Droit

 It's a quarter of 2 a.m. in Sully's bar, and the dregs of the society that I am a card carrying member of, are here, the ones that have nowhere else to go, and no one to answer to other than themselves. A couple of them are looking worse for the wear, singing softly to themselves songs only they can hear. A few of them are looking for that last minute queen they can take home, couple with, and hope neither of them have a disease that can't be cured by antibiotics. Me, on the other hand, I am sitting on my usual stool minding the remains of my business. My business, on this particular Tuesday, is getting as drunk as possible as quick as possible. Luckily for me, Sully understood that from the moment I sat down, and has been "feeding" me turbo beers for more hours than I am likely to remember come tomorrow. 

It was about this time that I stole a glance at the fellow next to me, and realized that perhaps I had partaken of one too many. He wasn't an Adonis or anything, he was mostly just a nondescript fellow that wouldn't warrant a second glance, unless you paid attention to how he was dressed. I blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't a figment of my over-active imagination, and said "why are you here?" He smiled what I considered to be a particularly nasty smile and replied "I'm here for you GI, you know why I am here, and you know that I am here at your 'request'. Don't play stupid with me, it doesn't become you. 

"You're not real." I said with as much conviction as I could manage. "You're just a figment of my drunken imagination." He replied "that may be true, but nevertheless here I am, and while I am here we might as well have a chat about that burden you've been lugging around for the last month."  I frowned, "that is my burden, and I will bear it thank you very much." He shrugged "you might, but since I am here for you, you might as well let it go, or let go as much of it as you can. After all, if I am not real it doesn't matter now does it?"

As much as it pained me, I had to admit he had a point. After all, why not unburden yourself to a willing and imaginary listener? "Fine" I said. "I figure that since you are here, you already know the details of the 'burden' as you call it. It started almost 30 years ago, and has had a couple of reruns since. The first episode (if you can call it that) was a brief but furious affair. It was something that had zero chance of going anywhere of any importance, but was still full of a lot of passion. However, passion doesn't pay the bulldog. Certainly sex almost every two hours is nice for about a day, but at some point one of us has to get up and get a job. And I was not exactly into the Protestant work ethic, and it appeared she might be Catholic." 

"It wasn't the love of a lifetime, and it should have just ended there, but it somehow managed to last a lifetime.  If it had then I suspect you wouldn't be here haunting me at 2 fucking o'clock in the morning." He shrugged, "well two things about that. One here I am, and two I've got nowhere else to be, so please humour an old man and continue." I sighed, "can I at least have another beer?" He laughed "of course you can, and for fun why don't you order me a glass of the best house wine they have? I clearly can't drink it, but it would be nice to at least pretend." I laughed "the best house wine in this shithole is just short of kerosene, but sure let's have a glass of it, just don't bring it near an open flame." I waved the barmaid over and ordered my usual, and a glass of the "finest touch of the grape you can find in this dump, if you please." She glared at me for a second, then shrugged "sure GI, whatever you want. Just as long as you pay." I smiled my best smile (which rarely worked, but was worth a shot) of course I will pay my dear, I wouldn't think of leaving you destitute."

She flounced off, then returned with the drinks and a surly look. "Here you go, lover boy," she said with a wink and left me with my ghost. "You know all of these details, after all you are here." I pointed to my head "whether I like it or not." Another Gallic shrug, "sure I am but, as I said humour me, say it out loud, perhaps it will be a bit of a release." I grimaced "talking out loud to a ghost in a bar at 2 a.m. gets the men with butterfly nets called on you, but since I've nowhere else to be, I'll indulge your old ass." He pretended to lift the glass in front of him in a salute and said "good lad. I knew you could do it."

