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
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
