which to wait out her time until some else killed Angél (it was inevitable), making it safe for Sugar to return to the people she cared about. Until then, she wasn’t willing to risk their lives. 

     Her first thought for a place to hide was Australia. Halfway around the world seemed as far away as it got. And bonus, they speak English. Then she moved her focus a bit further south to New Zealand. Just as far, yet less populated and no box jellyfish, saltwater crocodiles, redback spiders, or any of the other countless deadly inhabitants of Australia. But the logistics of the move proved more challenging than expected. Sugar had thought, Simple, just take red eyes.Nope. Not so simple. There were long layovers that would cause her to need a place to duck into, away from the sun’s deadly rays. That likely meant hotels. And while some airport hotels accepted dogs, few allowed cats. And there was no way Kitten wasn’t coming on this journey. Kitten, her cat, sidekick, wing-woman, and roommate was going to pose the real travel challenge. New Zealand required animals be chipped, rabies tested, parasite treated, and with all manner of health-related papers before going into quarantine for at least ten days upon arrival. Forget that. You don’t get my cat for any amount of time. So where to now? French was the language she studied in school. And she did enjoy the thought of Paris. But the Paris vampire scene was just too big for someone trying to go unnoticed. No to Paris. But just down and to the left from France was Spain. (Down and to the right if you’re already in France.) She’d thought, I watched Sesame Street. I have starter Spanish. Bonus, there are plenty of beaches. After a little research, she figured a way to get the cat into the country without going into quarantine. If Sugar got Kitten her original rabies shot right before leaving the US, then got her booster immediately upon arrival, they’d be good to go. Spain became Sugar’s new target.

     Still, she had a lot of figuring to do. Yes, the red-eye flights left in the evening, but they arrived in the morning. 9:30 or 7:45. That was no good. She’d need to arrive on an overcast day. Which meant she’d be flying last minute. That would eat up a good amount of cash because Sugar would 100% be flying first class. As would Kitten.

     After finding a long-term storage place in New York for her Sprinter van, she packed one large duffle that would fit in the overhead. The idea of a checking a bag, having it get lost in the system, traveling on its own to who-knew-where before finding its way to Spain, then explaining to some overly apologetic—or worse, underly apologetic—member of airport security why she would not pick the thing up during the day was enough to make her pack light. For Kitten, she’d bought a regulation pet carrier that would fit under the seat. But Sugar had purchased the seat next to hers and planned on having the carrier sit out except during take-off and landing. Why take the chance of sitting next to someone who wanted to make small talk? Or get political? Or hit on her? No thank you. What she hadn’t planned for was the woman in the row behind her.

     “Excuse me. Is that a cat in there?”

     “Yes.”

     “My husband, Phillip is allergic to cats.”

     “Hm.”

     “He can’t breathe around cats.”

     “Hm.”

     “Phillip, show her.”

     Sugar wondered if Phillip was about to prove his wife’s assertion by taking a big whiff of Kitten, then passing out right there in the isle. Instead Phillip, a tall thin man with five long strands of hair stretched across his head, making his scalp resemble the staff on a piece of sheet music, produced a laminated doctor’s note from the travel pack around his waist. It said he was allergic to cats. He then held the card in front of Sugar. When she didn’t say anything, he shook it as if the words on the card might fall into place, causing her to have an epiphany and leave the plane with the offending creature.

     Finally, Phillip’s wife asked, “Well?”

     Sugar shrugged. “Well?”

     “What do you think?”

     “Honestly, I don’t love the font.”

     Getting no satisfaction from Sugar, the woman grabbed her husband’s card and walked up to a flight attendant while Phillip guarded their seats. Perhaps he thought someone would try to take them. Sugar could see a lot of broad gestures as Mrs. Cat Allergy pleaded her case to the flight attendant. The broad-shouldered man looked like he’d been to this dance before. Without trying hard to listen in, Sugar could hear he was attempting to calm the woman by explaining how air circulated on a plane. Mrs. Cat Allergy finally returned to her seat in a huff. She yanked the back of Sugar’s seat as she threw herself into place. But in grabbing Sugar’s seat, the woman also grabbed Sugar’s hair. That was a huff too far. Sugar turned and glared at the woman behind her. Without speaking aloud, she planted a thought in Mrs. Cat Allergy’s head. It had to do with suffocation. And not her husband’s. Mrs. Cat Allergy didn’t say another word for the rest of the flight. The flight attendant seemed to understand that Sugar was the source of their peaceful crossing and nodded to her in solidarity.

