Free A Soul To Steal by Rob Blackwell

with some measure of dread. A part of her wanted to stay inside. Since she had been back, she had fought the urge many times to just pack her bags and head home. In her anonymous hotel room, she could convince herself she was safe. But out in the night air like this, a terrible thought kept popping up.
    I’m going to die in this town .
    She shook her head. It was nonsense. Understandable, given her history, but stupid. Besides, faced with another night watching terrible cable in a hotel room, what choice did she have? If she was going to live in this town, she would have to put aside her fears and at least try to be social. Otherwise, she worried she would go crazy.
    When she pushed open the door and stepped inside, she was immediately hit by a gigantic waft of smoke and the smell of stale beer. Despite the dim lights, she could see the place was outfitted like a kind of hillbilly version of T.G.I. Friday’s—there were signs, photos and knick-knacks covering the wall. Most of them, Kate noted, were off-color in taste. “Big Butts welcome, so sit your ass down,” said one near the door.
    She sighed. Maybe this was not such a good idea.
    It took her only a moment to see Quinn, Bill and Janus sitting at a table near the front.  Bill waved frantically at her and she moved toward them through the haze of smoke.
    “Hey Kate,” Janus and Quinn both said when she sat down.
    “How are you?” Quinn asked right after.
    “Good,” she said, and smiled at him.
    She didn’t know quite what to make of Quinn. The first time she had seen him she had wondered if he was some type of stalker—staring at her from across the Starbucks like that. But by now, he seemed like one of the few people she really knew in the town. She had thought about their conversation in the graveyard and at the Phillips Farm meeting a lot during the day. She didn’t know quite what to make of him yet, but she liked him. That much she knew.
    “You got here just in time,” Quinn said. “The band is just about to show up. As soon as they do, they’ll be a line out front.”
    She nodded. “What band is it?”
    “A group called Eddie from Ohio ,” he answered. “They’re local—well, sort of local, at any rate.”
    “They’re brilliant,” Janus said, and looked around the table as if daring anyone to disagree. “Kind of a folk-rock thing, like a mix of Janis Joplin and Pearl Jam. ”
    “Pearl Jam?” Bill asked, and snorted. “Did you pull that out of a hat? More like a cross between Janis Joplin and Sheryl Crow.”
    “Yes, guys, let’s do have this debate again,” Quinn said, and glared at them.
    “Anyway,” Janus said, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it with a silver lighter he fished out of his jacket. “They are one of the best bands that plays here. Second only to the Urban Hillbilly Quartet. Now that’s an incredible band. Like a mixture of Bob Dylan and Pink Floyd.”
    “Okay, now you are just trying to piss me off,” Bill said. “Neither one of those is right. They’re more free form than that, like a mix of...”
    “Please drop this,” Quinn said. “Kate has been here for five minutes and you guys are already degenerating into the same argument you have all the time. They’re like a bitter married couple.”
    “Fuck off,” the two said in unison.
    Kate laughed.
    “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s been awhile since I've had a debate about music.”
    Janus shot Quinn an “I told you so” look.
    “Believe me, this is less of a debate and becomes more of a soapbox tourney,” Quinn said.
    “It’s a pissing match,” Janus replied, and took a drag on his cigarette, holding it a moment before blowing a puff of smoke in Bill’s direction. “One I always win.”
    “Get bent,” Bill said, using one of Janus’ favorite expressions.
    “It’s easy to win a pissing match when you are as large as I am.”
    Bill rolled his eyes.
    “Rebecca is right—you really are a sexual harassment suit