"After that first youthful wildly passionate affair, she drifted, and by drifted I mean disappeared. You already know that a lot of people disappear on me, it is a gift. I have been ghosted so many times, I'd have to send away to a mathematician to compute."  He nodded, "I am aware of the multitude of people who have thrown up their hands, and walked completely out of your life. I can't say that I blame any of them for the decision." I laughed "I am sure you have it all written down somewhere, but I myself have lost count. Either way, she moved to ____ ___, which was on the other side of a wide, deep river from me. It wasn't like I had to swim the river, there existed good, quality roads that covered the distance between us. The physical distance that is no road nor any bridge could cover the emotional distance.  In fact, I took those roads once, found her on the other side, but that was just the death throes of the affair."

 "I let it drift for several years, after all, I didn't have a choice and I found other playmates that were more than happy to take her place, and do as much damage as they could given their limited time. Not that I am some Lothario that beats women off with a stick, but she faded into the background after several years of my dating life. Then about 7 years and two moves across two states later, up she popped. I don't remember how it happened, but there she was like the ghost of Xmas past in the flesh. And it was incredible, we talked for days, it became a ritual our daily chats, when I was out getting too stupidly drunk to make our chats, she would leave me notes telling me how much she missed me. Being missed is almost always a good thing, in most cases it beats being there." I took a very long drink of my pint, "and then we met in person after all those years, and it was a disaster. It went as well as Charles XII's invasion of Russia in 1712, an absolute disaster."

He smiled slightly, "I thought that disasters were your specialty. After all, this isn't the first glass of wine I've had sat so tantalizingly in front of me, and not the first sad story I've heard from you." I shrugged, "fine you crafty son of a bitch, you know the rest of part two. I crawled home with my tail between my legs, and licked my wounds for 22 years give or take. Then after several failed attempts on my part to reconnect, I got a reply. It was tentative at first, and I wasn't sure what the hell it was all about, but it was a difficult to believe that after all these years, here she was or at least here she was corresponding with me again."

"Perhaps distance, like absence makes the heart grow fonder. I have been told on several occasions that a long distance relationship with me is the preferred relationship with me. That me in small doses is a lot easier to handle than me full time. Either way, several months later, here she was across from me at dinner, next to me at a bar, and beside me in bed. Nature, as it is wont to do, took its course and here I am drunk as drunk can be talking to fucking ghosts about what I should do next." 

He nodded, "As you said, I know all of this, I am like the cobras in your dreams always around on the perimeter waiting for our moment to strike, and here I am striking while you are awake, I leave the cobras to strike whilst you are asleep." Staring very hard at me he said "you dumb bastard, you got her in your bed after over two decades?" I nodded. "And then she went her way and you went yours?" I nodded again. He barked out a laugh, "you wonderful son of a bitch, I've finally taught you something. I feel like a mother eagle that watches her hatchling finally take flight. Fuck me, but I am PROUD of you GI." I opened my mouth to reply, but he put up a forestalling hand "no lad, don't speak and ruin it. I know what you're going to ask, and it's a fucking silly, romantically infused question. Try living in the moment, and stop wanting all those things from the past. The past is the past for a reason, and it seems that if you walk away now, you've "won"."

I blinked very hard, he was beginning to fade, like a shadow that dissipates in the rising sun. Being that it was not anywhere close to sunrise, I knew that whatever power of my imagination that had called him into some sort of temporal existence, it was beginning to fade. I shook my head to attempt to clear the ever increasing, heavy cobwebs weaving their darkening shade over my ability to pay attention to the problem of being awake. He all but purred, "enjoy the cobras, at least they kill you quickly." Fighting off the lead weights that had suddenly, seemingly been attached to my eyelids, I muttered the phrase I had been resisting saying all along. "You are right."

The last bit that I recall is his melodious laughter as he said "Of course I am right, I am Tallyrand."

