Road House: Dalton's Magical Christmas Adventure
By R. M. S. Thornton
Chapter 1: Crisis in the Kremlin
It was Christmas Day, December 25, 1991. For many around the world, it was a day to rejoice, as families and friends gathered together to celebrate this most festive occasion, to offer their good tidings and cheer. Yet the elation which almost always accompanied the holiday season was absent in one part of the world. Winter in Moscow was always harsh, but this year it was particularly brutal. It wasn't just that Christmas hadn't been officially celebrated since the overthrow of the Tsardom, although that certainty didn't help. No, what made this year's cold season especially bitter was the fact that at 7:32 PM, the Soviet flag, the symbol of Communism and the Bolshevik World Order, was permanently lowered from atop the Kremlin. Tomorrow it would be made official, as the Union's Supreme Soviet would vote to terminate both its existence as well as that of the Soviet Union. It had come to this. The once great Marxist Empire, founded by Lenin, a state which had stood triumphant against the Axis powers during the last World War, repulsing and defeating Hitler's mighty armies, a colossal superpower and global beacon of proletariat revolution, was gasping its last breath. It was not just the end of a nation, but the conclusion of an era. The Cold War was over. The Soviet Union had lost.
Yet for some, the fight was still not over, for despite this dismal state of affairs, a small group had gathered within the walls of the Kremlin, dedicated to carrying out one last hurrah—
a grand gesture which would inflict inconceivable destruction upon the West before the socialist State's last gasp.
"Close the door and sit down!" ordered a harsh voice from within the room.
The KGB officer nearest to the entrance complied and took a seat at the table facing the man who had given the command. The other KGB officer followed suit and sat next to his comrade.
The room was windowless, dark and cold. Although the officers were clad in thick winter coats, they shivered under the chamber's intense briskness. The man across the table was quite old with thinning white hair and wrinkles. He was dressed in all black and had a stern, intimidating look about him.
"Do you know why I called you both here?" he asked.
The men glanced at each other for a moment then looked back at their superior.
"No, sir," replied one. "We were just told by the Center that head of Clandestine Paramilitary Operations, Dimitri Staliv, demanded to speak to us immediately. So here we are, sir."
"Good," Dimitri replied.
He placed a cigarette in his mouth, removed a box of matches from his coat pocket, and lit it.
"Carlov. Frank. I requested your presence this evening because I require your assistance for an operation I've been planning."
"Excuse me, sir." Carlov uttered. "But I thought all current KGB operations had been cancelled."
Dimitri removed the cigarette from his mouth and slowly exhaled. The smoke rose steadily as it cut through the frigid air.
"Yes." He responded. "All official ongoing operations are on hold. However, this mission is, how you say it, 'off the books'. "
Dimitri took another puff of his cigarette.
"You see," he explained, "as you probably are well aware, tomorrow the Soviet Union will officially cease to exist. Our once proud nation will discontinue in its current form and will subsist only in the annals of history. But the way I see it, Comrades, is, if we are going to go down, why should we go down alone? Why not bring someone with us? For instance, the capitalist pigs who will soon reap the rewards of our demise."
"But, sir," said Frank, "with all due respect, how can we possibly take down the West? They are so powerful now and we are so weak."
Dimitri chuckled.
"That's easy, Frank." He replied. "We attack them where they are most vulnerable. We destroy the one thing they hold most dear; the thing which has become the symbol of their corrupt consumerist culture."
He took another wisp and exhaled.
"We attack Christmas!"
Carlov and Frank's mouths dropped. They gasped in shock.
"But...sir..." Carlov stuttered.
"Silence!" Dimitri interrupted. "The Americans are a day behind us. It's still Christmas Eve there. But when they wake up tomorrow morning and there is no Christmas, they will be devastated and not know what to do. Then the entire world shall see them for the weak cowards they truly are."
Dimitri stood up.
"Come Carlov, Frank! We must make haste! There is a party happening at the North Pole! We don't want to be late, do we!?"
Chapter 2: Christmas Eve at the Double Deuce
The faint noise of live music blares in the foreground of the dirt parking lot, muffled by the roaring motors of fancy hotrods and Harley-Davidson motorcycles. Dust flickers in the warm night air as patrons come and go from this lively establishment. The Double Deuce, a nightclub located in a seemingly sleepy little Missouri town, is one of the most popular nighttime getaways in the State. It's an amalgamation of people all of walks of life: bikers, cowboys, lawyers, gamblers, bachelorettes, all gathered together to celebrate at one, single venue. From blue collar workers looking to relax following a strenuous day's work, to wealthy playboys hoping to score some late night female companionship, the Double Deuce is a true microcosm of American society— a reminder that despite outward differences, divergent convictions, and socio-economic standings, there remains at least one fundamental characteristic shared by all conscious beings. That is the desire to seek pleasure, to acquire whatever it is, whether palpable or intangible, which instruct our brains to undergo the chemical process responsible for triggering elation and glee. For veiled within the aroma of alcohol, smoke, vomit, and broken dreams, is that imperceptible, yet very real emotion we all yearn for—happiness.