     Once she and Kitten were safely in Spain, Sugar pulled a business card from her pocket. It was from a buxom woman she’d met in Nashville, a music agent who’d wanted to represent her. Sugar had passed ever so politely, but left the door open. Now she walked through it. She called and asked the woman, Wynona Fox, if she had any connections in coastal Spain. Next stop, Tías et Tíos. It was an easy fit and Sugar periodically sent Wynona a check of appreciation. And she did appreciate it. Working for tips from these seaside patrons was light duty and as easy as a gentle breeze. On weekends Sugar could score a four-figure pay day. That, along with the occasional side gigs in larger venues that Wynona hooked her up with, was more than paying her freight.

     Back in the here and now, Sugar began considering a new purchase for her stage wardrobe when--

     A man with a Spanish accent yelled to Sugar. “Azzy! Duck!” 

   There was no need for his urgency. As the beer bottle came sailing towards Sugar’s head, she snapped her hand up in front of her face, caught the bottle, then gently placed it on the floor between herself and the cat carrier. She winked at tall, lanky Gabriel, the owner’s son and bartender, and mouthed, “Gracias.”

     He seemed stunned by the speed of her reaction. He also seemed at his limit for the abuse that was being done to his parents’ bar. The young man reached behind the bar and pulled out the paddle end of a sawed-off oar. He called out to the bachelor party, “¡Ey!” 

     The brawlers were too deeply entrenched in their antics for Gabriel’s call to penetrate the mayhem. The two main participants in the fight where now wrestling with each other as half the party was cheering them on and the other half was trying to pull them apart. The cheering contingent was winning. The fighters rolled over a table then onto the sand-covered floor. 

     Gabriel tried to wedge his oar in between the two men. “¡Ey, ey!””

     But they didn’t stop. Suddenly, one of the groomsmen pulled Gabriel back and another took a swing at him. Sugar watched, forcing herself to not jump in. She hated seeing a nice guy like Gabe take an undeserved punch. Particularly when she had the power to put an abrupt end to the whole thing. But Sugar remembered the last time she ended a bar fight. It was at Thelma and Louis’ Cliff Side Bar & Lounge in Roanoke, Virginia. She’d lost control of her temper, her fangs, and ultimately her job. Sugar wondered what Thelma and Louis were up to now. Did they ever tell anyone what happened that night? She was pretty sure her secret was safe. They were a gruff, hard-working couple with big hearts. And now they occupied a spot on the list of people she liked and would likely never see again. Sugar wasn’t ready to do anything that would endanger her current position as Tías & Tíos resident headliner. Sorry Gabe. You’ll have to solve this without my help. 

     Sadly, Gabe wasn’t solving it. He was now in deep trouble as several in the party were ganging up on him. Sugar looked to the far side of the bar for Hector, the bouncer, janitor and otherwise unemployable cousin. He was at his post, right where he was supposed to be. But asleep. Hector was dozing through the mayhem. 

     Sugar called out, “Hector! Hector!”

     The big man didn’t budge.
 
     “Hector! ¡Cerveza gratis!”

     The call of “free beer” did the trick. Hector’s eye’s fluttered open. At first, he looked around in a fog, presumably trying to locate his cerveza gratis, but quickly caught on that his services where needed. He got up from his stool, knocking it over as he leapt to Gabriel’s aid. Hector was a surprisingly quick for such a huge man. And strong. He started peeling groomsmen from Gabe and tossing them aside like bar towels. When he finally got to Gabe, he lifted his cousin to his feet. Then, the two cousins grabbed the shirts of the two chief offenders. With each cousin holding a drunkard by the collar, they hollered in Spanish, forcing the men to answer questions, then say something to each other. It ended with the best man handing Hector a wad of cash. Hector handed it to Gabriel and Gabriel bought the bedraggled wedding party one last round on the house. All the men hugged it out, added the obligatory back slaps, and began to sing. All was once again right with their world, and tomorrow someone would be marrying a woman that may or may not resemble a particular breed of dog. 

