Barstool Sessions II

Deep Thinking

Ugh. Gods. I hate mornings. Whatever happened to bartenders being

allowed to sleep in 'til sunset. Fuck. Oh well might as well raid the

fridge, see if there's anything worth eating. When did I go grocery shopping

last?

That's weird, the light in the kitchen's on. That light's never on.

Oh yeah. Robbie's crashing here again. He showed up last night. Said he

was going to Canada for something. I think it was a motorcycle rally.

Probably means he's got that specialty bike him and Rigit were working on

finished.

My bro showed up way too early on my day off yesterday.

A pounding on the apartment door cut Ben's midnight nap short.

With the ease of a cat the young man made his way to the door. Even in just

a pair of navy blue cotton shorts, Ben seemed ever vigil for an attack. 'Who

the hell is buggin' me now?' With a skill that had been perfected over the

years, Ben relaxed his mind and searched out the feelings of the person on

the opposite side of the door. After a moment a devious smirk crossed the

young man's calm face. Even the most casual of observer could tell that

whoever was outside was an acquaintance of Ben's.

The door to the lofty apartment flew open with a flourish. As the

heavy piece of wood passed him Ben threw his foot into the air, catching the

face of the man standing on the opposite side of the threshold. "Evenin'

bro. Whata ya doin' back in town, there's no surf contests for a few more

months."

Outside the door a tall man, with heavily tanned skin and black spiked

hair, wearing all black stood with a foot crushing his nose. The taller man

mumbled a near inaudible response.

Ben rose a brow at the man before him. "What'd ya say, bro?"

Angrily the tall man threw the foot from his face, causing Ben to spin

on his planted foot. "Dammit bro, don't EVER do that again. Whata I look

like, Ranma?!"

Ben grinned sharply as he spun once to keep his balance. "Not really.

With that new hairstyle you look more like Ryoga." As he stepped back from

the door, to allow his friend entrance to his home, Ben took a quick glance

down the hallway before he closed the door. "So where is she, bro?"

The man groaned as he watched the curious look on his friend's face.

"She who? And would you put some pants on, Jesus!"

Ben half-glared at his friend. "Just be lucky I'm wearing something.

As to the femme, where is she? Last you told me, you and Faith hooked up

again."

Ben's hands rested on his hips as he watched his friend search his

apartment. "Robert Nousfèrous! Don't tell me you lied to me!" The muscles

in Ben's arms and legs tightened and flexed as he prepared to pummel his best

friend.

Robbie spun and lifted an eyebrow at his shorter friend. "Me, lie? I

think you mixed us up again, you're the compulsive liar." Robbie quickly ran

his fingers through his spiky hair, a habit the pair shared when agitated,

worried, or bored. "Faith had to go back to LA. Something came up with

Angel Investigations, some coming apocalypse or something. You know how it

is out in Cali, something's always gettin' destroyed in an," Robbie lifted

his hands and did a parenthesis motion, "'apocalypse.'"

Ben nodded as he headed for the balcony. "Why do you think I wanted

out as soon as I got there. Surf's great, but I can't stand the people.

Kinda like here. I can't surf, the people get on my nerves a bit, but its

better 'n goin' home ta the ol' problems." As he spoke Ben's deep, callous

voice took on a familiar tone. His voice twanged with notes of the

Caribbean, backwater Louisiana, and the deep South, with the Caribbean being

strongest.

Robbie's non-accented voice too took on the notes of the same accent,

though his voice wasn't as deep it rang with more feeling and emotion.

"Speaking of home." He pulled a letter from the lightweight black trench

coat he wore. "Got a note for ya. From, here's the kicker, Kalia. From her

hands to mine to yours. She's pissed at you dude, more than usual." Robbie

rubbed the back of his neck as he held the piece of folded paper at the

shorter man.

Ben leaned against the balcony railing as he looked out over the city.

A few late-night drivers and cabbies were cruising around the near empty

streets. "Have you ever noticed that New York, no matter what time of day,

always looks like a nice place to live. Just walking down the streets this

city looks like some kind of commercial, capitalist paradise?"

Robbie leaned heavily on the sliding glass door, knowing his paranoid

brother it was triple thick, reinforced, bulletproof glass, as he listened to

the older man babble. Over the years he'd gotten used to Ben zoning out on

him, he'd just wait until his bro got his thoughts gathered and then he'd

bring up the original line of conversation.

