The Lost Coast

guy impassively, feeling nothing, as though the guy were something inanimate Larison might, if so inclined, disassemble and explore. After a moment, the guy looked back to the pool table, apparently having decided pool was the safer game to play.
    One of the bartenders came over, a blond, fifty-something woman with no-nonsense eyes but a warm enough smile. “What can I get you?” she said.
    Larison glanced at the taps. “Steelhead.”
    She filled a glass, cutting off the flow at just the right instant to prevent the foam from spilling over, and set the glass on the bar in front of him. “Four dollars.”
    Larison gave her a five, then left the one she returned to him on the bar. He took a long swallow of the beer and was pleased at how good it was. Something local, he supposed.
    The bartender looked at him. “Where are you from?”
    Larison was surprised. The bar was crowded, and while she wasn’t alone, it didn’t look like the kind of night where the bartenders could afford to spend time chatting up their customers.
    He took another swallow of beer. “San Francisco.”
    She gave him a quizzical look. “Pretty long way from San Francisco.”
    He shrugged. “Worth the trip.”
    “What brings you to Arcata?”
    “Just needed to get away for a while.” He glanced at the walls, and to change the subject said, “Are you the hunter?”
    She smiled. “No, that would be my daddy. He bought this place in 1959 and I took it over ten years ago. Do you hunt?”
    Larison had to resist the urge to smile. He said, “I used to.”
    A bearded guy halfway down the bar held up his empty glass and called out, “Linda!” The bartender glanced over and nodded. Larison said, “Well, it was good talking to you, Linda.”
    “Yes, it was.” She held out her hand. “And you are…?”
    “Dave,” he said, shaking her hand. It was close enough to the truth. He had more answers if she had more questions, his legends so well-practiced he sometimes had trouble telling them from the real thing, but the bearded guy, who had apparently had too much to drink, again called out, “Linda!” and Larison was suddenly alone again.
    He turned around on the stool and faced the room again, ignoring the pool players because his point had been made and there was nothing to be gained by fucking with them. He noticed a kid with short brown hair sitting alone at one of the tables, nursing a beer. There was something reserved and gentle about him, which was why Larison hadn’t noticed him initially. He always keyed first on potential problems.
    He looked a little closer. The kid had beautifully smooth skin, full lips, a healthy bloom of red in his cheeks. More clean-cut than the others of similar age Larison had seen in the area, but still probably just another Humboldt State college student. He noticed Larison looking at him, looked away, then looked back. It was hard to tell from across the room, but Larison could have sworn the kid had blushed.
    This wasn’t a good idea. He’d taken enough chances already tonight, coming to the bar, pinging the local tough guys, conversing with the bartender. Picking up some college kid on top of it seemed like really pushing his luck.
    Still, the kid was so his type. The hair, the complexion, the soft features. He imagined the kid on his knees in front of him and felt himself becoming aroused.
    The kid looked away again, then back. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt to just say hello. Maybe the kid wasn’t even gay. But what felt more likely, somehow, was that he was and just didn’t know it, and the thought of that aroused Larison even more.
    He got up and walked over. The kid watched him approach, looking both pleased and nervous. God, Larison hadn’t run into anyone like this in forever. Fuck it. This was worth taking some chances.
    He stopped in front of the table and said, “You’re from Humboldt State, am I right?”
    The kid smiled uncertainly, and Larison was knocked out. It was such an innocent smile, so unspoiled and unsullied. Larison might have had a smile like that himself, a million years earlier, before all the things he’d encountered that gave him his scary rictus instead.
    “Yeah, how’d you know?” the kid said. The voice soft, pleasing.
    “I saw the signs when I came in from the highway. I didn’t know there was a state school this far north.”
    “Yeah, we’re the furthest north in the system. You thinking about applying?”
    Larison was about twenty years older than