The Lane

 I sat down on the first empty bar stool I could find. This wasn't Sully's so I didn't have my usual place at the bar. No matter, a bar is a bar is a bar, or so one would hope, and I had hopes that 'The Lane" was a bar at served a decent pint. The fellow with the ponytail behind the bar decided I wasn't worth his attention for a good five minutes before he deigned to ask me what I wanted to drink. I gave him my order after looking at the shit beer list, and hoped that my choice would taste better than rat piss. He sat the pint in front of me, and I said "cheers" it at least looked decent. But as with a lot of things in life, looks can be deceiving. It tasted like someone had put a cigarette out in it. I sighed, it had been a long week, and now here I was in some strange bar drinking smoky rat piss all for what I could tell was just some whim of Felix. 

He had given me very specific directions as to the bar, the time, and the day, I was supposed to show up. So here I was, piss poor pint in front of me looking around at a bar full of strangers trying to sort out why the actual fuck I was here. What game Felix was playing at eluded me. He merely waved his hand and said "here is where you need to be, and the rest you will sort out when you get there." I had no idea what I was supposed to "sort out." My sorting out days were fast approaching an ending, and I didn't really feel like drinking smokey rat piss in an alien bar. Locals exist for a reason. You find your local, you get to know the people (especially the bartenders, and maybe a buxom serving wench or two), and there you are at your new home away from home. 

Eventually, you become a fixture, an addition to the place like new wallpaper but better looking (you think), and you settle into a routine. You come, you drink, you stagger home to regret your life choices on the morrow. This new place was not exactly my scene, too well lit for starters, and seemingly going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I glanced around hoping for some clue as to what Felix was playing at when he sent me on this fool's errand, and that is when I saw her. Well lit can be a curse at times, and this was one of those times. She was sitting across the bar at an angle from me, and didn't notice me at first. Which was a blessing, because I let out several swear words under my breath when I noticed her.

Have I mentioned that Felix is a bastard? He is a bastard, and seems to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in being one. I didn't know what to expect when Felix told me to come here, but this sure as fuck wasn't it. This ghost from Xmas past was not a welcome addition to my day. In fact, she had once very pointedly accused me of ruining Xmas. She truly hated my guts, and had no problem telling me that in no uncertain terms the last time she had seen me. That was when she was throwing me out of her apartment after inviting me over to have "one last rodeo" as she put it. Nothing says mixed signals like a woman sleeping with you, and then telling you to "get the fuck out, and never, ever come back or speak to me again."

I left that night very confused as to what had just happened, well I knew part of what had just happened, but as to the big picture I was clueless.  I figured she wasn't serious about the never speaking to her again bit. But, as it turned out, she was serious about that, very, very serious. It took me a couple of pathetic, failed attempts before I got the message, but eventually I did. I never claimed to be the swiftest horse in the stable, but she finally made it so clear that even I could understand. With a final, fuck you she rode off into whatever passes for a sunset in my world. I can't say I didn't mourn her because I did, but after a considerable amount of drinking about it, I realized it was probably for the best that she left when she did. 

That last rodeo was over a decade ago, and bar one brief, and unpleasant interaction since, we had not crossed paths, nor did I ever expect to see her again. And yet, here she was chatting away to someone not 15 feet away from me like nothing in the world was wrong. Well that is until she eventually glanced over and saw me looking over at her with a perplexed look on my face. The look of distaste was fleeting, but it did not go unnoticed. It was like she had just seen a cockroach at her mother's house but was too polite to mention it out loud in front of company. 

I sat very still and cursed Felix for the bastard that he is, and wished ponytail would come back so I could tab out and flee the jurisdiction as quickly as possible. No such luck, ponytail was busy chatting up some thin girl that clearly needed to eat a sandwich, and pretending like I didn't exist. I was beginning to hope that ponytail was correct and I didn't exist when she got up and walked in my direction. Of course she walked in my direction, this wouldn't be a story if she didn't. I tried to pretend I didn't recognize her at first, but as usual my play acting failed miserably. 