Absentmindedly Ben's right forefinger and thumb began adjusting the

silver and onyx ring on his left third finger. It was an old sign that

something was bothering the schizophrenic bartender. With a shake of his

head, which subsequently sent his long auburn hair flying in all directions,

Ben returned to the world of reliable thoughts. "So what's that bitch want

now? I'm done paying alimony, she's married and someone else's problem."

Robbie quirked an eyebrow at his friend's comment. "Alimony? Dude,

why would you be paying her alimony, you two never got hitched." Shock and

fear crossed the taller man's strong, chiseled, handsome face. "You didn't

did you?!" Robbie was almost yelling at this point.

With a curious glint to his icy blue eyes and a cocked brow Ben turned

to his best friend. "What are you babblin' 'bout? You remember the last

time I even THOUGHT about marriage."

Robbie backed up a step and relaxed. "Sorry, bro. How could I forget?

I don't think you've been that happy in years." The tall dampiel dropped his

gaze for a moment of remorse. "You talk to her family since the funeral?"

Ben gave a half-shake of his head. "Nyet. They never liked me. Hell

to this day Tiffany still doesn't like me. Blames me for Sarah's cancer,

like I can control breast cancer."

The young bartender slammed his hand onto the balcony railing. The

metal bent slightly from the force exerted on it.

I groan again as I look at the calendar hanging in my kitchen. July

21, the only day I hate more than Christmas and my birthday. Gods I hate

today. I'm almost tempted to call in sick. It'd be better than sitting in

McLeary's all night listening to people bitch.

But I can't do that. Running away 's not my style. 'Course if ya ask

anyone back home they'll tell ya that's exactly what I've been doin' for the

past few years.

I drain the bottle of orange juice in my hand before I collapse into

the chair behind me. I really don't want to deal with today. Sure, it's

been six years but that doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt. Hell I still

wear my wedding band. Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten rid of Sarah's.



Ben stood on a pier watching the sun lower into the ocean. A

giant ball of red and orange flames covered the sky illuminating the young

man on the pier. The young surfer looked much like a black, shadowy outline

being consumed in a giant fireball. In the gently summer breeze, Ben's

lightweight black duster flapped behind him as a gentle spray from the ocean

coated his sorrowful features.

In his hand were two rings, one silver the other gold. The silver ring

lay in the middle of Ben's palm with the smaller gold, diamond studded, ring

lay inside that. Ben's sunglasses were pulled down covering his eyes,

preventing any possible passersby from seeing his tear streaked eyes.

Stifling a new wave of tears Ben gently slid the silver ring onto his

left third finger. Carefully, as if holding a child, Ben lifted the gold

ring to eye level. In a choked, forced voice Ben spoke to the ocean. "''Til

death do us part.' That's what we woulda said in two weeks." Ben choked

back a sob. "Well, I'm not dead yet." With all the strength he could muster

Ben lobbed the small golden wedding band into the warm Gulf coastal waters.

With a flourish of his duster, Ben spun on his heel and trudged towards

a pair of teenagers sitting in an '85 Camero Berlinetta. Ben's slow

methodical steps were the outward expression of the rage of emotions within

him. Quietly the young man jumped over the passenger door of the Camero and

slid between the T-top into the back seat.

A younger Robbie looked over his shoulder at the despondent teen he

called his 'bro'. With a cautious hand he reached out and gripped the hand

of the young woman seated next to him. She nodded and without thinking

Robbie started the loud engine and headed towards Mallory Street, where Ben's

apartment was.

I stand up and head towards the bathroom. Might as well get a shower

while I can. Knowing Nous he's probably downstairs working on his bike

before the big rally next week. Last thing I want is to be showering with a

shit load of oil, grease, and dirt in the drain. That's why I stopped

working at the print shop and the garage.

Shit, katas. Ever since I left Tokyo I've cut back on my daily katas.

I guess the Japs were right, we Americans are lazy. Oh well. Better hop to

before I forget again.

I slip on a pair of baggy cotton pants and pick up my bokken before

heading out the door. The rooftop awaits. Hopefully I can do twelve katas

before my arms start hurting today.

