A Woman's Place

I was tired from traveling all day. The only light I saw in this hick town came from a bar. A Woman's Place. Thirsty, not fussy about where my beer came from, I pulled over and got out.
It was dark inside, but not so dark I couldn't see at least twenty women sitting around, playing pool, one dancing alone, eyes closed, to Doris Day's "Magic". I ordered a Bud. Women seated to my right glared at me. The bartender, short and quick, hesitated before pouring my beer. Even the suds seemed hostile.
The music ended, the dancer plopped into a seat like a scoop of ice cream. It got real quiet. I sipped my beer, shoulders tense.
"You new in town," somebody said from the shadows. I turned to face the voice just as several large women approached. I was surrounded. One rubbed my back with slow, deliberate strokes. I took another sip, planning my move. They saved me the trouble.
"Back room," one said. I saw a glint of metal. Cuffs. They were smiling now, lions smiling at their gladiator. Something told me I wouldn't be finishing my beer.