The towering figure called Reg cracks his knuckles and grins at me with his big yellow teeth. The only thing keeping me from being intimidated by his stature is the long piece of metal I can feel tucked into the back pocket of my coat. I take one last puff of the smoke in my mouth before flicking it down to the concrete. It rests at the base of his right flipper, and he stomps it out before looking back up at my face. Keep your cool, you damn sponge. You're not going to make a scene here just because you feel lousy about a dame. This guy can be a real creep, and you're not quite ready to antagonize him. Not just yet.
"Heh. What dragged you up out of the gutters, you little yellow bastard?" Reg says with that smile still plastered on his ugly mug. "I'da thought you would be tryin' to get some shuteye, seein' as how that crustaceous creep keeps ya slavin' over that grill all day long."
"Can't sleep. Need something to drink."
"What, no beer at home to cool you off? If there's one thing I know about Spongebob Squarepants, it's that he don't get out much after hours."
"Maybe I just go places you aren't familiar with."
"Hah! Like where, squirt? The pizza parlor? No, wait, I think I got it… the gay bar on Wharf Street?"
"How about the kind of places where dirty business goes down that I don't want to tell and you don't want to hear about?"
That made him gulp. Good. He and I both know the type of work that Krabs has his claw in in this city, firsthand. Even a big brute like Reg can't handle some of it, and he has no idea what kinds of things I've done for Krabs to make my way in this town.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Squarepants."
"Yeah, Reg, whatever I say. Got it? Now get out of my way. I'm thirsty."
I step into the bar, and a wave of alcohol hits my nostrils. It would be nauseating if I hadn't built up a resistance to the stench long ago. Next is the music; the awful music. It hammers with relentless force at my eardrums until I'm forced to accept its thunder. I suppose I'm just more of a blues sponge myself.
The lights in this place glow orange, casting the translucent shadows of drunkards and criminals all over the greasy floorboards. The desperate and the greedy huddle around gambling tables in the corner like hobos around a trash fire, casting their cards into the ring of despair and hoping for money in return. Wooden booths stand in rows in the center of the room, and a variety of people occupy them, but they're really all the same: privy to this city's underground and willfully ignorant to its dreaded implications. They serve six kinds of beer here, none of them being that great, but they fill you up and they get you drunk and when it comes down to it that's what you drink beer for anyway. At the bar, three stools are held by fish too drunk to even lift their heads up off the table, and two are filled by joes who don't look like they got much of a future. One seat is open. I take it.
As I sit down on the cracked plush of the barstool, I hear a loud cry behind me. I whip around to see that somebody just took a bottle to the face. Now there's glass and blood everywhere and one guy's standing over an unconscious body, gleaming down on it with feral eyes and intentions to kill. He's a big scruffy whale with the dark shadow of a young beard strapped across his chin and thick red veins encircling his coal-black eyes that speak volumes about his current state of sobriety. The bottle he holds in his hand is shattered, and long vicious shards point outwards from the neck. Above the angry whale a light fixture shifts precariously with every vibration of this sickening music.
"You slimy goddamn snail! You think you can mess around with MY doll? How about tear open a new hole in ya with this here bottle and fuck ya with it? Huh? So you'll know exactly how it feels like to get FUCKED OVER!"
A small squeal escapes the body on the floor; it's not as unconscious as I thought. It wiggles and squirms in fear and tries to get some distance between itself and the massive whale, but it ends up just knocking down some tables and attracting more attention than it already had. The ramblers, the gamblers, the muscles, they're all looking down at this pathetic spectacle. Nobody's doing anything like I had hoped they would. Well, shit. No way am I getting involved, if that's what you're thinking, brain. No. It's the damn dame all over again; you see someone in trouble and you just gotta go in and save them like some knight in shining armor. So maybe it wasn't how Neptune damned gorgeous she was; maybe it was just instinct. A bad instinct at that. An instinct that'll get me killed one of these days.
I resist the urge because there's nothing useful I can do at this point anyway. Those two will settle their dispute one way or another and that'll be the end of it. There's a thousand disputes just like it every night in this town alone. Get it together, Spongebob; that girl's getting to you again. Do like you planned, and drink until you can sleep her off of you.
I turn to face the bartender. He's a round old guy with a nose that's just a bit too wide and two eyes that are just a bit too close together. "Sudweiser, please." He fills a mug with the frothy liquid right out of the tap and slides the brew down the bar to my waiting hand. I tremble at the touch of the drink; it's so cold, colder than the rain, colder than the door.
Colder than the freezer…
Damnit, shut the hell up! Shut the hell up! She was nothing to you! This obsession has gone far enough!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them again, I'm still in this ratty old bar with this ice cold drink in front of me and this dead man behind me.