She plopped down on the stool next to me and said "don't look so unhappy GI, I am not going to bite." She leaned in way too close and whispered ever so softly in my ear "though there was a time when you enjoyed me biting didn't you lover boy." I leaned away from her with a look of bemusement on my face. "Why the fuck are you here, how the fuck are you here, and what the fuck do you want?" She smirked "all very good questions lover boy, you always had good questions, too bad you also usually had shitty answers to go with them." I growled "let me guess, some bastard named Felix sent you." She nodded slightly. "Right at the first asking, you always were a clever lad. Yes, your boy Felix sent for me, and then sent me here. I took some persuading, but your boy Felix can be very persuasive when he wants to be can't he?" 

"I suppose that persuasive is one word to use for how Felix gets people to dance to his tune, blackmail would be another, more honest appraisal but that is just semantics isn't it?" She nodded again "yes well, either way here I am once again sitting on a bar stool next to you just like old times. The old times that I've no desire to relive, talk about, or rekindle. I am here to deliver something to you from your boy Felix, and then I get to fade back into the mists of your history. This time I hope forever." She managed to get ponytail's attention (wonder how?) and  said "let's have a shot to celebrate our unhappy reunion shall we?" and ordered our usual shot. "For old time's sake." 

She lifted her glass, clinked it again mine, and we had one last shot for the hell of it. She put her glass down very carefully on the bar and said "speaking of shots, after a very long talk about you, me and our mutual past, your boy Felix gave me this to give to you. Don't ask me why, I didn't ask, and I don't give enough of a fuck to care, but here it is anyway." With that she stood up reached into her pocket and plunked something down on the bar. I was on the way to figuring out what when she grabbed me and pulled me into a seemingly passionate and totally unexpected kiss that was lovely as it was surprising.

She broke away, let out a small gasp of what I hoped was pleasure coupled with a twist of regret, and said "so long GI, I've delivered Felix's message, and I can only hope to never, ever lay eyes or any other part of my body on you again." With that, she waltzed out of the bar and my life all in one fell swoop. It took me a couple of seconds to get "my laces straight" after the shot and the kiss, but when I did I looked down at what she had left me as a parting gift. What was it that Felix dredged her out of my past to deliver to me in such odd circumstances? I looked down at the item on the bar, and laughed aloud. "Felix you daft bastard, it was a joke." I reached down and picked it up. It was just a single, simple bullet. I laughed again and said quietly to myself,  "you didn't even engrave my name on it, you cheap son of a bitch."

Pluie

 Funny thing about rain, the romantics of the world say it's lovely. Nothing like a good, old fashioned rain shower to make the melancholic words just flow right onto the page. The farmers will say "it's good for the crops" and the environmentally conscious will say it's good for Mother Earth, and water tables, lakes, rivers, and all that nature shit. I suppose all these things are true, and sure I've spent a good amount of time standing in the pouring rain with the world turning circles inside my brain. But tonight, well tonight, the rain is cold and it fucking sucks. Don't get me wrong, I am sure that somewhere, some want to be Lord Byron is composing an ode to some pretty barmaids eyes in some poorly lit room, and I am sure that the crops will be bountiful, and we will have all the peas we could possibly want, and I am certainly sure that the streams will be full to overflowing with all this godsdamn rainwater. 

However much joy the rest of the world is getting out of this thuderfuck of a rainstorm is lovely for them, for me all I am getting is wet, and probably catching my death because it's cold, and I wasn't expecting to be standing out in the damn rain for hours on end. No my plans consisted of cold pints, and maybe a warm woman, but Felix had other plans for me, and as usual Mutt and Jeff delivered me to Felix's office to be told that my plans had "suddenly, and unexpectedly changed, and not for the better." In case I haven't made it clear, Felix is a bastard, and when a bastard like Felix tells you that your plans have changed, it is never for the better. "Just a watching brief, GI. All you have to do is stand around without looking like a pervert or a serial killer for a couple or maybe three hours, and make sure that if a certain person receives company, you report back to me who that company is. And since I know you've not played a winner in weeks, you're not only skint, but I figure L____ is looking to maybe make you less pretty for non payment of losses. Do this thing for me, and I'll put you square with your bookie, and maybe give you a few more coin to waste on whatever loser you pick next."

