Chapter 4

"Out on the road, that bike handles pretty good." continued Jovi. "I wound up driving all over the place, but I wasn't alone. Not by a long shot. There was a four-by-four full of drunks cheering, shouting and doing donuts while listening to rock songs about college fratboys, hippie-eating monsters and the like. One of them was even swinging around a bottle of Clorox and swearing. I don't know where they were headed, but I drove back to Gateon and decided to wait a while. As tempting as it is to follow groups of people playing underground music, it's usually not a good idea, as I once learned from a clearly disturbed man who played a song titled All The Children Are Dead on loop on his boombox.

Eventually, I went back on the road again, this time with a purpose. I went over to Pyrite. And guess who I encountered over there."

"Those drunks in the four-by-four?" asked Willie.

Jovi grinned. "That's right, those drunks in the-"

All of a sudden, a loud, nonsensical song filled the parking lot, one that was either about a large-scale lower-class rebellion against the social values of the outlandishly rich or the glories of non-stick cooking spray. Jovi knew very well what this meant:

"Oh, crap. Hide me!"

"All right," said the bartender. "You can hide behind the counter, but don't drink nothin' okay?"

"Gotcha." replied Jovi, who then hurriedly rushed behind the counter. At that instant, the music stopped, and a group of five potted punks, four males, one female, staggered in angrily. One of the males, a notably portly sort with a botched mohawk stumbled towards the barkeep. Struggling to appear normal, the man asked a question:

"Hey, 'a you seen a girl 'bout yay high," placing his hand at roughly Jovi's height, "wi' blue hair 'n lo'g pigtails?

The bartender recognized this fellow quite well. "Aren't you the guy who was shouting the Milwaukee Seven in the parking lot with a mouth full of detergent?"

The fat punk replied in a manner quite typical of addicts in denial. "I ain' go' no pro'l'm!"

The woman walked forward. "This girl a' which w' speak 'as giv'n us a prom'nent affron' t' our dign'ty. We nee' t' 'mass our veng'nce."

The bartender took a good look at the group and could tell from the start they were questionable sorts. "I cannot trust your account of the story, as your behavior and most likely reasoning have also been altered by the large amounts of alcohol," he replied, directing his speech now towards the fat one, "Or, in your case, cleaning supplies," now turning his attention towards the entire crowd of drunks, "That you have no doubt ingested."

The lady, indeed quite offended that somebody suggested that she had a drinking problem, spoke up. "Now you list'n h're! We wen' out for an, umm... uhhh, a walk! Yeah, a walk, ri', guys?" The other punks nodded their heads. The bartender shook his. The busted broad continued on: "We were ou' for a walk, an' when w' came back, our fourbie was keyed, dented, n' knocked on its side, not t' mention that all the gas was siph'ned out of it and crude imag'y had been spray-pain'd all over it. *hic* Well, this girl, she's the firs t'ing we see there, so in our opini'n, she 'ad to be th' one."

The barkeep, in evident disbelief, tried to reply. "Uhhh-"

A third member of the group, this one packing a pomapdour which, if need be, he could use to commit murder. "Lemm' pu' it in terms you c'n un'erstand. This girl keyed, dented, and siphoned the fuel ou' of our ride b'fore tiltin' it and spray pain'in' a-"

"I get what you're saying, I just don't believe it. There's the fact that you're all drunk, not to mention that I have no clue when this happened."

After a brief pause, the fat one piped up. "Uh, that's b'side the point. This girl wrecked our ride and our dign'ty, and we nee' ta get even! We, uhhh..."

All of a sudden, another blue-haired girl in her early teens with blue hair in pigtails walked into the bar. And, of course, she brought some friends, all wearing kimonos. "Good going, girls! We put on a show tonight!" Her friends all nodded. "Now who wants what?"

"I think we should wait to see what they have." said one of the other girls.

"Good idea, Sayo!" said the girl, who then proceeded to walk through the door. "Set six extra places, we're coming to your place for... dinner?"

It seems that our schnookered crooks noticed the girl, and through the thick, altered-state-of-mind-induced haze, could not tell her from their actual target. The fat one came charging for her, hoisted her in midair and came running out the door. "Let me GO, you bleach-belching TAUROS!" All of a sudden, sirens blared outside the bar. The crowd of punks was soon surrounded by cops.

"Hey, you! Bibarrel boy! Drop the girl and put your hands up! And bring your friends with you! You are all charged with disturbing the peace and driving while intoxicated! You too, fatboy!"

The fat man, at a loss for words, slowly set down the girl and ran several feet before tripping and hitting the sand hard. He and his friends were instantly hauled over into a cop car. The car drove away. At this point, Jovi felt that it was safe to hang up the phone and go on the other side of the bar.

"So, how long have they been holdin' that grudge?" asked the bartender.

"Quite a while now." Jovi replied, drinking another glass of root beer.