Leon's elbows rested on the wooden bar of the lounge he had stopped in, his head was slumped forward in his hands. Swelling had taken place above both of his eyes, and his nose throbbed repeatedly, rhythmically. He'd already had two straight bourbons, he asked the bartender to give him another one. The bartender was a short, skinny guy with black hair slicked back against his scalp. When Leon had first come in, it had looked like he was wearing a white uniform with a black bow tie, placed neatly on the front of his shirt. A few drinks scrambled the little bartender's image a little, causing his bow tie to look a little more lopsided and he eyes look a little too small for his face.
All around him people socialized, drank, danced, all without a care in the world. Leon had told the cab driver to take him back to his place, but once he got there he decided he needed a drink and didn't have anything at his place. He drove his blue Cadillac to the closest bar he could find and immediately started sucking back bourbon. As the night dragged on, the sound of the other barflies become more and more garbled, his sight began swimming around in his head, and the short little bartender began looking more and more twisted. Soon his words were slurred as he tried to order more bourbon, eventually he could only manage to tap his glass.
When he had first arrived, he'd had a couple advances from some single and looking women. He wasn't in the mood for small talk and told them to get lost. He later felt sorry about it, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered because everything had gone wrong and there was no way to fix it. There are people who get mad and can find it in them to forget, there are people who get mad but aren't ruthless enough to see that their problem is taken care of, and then there was the boss. The boss would not let it go, no matter how trivial it was. Leon found himself wondering about the usual things people who get in trouble wonder about, like what would have happened if he had gone to college and became an accountant, or a lawyer, or something. Or maybe what would have happened if he had stopped associating with criminals like his ex-wife had wanted him too.
His ex-wife, real pretty girl named Earlene, had not minded him going into that kind of work at first. The plan was do it for awhile, put away some cash, and get a real job. But he found it too easy to give up, and went right on doing it. Earlene yelled at him about it all the time, until one day she finally left. Leon remembered feeling a little lost and dismayed when he found the note she had left, telling him to have fun dealing with hustlers and gangsters. For awhile he had started drinking a lot after he came home from a day of driving trucks back and forth from the boss's club to different warehouses and apartments around town, until he realized that it was giving him headaches in the morning. He had stopped for the most part, only having a drink now and then every few weeks.
After he cured his slight drinking problem, he took to bar hopping for awhile and was fairly successful, being an average looking guy with brown hair, a medium build, and a neat head of brown hair that had yet to start turning grey. He was just short of six feet tall and dressed in a casual but nice enough manner. He also got to hang out at The Starlight as a result of working for the owner.
Leon started to ask for another bourbon and was suddenly reminded his speech was screwed up from the alcohol, and a muffled, intangible mumble came out instead. The blurry form of the funny looking little waiter was leaning against the bar, looking at him.
"Look, buddy. I think you've had enough. Go on home, call a cab." A voice said, reverberating around in his brain several times before registering.
Leon managed to lift his head, which had suddenly gotten very heavy. Through watery, bloodshot eyes he looked the waiter in the face and tried to make his words understandable, "Give me a bourbon..."
"Man I told you, no more. You're fucked up enough as it is, you get in trouble then we the ones that get blamed. Get outside and hail a cab. You want, I'll call one for you. But no more liquor buddy." The waiter stepped backward and began polishing a glass with a towel, looking away from Leon.
"Give me a fucking drink, I ain't had none, not, none enough yet... Shit... Give me a bourbon!" Leon pounded his fist down on the table and started to stand up, but slipped and fell back down on his bar stool.
The waiter grew irritated as his beady little eyes darted around the bar room and settled upon someone in the corner, "Marty! Get this guy outta here, he's smashed. Just toss him out in the parking lot."
The weasly bartender had a half wiseguy, half boston accent, pronouncing Marty as Mahty. Before he had a chance to react, Leon felt himself being grappled around the waist and dragged towards the bar entrance. He couldn't find it in him to struggle as he watched the room and the people in it float around in slow motion in front of his eyes. A black mist clouded his vision momentarily as he felt his back hit the damp pavement of the parking lot. He laid there for a little while, staring up at the sky and most likely ruining his sport coat, before he shakily brought himself to his feet and began the seemingly endless walk to his car. He wasn't too sure where he had parked it, which led to him aimlessly wandering around the lot and looking around him at the various types of cars.
He spotted what he thought was his Cadillac, the blue glint of it's paint job catching his eye. As he reached into his pocket for his car keys, he missed a step and went tumbling to the ground. He hit his head pretty hard on the cold, rocky surface of the pavement. His intoxication covered up the pain but didn't help the light headed feeling much. Then another force met with his body, again not producing much pain but still affecting him. He doubled over as the same force seemed to inflict itself upon his stomach. He opened his heavy eyelids and could make out the dark, seemingly featureless silhouette standing over him. It looked like a female, but he wouldn't have sworn on it. Another form appeared next to the one already there. He could make out what they were doing now, fuck, they were kicking him. After dealing a few more harsh blows, he could hear some garbled speech, having no idea what the words were.
Soon he felt himself once more being dragged, this time by his feet, towards his car. Yet another person walked up behind him and picked up his fallen car keys. Everything happened very quickly as he was thrown into the back seat of his own Cadillac. He soon felt it moving, and looked around him sleepily to see the female assailant driving the vehicle, someone sitting in the passenger seat, and a fatter looking shape sitting in the back seat with him.
Leon could feel his face twisting into a crooked, toothy grin as his hand slid into the front of his jacket. He was feeling a little aggressive, maybe just because of the alcohol. It didn't matter, he had nothing to lose. His fingers brushed against the grip of his silver Colt .45. He slowly performed a sweep of the interior of the vehicle with his eyes before ripping the heavy gun out of his coat and blindly aiming it at nothing in particular. The sudden movement caused pounding pain to suddenly throw his already weak train of thought. Shit, he couldn't tell what he was aiming at. He quickly started to fan the hammer, but the figure in the back seat with him swung a harsh blow that caused him to lose hold of the gun and drift off to unconsciousness. He welcomed the weightless feeling and let it overcome him.
Here's the new chapter... people. By the way, thanks a LOT to my friend Kim for giving me advice and helping me out with some of my writing problems. I really appreciate it, you've been really helpful!
The events in this chapter happened quickly because of Leon's drunken state of mind, I'm planning on writing the next chapter from his attacker's point of view in a sober mindset to retell it, so you just wait...