However, such a pursuit of euphoria amid so many bodies crammed into a single location, although seemingly innocent, can quickly erupt into alcohol infused, primordial free-for-all. And that's where HE comes in, the man responsible for insuring the safety of all who enter his bar, he who can stomp out any violent or illicit occurrences before they spiral out of control, a bouncer renowned nationwide. Though small in stature, his skills in combat and straight up badassery are second to none. With a rough and tumble nature, yet intelligent and wise, he holds a bachelor's degree in philosophy from NYU as well as a PhD in kicking ass. His name is Dalton.
Dalton stood with his back nestled against the bar. He was dressed in his usual outfit, a plain black tee-shirt tucked into blue jeans. His blonde hair was long and somewhat unkempt. Yet despite his somewhat shabby appearance, Dalton gave off a solemn and serene aura. The music blared as his head bobbed slowly to its rhythm. The song finished. Dalton glanced up. The red and green Christmas lights hung across the ceiling added a certain pleasant, festive feel to the local watering hole. With all the bullshit currently plaguing the world, Dalton found solace in the holiday spirit and the joys it fostered. He reminisced about Christmases long ago, the ones he experienced as a child, the ones he'd shared with former lovers, family, and friends. There Dalton remained, lost in thought, trapped in a prism of nostalgia and self-reflection.
Suddenly, he heard a noise. He turned and looked. The commotion was coming from a table across the room. Four large men, in their late 30's to early 40's, were huddled around a small, circular table. They were bikers, clad in black leather jackets and dark pants. One of them, a hefty bald fellow with a goatee, was grasping the arm of a pretty young blonde woman in a red dress. She struggled to pull away from the man, but her attempts had little effect, as the man was considerably bigger and stronger.
"Come here, Baby!" he bellowed in a deep, scratchy voice. "I'm gonna make you my regular Christmas Eve thing!"
"Get off of me!" The woman demanded as she struggled to no avail.
"HAHAHA!" The man laughed.
He yanked her towards him and grasped her with both his hands, forcing her to fall into his lap.
"Come on, Darling!" he roared in her ear as he began to grope her right breast. "It's almost Christmas! Give old Spikey a little holiday cheer!"
He began to lift up her dress with his other hand as she continued to try pry herself free.
Dalton advanced towards the table. He stood across from the man.
"I think it's time you fellas leave," he said.
The man stopped and looked up at Dalton.
"Come on," he said. "We're just having some fun."
He stroked her hair and placed his mouth close to her cheek.
"Aren't we, Princess?"
She was uncomfortable and terrified.
"You boys have worn out your welcome," Dalton remarked. "Let the girl go and get out."
The man glared at Dalton.
"Who the fuck do you think you are giving us orders!?" he thundered.
"Well, not fat and ugly, that's for sure." Dalton replied.
With that, the man threw the woman to the floor and stood up. His cohorts followed suit. They all towered over Dalton, especially their leader who was at least six foot six inches and around 300 lbs.
He tossed the table aside as he stepped towards Dalton. Dalton didn't flinch. The man was now inches from him, peering down at the tiny bouncer.
"You fucking little bitch!" he yelled. "You think you can talk to us like that and get away with it?!"
He grabbed Dalton's shirt with his right hand.
"You listen to me you little cock sucker! I..."
In what appeared to be an instance, Dalton torpedoed his left arm and wrapped it around the man's wrist. He then pivoted on his right and hit the man with a well-placed left kick to the outer side of the man's right knee. The man crouched down in pain; and when his head was about eye level, Dalton struck him with a vicious right hook to the temple.
The impact was so great that the man instantly hit the floor, out cold. One of his friends then pulled a switch blade. He swiped it at Dalton and braised his left shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound. He came at Dalton again, this time in a stabbing motion. Dalton bobbed to his left and caught the man's arm. Dalton then hit him with two front kicks to the stomach and one to the face. He then struck the man in the back of the knee with a left and tossed him to the ground. The two other men stepped back in shock.
"How could anyone, especially this tiny unassuming guy, be so powerful...so fast!?" they wondered silently.
"Now," Dalton said, "you can either leave now of your own freewill or we can keep doing this the hard way. Your choice."
The men glanced at each other then back at Dalton.
"Ok, Man!" one of them uttered as he strode back and raised his palms. "We're cool!"
With that, the three men woke up their passed out friend and assisted him out of the bar.
Dalton then approached the woman and gave her his hand. She took it and he helped her up. She smiled at him. Dalton nodded and returned back to the bar.
