With a grin on his face, he slipped the phone into his front pocket and walked a few blocks into the night. He was vibrating from excitement. Things were coming to a head and he might very well confront Dee Dee this very night. With any luck he would be free and clear of any of her shenanigans by the first morning light. He exhaled forcefully and looked down at his hands at his sides: both were clenched. When he unclenched them in front of his face he saw how badly his fingers trembled before him. He smiled broader; a current ran through his body from head to toe, like electricity but tainted with ecstasy. He was amped, he understood, and wondered if he should stop off at a bar briefly before continuing on with his search for Dee Dee. Not so much for the alcohol, because he knew he needed to be of sharp intellect and reflexes, but more for a place of solitude where he could reign in his percolating emotions without being bothered. His time in prison had taught him to control his emotions, it would only take a minute to refocus and be on his way.
One shot couldn't hurt.
He had done much walking during this night and he was a little unfamiliar with this particular neighborhood, but he knew that if you walked long enough in in St. Walburgas you would run into a bar.
And it generally wasn't a long walk, either.
So with a little extra jolt of impending adrenaline coursing through his veins and his head held high, Bootsy sought the nearest watering hole.
And “Hole” is exactly what it was. After only a four block sojourn, he stumbled into a low brick building that seemed held together with only graffiti and urine. Neon signs of various beers filled the two oft-broken windows, but most of the tubes within each sign flickered feebly – if at all. It was not raucous, but sounds of conversation wafted from the door, as well as the heavy THUMP of a jukebox playing some slow Country song.
Bootsy considered bypassing any place which would allow Country music, but fuck it, he could block it out anyway, so who cared? It was probably the kind of place unknown to all but the regulars, the kind of people who slowly nursed their drinks and then went home to their soulless lives, only to return again the next evening to continue drinking. The kind of people who would leave him alone for a few minutes to think.
He made up his mind and veered toward the door, and was just reaching out with one hand to push it open when the THUMP of the jukebox inside stopped abruptly. Something in his head told him to hold on for a moment, but his momentum had already carried him into the door. He pushed it open and strode through, but hit the brakes before he had even taken a full step inside.