 "Fine Felix, if all I need to do is stand around without too much work, I guess I can take your coin and turn myself into a millionaire, and forget my current group of friends." Felix nodded, and pushed a slip of paper across his desk towards me. "The address, and directions on how to get there, I figure you can direct my minions to the place as reading isn't their strong suit, it's in a posh section of town that I doubt you're familiar with, unless you burgled it before." I snorted, "why Felix I would never break the laws of the Republic that you are sworn to uphold when it is in your best interests, to do such a thing might put a damper on our friendship." He smirked "I would call you a lot of things GI, but 'friend' isn't one of them. Just get out there and try not to fuck it up this time." I sketched a faux salute, "aye aye Captain. I'll do you proud. Just one quick question?" He arched an eyebrow "what is your question." I said "why can't Mutt or Jeff handle this surely standing around mouth breathing is in their wheelhouse." He sighed, "yes they are great for standing around, even sometimes standing around an intimidating helpless women, and rummies too dumb to run when they should, but for this little job a little more discretion is required." I tapped myself on the chest "I am the soul of discretion my dear man,  in this I shall not disappoint." He laughed "don't overpromise GI, I have unlimited faith in your ability to disappoint me, now get out."

I confess that weather reports are something I skip in the paper on my way to the sports page. What do I care about the weather? It's not like I can do anything about it is there? Well, it turns out there is one thing you can do "about" the weather, and that is prepare for it. You know if it's 100 degree maybe skip the wool sweater, or if it is cold maybe take the wool sweater, or maybe, and this became important to me rather quickly, take a fucking raincoat if it is going to rain. Mutt and Jeff were gracious enough to give me a right to my destination, and didn't even bother to punch me just for the fun of it. As we pulled up to the corner across the street from my "target", Mutt or was it Jeff, whistled and said "careful GI, the toffs around here might call the lawdogs on you for looking suspicious. Try to blend in." With that piece of utterly useless advice given, they sped off. 

They weren't wrong, this part of town was not my scene. It looked as if people actually mowed the grass, and didn't let dead dogs lie where they fell to rot. This place looked as if the streets were mopped clean on at least a weekly basis. Hell, it looked as if trees might actually grow here. I decided to lean against what I figured was the most comfortable looking lamppost, and wait upon Mutt and Jeff came to collect me, as per the plan. As much as I racked my brain, I couldn't fathom who Felix would want me spying on in the part of town. Well "spying" is an ugly word for it, but let's call a spade a spade. 

It was about 10 minutes later, that the gods decided I was entirely too comfortable against that lamppost, and decided a little water would be good for me. Of course, what the gods consider a little, and what a man with no raincoat consider a little, are wildly different amounts. Just for fun, or to fuck with me, which I consider to be the same thing for them, the gods decided "let's make that rain as fucking cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra." And so the gods command, and the down came the rain, to attempt to wash GI out, but unlike that loser spider, I am made of sterner stuff, or perhaps the spider didn't have a bookie threatening to break his legs (a much tougher of a job, one would think), I wasn't going to run off because of the rain. Besides, I didn't have any money, and walking home in the rain would be just as bad if not worse than waiting it out, and being driven home in style by Mutt and Jeff. 

I found a doorway that allowed about 30 percent of me to not get soaked to the gills, and waited to solve the curious little mystery that Felix had provided me. Have I mentioned that Felix is a bastard? I knew there was no way that he was giving me this seemingly simple job as a way of helping me get out of debt. It was his way of paying my debts through me, and somehow still making it liked I owed him for paying them himself. It is a pretty shitty arrangement at least for me.  No, there was a lesson in this little, rain soaked tryst, that I had yet to suss out. I just hoped I could suss it out before what harm Felix intended for me, and I had no doubt he intended me harm, came to fruition, or if it did that it didn't kill me. 

