Wired Chapter 2:
After breaking every speed limit known to man trying to keep up with the maniac on the motorcycle, Wilson was thankful for the lack of law enforcement on their route. He found himself pulling into a small, poorly lit parking lot, spotting the obnoxiously bright orange motorcycle parked in the handicapped parking spot near the dull grey building.
House had already removed his helmet and unclipped his cane when Wilson approached him. Looking at the small establishment suspiciously, he expressed his concern. "You couldn't pick a TGI Fridays or a Chili's?"
"No pool tables," House stated. "besides, those places are boring."
"Yeah, who wants a nice quiet night out?" Wilson added sarcastically, discreetly holding the door open for House as they entered the bar.
House had led him to a classic shady hole-in-the-wall. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling over the two pool tables nestled in the corner. Small tables were scattered throughout the dingy room, bar stools and chairs accompanying them on the grey tile floor which may have been white at one time. Flickering neon signs hung on all four walls, casting a rainbow of colors over the smooth surfaces of the tables and reflecting off the mirrors lining the back of the bar.
There were only a handful of people inside, scattered throughout the establishment. Some were sitting on tall barstools at the bar, nursing their watered down mixed drinks that had once contained ice cubes, others were over by the pool tables, dressed mostly in black and looking very menacing. Wilson assumed they must've ridden in on the two Harleys they spotted out front; the bikes House made sure to sneer at as they entered the bar.
Making their way across the room, Wilson felt as if they were interrupting something and every eye seemed to be scanning his neatly pressed button-down shirt and professional looking tie. Shit. A little warning from House about his attire would have been helpful. House always seemed to make himself fit in, no matter what he was wearing, the leather jacket aiding his overall look. After an uncomfortable pause in the action, the regulars returned to their conversations. Luckily the menacing looking group didn't even acknowledge the newcomers, keeping to themselves in the far corner of the bar.
House limped toward one of the pool tables, claiming it for himself as he told Wilson to get him a real beer; anything but Old Style.
"Wait, you said you were buying," Wilson protested as he followed House to the rack containing the pool cues.
"The games of pool," House answered as he put fifty cents into the slot with an exaggerated motion. "See?"
Wilson sighed as he leaned his chosen weapon against the edge of the pool table and rubbed his forehead. Funny how his friend had a way of bringing on the worst headaches.
"Hurry up so I can thoroughly kick your ass in a game of eight ball." House made sure to say it loud enough for the entire room to hear.
"Yes, the highlight of my night." Wilson mumbled.
Deep down, Wilson knew how much House needed this right now. He needed the distraction from all of the other crap going on in his life. Nothing like humiliating a friend in a few games of pool to help relieve the stress from work and life in general. He really didn't mind House taking out his frustrations on him now and then, no matter what House's choice of weapon seemed to be for that day. House's competitiveness had never left him after the infarction; in fact, he seemed even more stubborn and determined to take on any challenge or dare.
Tennis was the sport Wilson missed most. He had only picked up a racquet a few times since House lost the use of his leg. It just wasn't the same playing without his best friend on the court. He recalled how the two of them would battle each other for hours, until both men were drenched with sweat, faces bright red from the exertion. They were evenly matched: Wilson was consistent and could place the ball well, whereas House had an incredible serve and could chase down almost anything with those long legs of his.
God, he missed those days. They still competed against each other, but now the games consisted of poker, darts, foosball, video games and pool. An occasional game of ping-pong would be played when House was having a good day physically.
Wilson returned to his impatient friend who was leaning on a pool cue, currently chalking up the end of his stick, blue dust fluttering down, covering everything within a three-foot radius around him. Oh yeah, I can totally see him do that.
"You break." House smirked as he set the little blue cube down on the table's edge with a clack.
"Gee, thanks."
House was gonna enjoy this, Wilson thought as he leaned over the table, silently praying he wouldn't scratch on his first shot. God, he hated pool. But it was better than leaving House alone to wallow in his sorrows and down a half a bottle of Vicodin and who knew how much booze. He'd rather deal with the few hours of embarrassment if it kept House from sulking in some dark room alone.