     After last call, Hector scooted the remaining stragglers along their way, then sat at the bar looking at his face in the selfie mode of his phone. During the fight, he’d gotten a decent sized cut. 

     Gabriel poured a little vodka on a towel and handed it to him. “Here. I would hate to see that pretty face of jours scarred forever.”
Whenever it was just the three of them, Gabriel and Hector would speak mostly in English. Gabriel’s English was educated, although he hadn’t mastered contractions. Hector’s was more basic. Sugar appreciated the gesture from both men. They were nice guys. Even Hector, for all of his unreliability, was at heart a good person.

     Sugar brought the cat carrier over to the bar. With the patrons gone, it was safe to let Kitten out. Gabriel wiped a puddle of beer off the bar. In its place he put out three cat treats.
 
     “You’re spoiling her, you know.”
   
     “Oh, Azzy, I am the sucker for a pretty lady.” He smiled with natural appeal.

     Sugar was known as “Azzy” to locals. Azzy was short for azúcar, which is the Spanish word for “sugar.” She was well aware that Gabe had a thing for her. They’d bonded immediately. He was easy company. Smart. Informed. Interesting and interested. He was someone who lived each day wanting to be happy, and his optimism was attractive—as was his unconventional look: like a contemporary, swarthy Ichabod Crane with a mop of black curls shaved to a fade on the sides and in back. But for so many reasons, Sugar was determined to keep him in the friend pile. A treasured friend whom she’d only let get so close. After leaving everyone from both her before and after times behind, Gabe was her one pal.

     Sugar asked, “What was all the fuss about with those fine gentleman?”

     Gabe let out a laugh and looked to Hector who joined in the joke.

     “What?” But the only thing the cousins shared with her was a sly look. “What? Tell me.”

     Perhaps to avoid answering Sugar’s question, Hector started picking up the mess left from the brawl. 

     “Oh, come on. I’m a big girl. You can tell me.”

     Gabriel picked up Kitten, who was now officially a full-grown cat, although she remained on the smaller side of the feline scale. “Kitten, I will tell jou. Jou can decide if jou want to share with jour mama. When jour uncle Hector finally woke up to do his job…”

     At the slight, Hector waved a hand. “Wanh, wanh, wanh. Jou are fine.”

     “Jes I am. Did jou enjoy jour little nap, pequeño?” 
     
     Again, Hector waved a hand dismissively, then went back to picking up glass.

     Gabriel continued. “As I was saying, Kitten. We grabbed the two gentlemen and made them tell us the problem. It was that old story. Jou know, when a brother kisses his sister as a joke and her fiancée gets so upset, so he kisses his own sister but she is dating the other fellow and he finds that not so funny and--

     Sugar cut him off. “Stop. Stop.”

     “Jou are the one that asked me to tell jou.”

     But she wasn’t paying attention to him. “No. Wait. What was that? Did you hear that?” 

     Gabriel and Hector stood silently for a moment, and there it was. Men were yelling. Something was happening outside. Something unpleasant. At the next round of yelling, Sugar pushed Kitten into her crate then ran outside to see what was going on. 

     She arrived on the scene to find the groom on the ground and bloody. Most of his friends were looking around franticly for the culprit. The best man was white with fear. He was cradling the fallen man and repeating, “¡Chupador de sangre!” over and over. “¡Chupador de sangre! ¡Chupador de sangre!”

     Hector and Gabriel finally ran up to Sugar. Whatever had happened was now over. Panting, Hector turned to Sugar. “How are jou running here so fast?”

     “I, uh, I ran track in school. Tell me, what does chupador de sangre mean?”

     Puzzled, Gabriel repeated the phrase, “Chupador de sangre?”

     Hector answered. “Blood sucker.”

     The two words hit Sugar like a gut punch. 

     Sugar knelt down beside to the groom. She moved his long-ish hair away from his neck, uncovering the telltale bite marks and she knew.

     I’m not alone.