The hours passed and finally it was last call. The bar emptied. Dalton put on his coat, wished his coworkers a goodnight and a Merry Christmas, then left. He arrived home at 3:00 A.M. and found his wife, Dr. Elizabeth Clay, still awake. She had just returned from her shift and looked exhausted. She peered up and beamed at him. Dalton felt the warmth of her gaze and was instantly struck with a sense of elation. Dalton always knew that matter how long or rough the night, or how much bullshit he'd have to put up with from intoxicated assholes, that once he returned home, all his aggravations and furies would immediately dissipate beneath the wondrous glow of her smile.
She strolled towards him and collapsed into her husband's arms. He clutched her and rested his head on hers. He felt warm and safe, as if every care Dalton carried had been released into the abyss of life. Dr. Clay began rubbing his arm, then pulled back, noticing something.
"Dalton," she said examining the tear in his sleeve, "what happened?"
She inserted her fingers into the slit and felt the Band-Aid patch.
"Jesus, Dalton!" she shrieked.
She scurried into the bathroom and retuned with a first aid kit. She perched herself on an arm of the couch and opened the bag. She removed some string and a needle.
"Take your shirt off and sit down," she commanded.
Her husband complied without question. She threaded the string thru the needle.
"This is going to be painful, Dalton," Dr. Clay warned.
"Pain don't hurt," Dalton casually replied.
She finished stitching and cut the remaining thread. She then cleaned off the remaining blood with an alcohol swab
"I'm warning you, Dalton," she remarked, "If you don't slow down, you're going to live a difficult life when you get older."
Dalton glanced up at her.
"That's why I have such beautiful, loving wife—so she can take care of me when I'm old and decrepit."
Dalton smiled and she followed suit. They kissed. Dr. Clay fell into his lap, placed her arms around him, and nestled her head into his chest. Dalton held her and softly kissed the top of her head.
"I don't want you to ever worry about me," he told her, "because no matter what happens, I will always..."
A loud crash came from the kitchen. Dalton and Dr. Clay shot up.
"What was that!?" asked Dr. Clay.
"I have no clue." replied Dalton. "Stay here."
Dalton advanced slowly towards the kitchen. He could hear something clamoring against the pots and pans. Dalton jolted himself into a "ready for a fight" stance. Then he saw it. It was...an elf!
Sitting among the scattered kitchen appliances was a small man, at the most 4 feet tall, with pointy ears and dressed in green and red. He had blond hair that was covered by a green stocking cap.
"Sorry to startle you!" The elf exclaimed as he got up. "My name is Cubit. As you can probably tell, I'm an elf."
"Hello Cubit. I'm Dalton."
"Oh, I know who are." Cubit said. "You're Dalton. The world's greatest bouncer! That's why we are here, actually, to talk to you."
"Wait..." Dalton remarked. "We?"
"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to introduce my friend! Meet Rubtub!"
Cubit gestured to an object next to him. It was massive acorn, about the size of a bowling ball. But that was not its only peculiarity. It had arms and legs, both thin and black and measuring about a foot long, as well as a face: giant oval eyes, a mouth, and a nose. It also exhibited a thick dark mustache and eyebrows. It looked almost like a Mr. Potato Head, but slightly different due to trade mark infringement laws. It sported a red, flat brim cowboy hat which had a small white ribbon encircling its crown covered his pointy top.
"Hi, Dalton!" he chirped with a countryesque accent. "I'm Rubtub! I'm the rootinest tootinest acorn in the North Pole!"
Dalton stared at Rubtub, perplexed, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing before him.
"Ok." he said. "Anyways, you said you were looking for me. Why?"
"It's Santa Claus!" Replied Cubit. "Christmas is in danger and you're the only one who can help him! He told me to come down here and ask for your assistance. "
"Well, if Santa needs my help," Dalton stated, "I'm of course happy to be of assistance!"
"Hooray, hooray!" Cubit chanted.
Dalton jogged back into the living room where his wife waiting anxiously.
"I have to leave," he announced to his wife
"But, Dalton," she exclaimed. "it's Christmas Eve!"
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." he said, "but Santa Claus needs my help. I can't refused a request from him on Christmas Eve, especially when Christmas itself may be at risk."
Dalton leaned in, positioned his arms around her waist, and then gently pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her.
"I have to go." He told her.
Dalton released her and hustled towards the front door where Cubit and Rubtub were waiting.
"Dalton!" She called as he clamored towards the exit. He turned around.
"I love you. Please be careful!"
"I love you too, Elizabeth. Don't worry about me. I'll come home in one piece, I promise!"
With that, Dalton, Cubit and Rubtub scurried out of the house.
"Holy tarnation!" Rubtub hollered glaring at his wristwatch. "We need to hurry or we're gonna be late!"
"Late for what?" asked Dalton.
"The Holiday Express." Cubit answered. "It's how we're getting to the North Pole."
"YEEHA!"Rubtub shouted. "North Pole here we come!"