I had to kill time, there wasn't really anything else I could do until later that night. Slowly, I walked down the streets, which were beginning to finally fill with people as the hour became later in the morning.
Very few people bothered to even glance at me, which, of course, I preferred anyhow. Those that did stop and look were mostly teenage girls who admired me as if I was some sort of display in the store that they could just pick up and buy. Eventually, I would just stare them away and they would hurry away in a flurry of high-pitched giggles. Didn't understand them.
I didn't understand people in general. Hell, I couldn't even understand myself most of the time. I tried to look like I knew what I was doing, pretending I really was strong Napoleon on his horse. But even I had my moments of weakness. The moments that are better off being burned than ever coming back again. The kind of moments that separate the idiots from the intelligent and determine those in between.
I could deny almost anything. I could forget close to everything. But, I could never be nothing. I had to keep on proving that I was worthy of the position Lydecker had given me so many years ago. Didn't matter that I hated the bastard, just mattered that I had to keep following the line. And not look back.
I could go into detail here about how I wandered about the town the entire day, walking up and down the streets, praying for night to drop on top of me, but that would only bore both me and you. Besides, I'm not a poetic person and descriptions aren't my deal. Unless, of course, it's a description of an escape plan from enemy territory…but, that's a whole other matter unto itself.
Finally, night arrived, a little later than I had hoped, but it came nonetheless. The bar was a noisy place, spilling its bright lights onto the street. It smelled like smoke and reeked of alcohol. I suppressed a wry smile as I thought of the look on Lydecker's face if he saw his prized X-5 entering such a dirty place. An interesting thought. Perhaps the shock alone would be enough to give him a heart attack. Not a bad idea. I would've given it more thought, despite the fact I'm not a normal thinker, but it was time to start the games.
Louie, the fat bartender, stood in the middle of both men and women. Mostly men, though. I carefully walked up behind everyone and stood, watching and listening. "Alright," Louie was saying. "Most of ya have already got your teams, partners…whatever…picked out. You can only play as single, double or in a group of four," he said, holding up four flabby fingers. "Whoever wants to go first can come up here and register wit' me."
The men turned to one another, gathering their already picked partners. Slowly, they went through the line, signing their name down on the stained paper. I noticed the women were married and clinging to their husbands like maggots to meat. I, hanging back at the end, was the last in line and therefore, the last to sign up. That meant I would go last. I would have to wait. Dammit.
I made myself as comfortable as possible as the first two teams went at it. The clock hand moved so slowly that I thought I would pass out right then and there. Yet, the people did begin to dwindle down as the losers left the bar, disgusted with both themselves and their teammates.
Louie looked down at the list he held in his fat left hand. It took him awhile to comprehend what he was looking at. The man must've had serious brain problems. A husband and wife team waited impatiently to take on the next victim. They were good, having won all of their games that night. The person to take them on was going to have a challenge.
Lifting his head, Louie looked around the bar, reading the name off the list, questioning almost. "Zack?"