Against my better judgement I came into work today. I'm not sure why,

maybe it's just to get my mind off of Sarah, maybe I want to talk to Lilly

and just can't acknowledge the fact, hell maybe I just want to work. I've

heard of stranger things.

Denis is hanging around upstairs. I saw him with some suits when I

walked in; nobody said anything about a party, but who knows anymore; this

place seems to get more popular every week.

Sheila was kool with me earlier. She and Lilly seem to be pretty kool

with me since we sorted things out a few months back, I'm not too sure

though. I just hope things between her and Chang are still good. They're

both good friends and I'd hate to see them break up.

Where the fuck are Jay and Bob. I haven't seen Bob around since

Christmas, when Amy came by. Amy tells me she and Bob're doin' good, for

that little bit of news I'm happy. But I'm still curious about Jay. If the

cops had him I'd know, but no one at the station has contacted me, so I doubt

he's in lock up.

I shrug mentally. Hell, maybe that Justice girl finally got out and

he's just spending all his time with her. "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" is

playing on the jukebox, seems like that damn thing just knows what I'm

thinking sometime. It's a little unnerving.

Why is that blonde at the end of the bar staring at me?

I place the phone down in the back room and groan slightly. Damn.

There was comic convention this weekend. Shit. I'd wanted to go too.

Holden said he was there promoting his new book. Damn. I was hoping to get

Kevin Smith to sign my TPB Green Arrow. For a film director, Kevin's a damn

good comic writer.

Guess that happens when you spend most of your life reading comic

books. You really get a good feel for the characters. Well shit; oh well,

back to work. Out of the corner of my eye I can swear I see that same blonde

lookin' at me. Is my fly down, I check, nope. Guess she wants to talk then.

My shift ends in an hour and she's been here since before I arrived.

She's been quite all night. Just sitting at the end of the bar alone. She

looks like she's lived through Hell and come out with her share of bruises.

She's signaling again, guess I better do my job. Wouldn't want anyone to

think I was a real bartender. Heh.

I've given everyone ten minutes, but it's time. Last call, that last

drink of the night before I kick everyone out. Everyone except that blonde

at the end of the bar. There's something about her that makes me want to

just keep her around. I think my "gaydar" is going off, something about her

screams lesbian.

Hell wouldn't be a first. Guess I better go see to this young woman's

problem. And Mom told me to get a psych degree. Now a days...it probably

wouldn't have hurt any.

I place a cocktail glass down before her, sloshing the liquid slightly.

"Mind if ah drink with ya?" I ask in my heavy accent. Sometimes I forget how

easy it is to just talk with an accent. Most New Yorkers wouldn't understand

half of what I say if I used my beach voice, but at times I don't really mind.

The woman looks up at me with heavy brown eyes. She's either drunk or

getting there, either way she's probably coming home with me or in a taxi.

"You're in charge here, its up to you." Her voice is heavy, she was probably

crying before she got here and decided to drink away whatever her problem

was. Hope she doesn't mind my prying.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

I nod my head slightly. "Fair 'nuff. I'll just clean around ya. If

y'all decide ya wanna talk, just holler." She nods once before turning back

to the drink sitting before her.

Wonder where Lilly ran off to. She wasn't in her apartment when I

stopped by earlier. Denis unloaded some sweet concert tickets on me and I

figured she'd wanna go or at least know someone that would. Well it is

getting to that time of year where her people are needed.

Across town.

Lillyanna is sitting hunched over a drafting table with a colored

pencil in her hand sketching out a backless dress. She'd been bent over the

table for the past three days, and the lack of sleep and food was finally

getting to her. Stifling a strong yawn, the young brunette woman placed her

head on her crossed arms and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Fuck relationships."

The woman just blurted it out. I don't think she even knew she said

it. Not surprising. She's drunker than tourist in a tiki bar. "Nani?"

Damn, I'm speaking Japanese, again. I gotta stop watching animè before work,

that or clean out my manga collection. It's getting pricey to import graphic

novels from Tokyo.

The blonde rolled her head slightly allowing her a better vantage of

me. "What'd you say?"

I grin one of my patented "I'm so cool you gotta love me" grins. "It's

Japanese. It means 'what,' which is what I just asked you. What was that

about relationships?"