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Four beers and who knew how much time later, House was once again cleaning up the table with Wilson.
"Eight ball, corner pocket." House said, pointing with his stick to the designated target.
Leaning on his left leg, he placed his long fingers on the table and lined up the shot. Placing the stick between his thumb and pointer finger, he peered down the cue stick and shot it forward with a quick snap of his wrist. The ball rolled, bounced off the far side of the pocket and dropped into the hole. He stood back upright and leaned on the table and his stick, his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek as he stared back at Wilson suspiciously.
Scanning the number of striped balls still remaining (which seemed to be about all of them), House quipped, "Are you even trying or are you really that pathetic?"
"Sorry, I'm not Fats Domino," Wilson mocked in apology as he leaned on his stick, his cheek resting against the hand clenching the pool cue.
"You mean Minnesota Fats," House corrected as he started racking the balls again. "But I think Fats Domino could beat your ass too."
"Thanks for the encouraging words." Wilson said with a bit of hostility in his voice as he wandered back to the table where his beer sat. He let out a heavy sigh as he downed the rest of his Guinness. God, he really hated pool. Why couldn't they just have stayed at House's place and watched the hockey game? There was a TV hanging in the corner behind them, but they were showing a Phillies game. It was too early in the season to get excited about baseball yet. Finally, he gave up. "I need a break... and a refill," he announced, holding up his empty glass, "want anything while I'm up?"
"Yeah, pool will really wear out a guy," House retorted, spinning the pool cue between his fingers and thumb. "Maybe you could find someone who actually knows how to play pool," he continued," oh, and a Heineken. Bottle. None of that on tap crap." House looked up and smirked. "Hey, that rhymed."
Rolling his eyes at his friend's juvenile antics, Wilson headed back to the bar to get a refill. As he was waiting for his glass, he overheard a familiar voice booming off the walls of the small room. He inwardly cringed as he purposely kept his eyes on the line of bottles against the back of the bar, trying to avoid any connection with the loudmouth attracting all the attention.
"Anyone here think they know how to play pool? " House bellowed, leaning on his pool cue like a conqueror staking his claim. "Better yet, anyone wanna bet they know how to play pool?"
He saw House take a twenty out of his wallet and wave it in the air like a piece of meat in front of a bunch of hungry crocodiles. Wilson waited for one to leap out of the water and try to bite his hand off. Wilson didn't want the extra attention tonight, but if House wanted better competition it was fine with him. He'd just sit back on one of the wobbly bar stools and watch House wipe the table with some other poor soul.
Wilson's good mood wavered as he saw one of the bikers from the corner table turn around and rise from his chair, approaching House and the bait confidently. The guy looked about House's height but had a good fifty pounds on him. He had long, dark, greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, giving Wilson a clear view of the guy's round face and deep-set eyes that seemed to be glaring no matter what the guy's mood. Full beard and mustache making him look like something right out of Hell's Angels. "How cliché", Wilson thought. The typecast was complete as Wilson saw the giant Harley Davidson logo emblazoned on the back of the guy's black leather jacket.
House and the biker faced off, both clad in their leather jackets, standing toe to toe as if they were about to go ten rounds in a boxing match.
From the mere fifteen feet away, Wilson could see House's smirk grow wider as he prepared himself to take on his latest victim. Wilson watched as the balls were racked and House prepared his cue stick with another ton of chalk, discreetly blowing the blue residue in the biker's direction who scowled at him in return.
"Ladies first." House announced as he waved a hand toward the white cue ball positioned at the end of the table, earning another deadly glare from his competitor.
"What are you waiting for then?" replied the biker gruffly as the corner of his lip turned up slightly.
"Ha! Oh, that was a good one." House grabbed his stick and lined up the shot for the break. The balls separated with a 'crack' as they scattered across the table, one finding the side pocket and landing with a 'thunk'.
Wilson sat back in the bar stool with a sigh of relief as both men settled into what Wilson hoped to be a friendly game of pool.