I take a long sip of the cool beer and let its icy contents slide down my throat and chill my insides.
Brrrr…
I shiver in the corner. The freezing air's really starting to get to me. Was there really a reason why we had to do this whole thing in this place? Krabs has a thing for theatrics, I suppose, and everything up until now has just been exposition. Now it's time for the real show to begin.
Here I am, just standing here smoking this whole pack away, watching a girl getting beaten senseless for what amounts to no goddamn reason at all, at least in my book. I play the part of the silent guy, the one that don't say nothing and has to be all mysterious and shit. The one that takes your eyes off of the brute, the one pounding the life out of you, and lets you know that Krabs really means business. And sure enough, it's working. I've seen her look over in my direction more than once with those pleading eyes, asking silently for forgiveness for whatever thing she did that landed her in this position. Neptune save me, she's gorgeous even all swollen and bloody. A natural beauty. Shame that such a pretty face has to get pulped like that. But I don't say nothing. I never say nothing.
I just still can't believe how resilient she's been through this whole ordeal. It's been nearly half an hour now, and she still hasn't given Krabs what he wants; that is, the knowledge and satisfaction that she has been emotionally and spiritually defeated by him. He does it to all the victims that he takes personally, all the ones that have offended him directly in some way. He beats them senseless, and then he puts them in their place. They never stand a chance. The Navy definitely taught the crusty kike a few things about the art of reducing your prisoners to nothing.
And yet there she sits, a bloody mess, but nevertheless resolute. She still hasn't bent. What in Davy Jones is this girl made of? Neptune, just give the perverted old man what he wants. Scream. Sob. Do something that'll convince him that his work here is done, because for the love of Neptune I can't bear to watch this shit any longer.
"You stole something near and dear to me, lass. Something ye can never repay. Do ye know how that makes this sad old crab feel? Do ye care? This can all be over soon, lassie, if ye're willin' it to be. Just say the word, ye have me word."
"Your word means nothing, you pile of shit. Burn in hell."
Then something happens that I've never seen in all the years I've worked for this fat louse.Something changes in his posture, and his claws tense up. I lean forward to snatch a look at his face, and it's a sight I wish I hadn't discovered. His eyes burn with rage, and the edges of his lips curl downward in a fit of anger. This girl's really getting to the old man. Why?
And then it hits me: he's never had to deal with someone so resilient, so intent on breaking his spirit of intimidation. He's frustrated. Most of all, he's nervous. He fears the girl's calm, and frankly so do I. The game he plays with his victims is one that she refuses to play. She won't roll the dice. Hell, she won't even pick up a single card.
Krabs reaches for the gun in his back pocket. Shit. My suspicions were correct. With a flick of his claw the hammer cocks back.
Clink.
Two empty glass mugs collide on the bar. They were both mine. Maybe a third wouldn't do me too much wrong. Admittedly, my head seems to be getting lighter. The ache in my shoulders and feet is starting to disappear as well. All the stress I had over that dame fades into oblivion and I call to the bartender for another Sud.
One footstep touches down on the creaky floorboards behind me. Everybody's watching this damn whale.
Another footstep and a whimper. Damnit, I really don't want to witness some poor joe getting gutted. Not tonight.
I turn my head to watch. The whale lifts the broken bottle over his head. Those serrated edges glimmer, reflecting the dim light that shines on them from the bulb above them. He stands poised to strike down upon the defenseless man lying on the floor.
And everybody just watches.
That's it. That's far enough.
Before I even realize it, my hand's reaching for the knife in the back pocket of my coat. Neptune's dexterous fingers guide my aim upwards. More swiftly than I can think, the knife's out of my hand, hurtling across the room. It passes between two wooden supports and slices the rope that holds the metal light fixture clean in half. The whale looks up in surprise as the light comes crashing down on top of his head. He's unconscious in only a few moments, writhing in pain. That'll definitely leave a mark. The broken bottle hits the ground with a soft thud, and more shards of glass fly off its gleaming end.
The wretched fish on the ground takes the cue and dashes out the double doors as fast as his pathetic little legs can carry him. Something tells me he won't be messing around with some other fish's gal anytime soon.
In the meantime, the whole damn bar's staring at me, mouths agape. I don't much appreciate the attention.
"The fuck are you all looking at?"
And suddenly everything is as it was. The gamblers betting their lives away in the corner. The drunkards drinking themselves to death. The whole bar's alive with the energy of sinners who've come to this holy place as pilgrimage. It's all the same to them. Everything is. I down the third Sud and walk to the bathroom, my bladder full and thoughts of the bloody dame still spiraling in my head.
To be continued.