The woman grunted as she tipped her glass back. "Fuck 'em. They're

fucking useless. No point in 'em." She slams her glass down on the bar

expecting me to refill it, too bad I'm across the room cleaning the jukebox.

Hmmm, maybe she's not THAT drunk. But she's getting there. "Another

beer...uh..."

"Alyssa," she said slightly groggy. "Unless you can think of something

better? Huh, can you barboy?!"

Okay, seriously thinking of slipping her into a cab now. I hate

violent people, they piss me off. Huh, what's that? I look down to my arm

when I'm rubbing the scar from where I got hit by debris back in LA when the

bar burned down. Fucking triads, at least the Yakuza were nice enough to try

and stab me.

Alyssa...that name sounds familiar. Why? Not important. I toss the

cleaning rag over my shoulder and make my way back behind the bar. "So who

broke your heart?"

Alyssa groaned as she laid her head down on the smooth wood. "Good

question. I don't know how to answer."

My head gently shakes back and forth as I watch the lithe blonde try

and force back a single tear. I've been where she is now, and I've lost

count of the number of people I've seen in her position. Instead of the beer

I was planning on pouring I open a bottle of water and place it down within

Alyssa's reach. "So...what was her name?" It's a risky gamble but if I'm

wrong no big.

Alyssa rolls her face towards me; I can see a pretty deep pain running

down from her deep eyes all the way into her heart. Whoever hurt her must

have really meant a lot to her. "What did you just say?"

I wipe the smirk from my lips and give the young woman a stoic look.

"I asked who SHE was. The woman that dumped you."

Alyssa nodded, "That's what I thought you said." She paused for a

moment to look from the bar to the bottle of water I put down next to her,

after a few seconds she's looking back at me. I'm nothing but cool as I

clean a Collins glass. "How do you know if it is a girl?"

I shrug slightly before I stack the glass up with a few others. "Just

guessing. I figured you were from the way you kept tossing glances at Sheila

all night." I give a more exaggerated shrug this time. "But hey I could be

wrong, it has happened before."

"His name is Holden."

I turn around to look at Alyssa for a moment. "So I was wrong?"

The little blonde gives me a lopsided smile. "Yes...and no."

I nod before she can go into a deep explanation. "No need to explain.

I understand. It's pretty confusing not knowing who's more attractive, the

guy behind the bar or the femme in the short skirt. Am I right?" Alyssa

gives me a gentle nod with a tiny smile. "So tell me about this Holden guy.

What'd he do that was so bad?"

"We fell in love."

I nod for a millisecond. One of these days I wish someone would come

in here a bitch about something that didn't involve a significant other.

"Been there, done that. I personally gave up on love years ago. So tell me

'bout Holden."

Alyssa drops her head and looks at the bar. "He's a writer and artist.

We met last year at a convention."

If it were possible I'd be picking my jaw up off the floor, through the

safe, and through the bar. "H-Holden...McNeil?" Holy shit, I never thought

I'd meet Holden's Alyssa. This is some fucked up shit.

Alyssa looks up at me with a questioning glare. "You know him?" I nod

dumbly for a second. "How?"

"Uhm...well...Holden kinda stopped in here back in November. We talked

for a bit. Mentioned you." Damn, I feel like I'm stuck in a lover's quarrel

between two friends.

Alyssa's feature's droop into a frown. Sorry girl, I'm not giving up

more info than needed. She smiles a tiny bit and looks me in the eyes for

the first time tonight. "So I guess he told you about our relationship,

Banky, and all the weird stuff that happened?"

I give her a reassuring nod. "Yeah, but to me what happened to you

three wasn't weird. With the friends I used to have, what happened with you

was child's play."

Alyssa frowned for a second before looking up at me again. Did he tell

you about last night?" I shake my head no. "I didn't think so. Last night

Holden and I met up at the convention center."

Alyssa ran upto Holden as he left the building. "Holden!" The man

turned around to find the person yelling his name. "Holden, wait up!"

"Alyssa?" A confused look covered Holden's usually stoic face.

"What's wrong?"

"I want to talk to you." The young blonde woman stared up at her

former boyfriend. "Let's go back to my place, it's closer."

"Alright. If you want I'll drive."

"Okay."

Alyssa handed Holden a glass of red wine. "About last year..."

Holden held up his hand. "You don't have to explain. I understand. I

was an idiot. But...I'm over it. My bad. Don't worry about it."

Alyssa blushed slightly and looked into her glass. "Holden. I still

care about you, okay. I don't want to lose you as a friend. But we can't go

back to what we were."

Holden nodded as he placed his glass down on the table before him. "I

know that Alyssa. Banky said pretty much the same thing when he kicked me

out of the apartment. Trust me, I understand. I met someone a while ago

that helped me put a lot of what happened between us into perspective."

Alyssa finished off her bottle of water and handed the bottle to me.

With practiced ease I toss it over my shoulder, knowing it'll land in the

recycle bin. "We got pretty plastered last night. I remember getting naked

and..."

I whistle a sharp and harsh note. "Halt! That's enough. No more,

thank you. I know where that train of thought leads. So what'd Holden do,

tell you to come talk to me?"

"Actually I live across the street. This was the first bar I saw when

I woke up. I've been here since this afternoon."

I feel my eyes bulge. This chick's been here since this afternoon?!

No wonder Denis wasn't smoking half a pack tonight, he's thinkin' 'bout all

the cash 'Lys just dropped in his pocket. DAMN!

"Uhmmm...girl. You gonna be okay to walk home, or should I call you a

cab?" I don't feel right letting her do either.

Alyssa jumps to her feet, shakily. "I'll be fine. Like I said I'm

just goin' across the street." She points out the darkened windows. "That

building just over there's my apartment. I'll be fine."

I shake my head. "Gimme ten mins, I'll walk ya home."

I guess getting out of bed wasn't such a bad idea today. Sorry Sar, I

wish I coulda spent the day with ya like I used to, but I was busy. Maybe

this is the first step to my putting the past behind me. Maybe next year I

won't be wearing my ring.

Let's not just to conclusions. Hmmmm...wonder what's in that letter

from Kalia? Guess I'll find out later.

The aforementioned letter is sitting, unopened, on Ben's coffee table.

The Dude Slayer sits behind his desk. The room is almost completely

blacked out. The faint outline of his body shows the author hunched over his

desk, head in hands. His mirror shades are sitting on the desk next to the

powerless computer.

TDS: I hate migraines.

Dude Slayer pours half a bottle of aspirin into a pitcher of water and

begins drinking from the pitcher. After a full minute the pained author half

placed half dropped the pitcher back onto the desk.

TDS: Fucking migraines.

Weakly the author slapped the intercom on his desk. After a few

seconds a slightly chipper and higher pitched version of his own voice

sounded through the little box.

CDS: What's up, Fuck For Brains.

TDS: *low growl* If I didn't have a migraine right now I'd tie you up

over the barracuda pool. Look, my head's killin' me. Do the notes will ya?

Get Nous to help out, okay?

CDS: SWEET!!!!!!!!

The intercom shut off soundlessly. The Dude Slayer was left sitting in

the darkness feeling as if he'd just allowed a hyperactive child to be leased

in a Toys 'R Us with a credit card.

TDS: Fuck the Chibis. I don't own Alyssa, Holden, or anything

involving them. They're property of Kevin Smith and used without his

permission. I garner no profit from these fics. McLeary's is owned by Denis

Leary, it and he are used without his permission.

Robbie's bike, mentioned earlier, is actually being designed by

himself and our friend Rigit. He calls the bike: Muerte Peor Meaido, it

roughly translates to 'Death's Worst Fear.

The bike looks like this: It's a chopper style bike matte midnight

black frame with a chrome dragon attachment to the frame. The mouth of the

dragon opens up over the wheel as the front fender, the tail is the rear

fender. The rims of the bike have a flame spoke design that is a crimson red

color, the headlights are the dragons eyes and the turn signals are it's

ears. On the dragon's tailpipes is a nice "Dragon" exhaust system that

shoots a 5 foot flame from them. The handlebars of the bike are the dragon's

horns. The tail opens up to reveal a compartment for his sword, axe,

assorted knives, guns... etc.

The Dude Slayer pushed the back of his chair into an almost horizontal

position and propped his booted feet on the desk. "Fucking migraines. I'm

goin' ta sleep. G'nite all."

redrum124@bigfoot.com