About an hour of being the toilet for the gods, I noticed someone walking very carefully down the street. They seemed a bit out of place, not as out of place as me, but still this wasn't their hood. She, a knocking of heels on concrete, told me it was a she, seemed to be struggling to remember the exact house she was looking for. Like someone would had been there once, maybe twice, and maybe was a bit tipsy that second time and it is all a bit hazy. Luckily, or so I briefly thought, the toffs around here paid the light bill so the lamp that the posts held actually worked. It was when the unknown lady passed under one of those expensively working streetlights, that I got a good look at her, no mistaking her even from this distance, and the rain. Once you had seen that walk from the proper angle, you'd never forget it. Sadly for me, at least this night, I had the 'correct' angle. 

It was that walk that sashayed its nice little bottom into the house that Felix had bade me watch. Of fucking course she did, and of fucking course he did. It was the cute, little typist from his office. His secretarial pool as it were. If someone as prole as Felix can have a secretarial pool. I stifled what would have been a very loud curse, and silently damned Felix to the deepest pit of hell. I stood there being a sucker as I watched the lights go out in the windows of the house she had entered, and I cursed him harder. So he knew, and now he knew that I knew. I wondered if he let her know that he knew, or that he was going to let me know. We seemed to be a knowledge bunch, but for all of that "knowledge" all I had were questions. 

Oddly enough, as if they had been told to wait for "lights out", Mutt and Jeff pulled up and one of them said "your chariot await my lady, now get the fuck in." I sighed as I climbed into the back seat "where are we off to in such a rush boys?" I asked figuring that I knew the answer already.  Mutt, or was it Jeff, turned around and replied "the worst place for you, bosses' orders." I shuddered to think of where in the world Felix would think was the worst place for me, but I didn't exactly have a lot of options. I closed my eyes and at least pretended to sleep, not that Mutt or Jeff were any great shakes at conversing, but I didn't even want to try. I had a fair amount of thinking to do, which I knew was the overall point Felix was making, and I knew that his smug ass would ask me all about it in due course. A few minutes later Mutt, or was it Jeff, shook me awake and said "you're here lover boy, get out and we will see you sooner rather than later." With that I was semi-shoved onto the sidewalk, I stumbled a bit then got my bearings, and barked out a laugh. "Felix, you bastard" I said aloud to the street, "you've figured it out." I looked up at the place Felix had determined "was the worst place" for me, fumbled in my pocket for the keys, and prepared to wake up in me own bed (alone) in the morning.

 

 

She hates

 "I hate you, you arrogant son of a bitch" she said as she sat down on the bar stool next to me. It was not exactly what I was expecting to hear on a random Tuesday at my local, but when I stole a glance over at the person making this statement, I was not surprised. "Well, hello to you too sweetheart, can I interest you in a drink?" She glared at me, again another one great at glaring.  "Yes you stupid bastard, buy me a drink and I will try to pretend I don't hate every bit of your guts." I waved  to Sully to bring her whatever the fuck it was she drank. Sully, being the classical trained bartender that he was, knew exactly what it was that she drank. I, on the other hand, knew that it was red, and fruity, and that was about it You would think I would know what it was, but I had no clue. Another entry on my list of sins according to her. 

"I don't think you fully understand how much I hate you" she said with real conviction. I took a long, slow sip of my beer, sat it down and said "well I've a pretty good idea, but feel free to clue me into what exactly it is that inspires such emotion." She let out a small laugh, "that's the problem with you, you stupid bastard. You've no idea why I hate you as much as I do. I could have said I love you and your reaction would have been the same." This peaked my interest, and I looked over at her, "well I would have preferred the latter to the former, but I suppose you are correct. As much as I hate to admit it." 

I sighed, after all I had been waiting for this encounter. It wasn't a surprise that me and her had issues, a fair amount of people knew it, and a fair amount of people were very confused about whether we hated each other or were having a torrid affair with each other, thus was the confusing nature of us. "Would you like to know what I think about this, or would that just make you angrier?" She chuckled, "no you fucktard, I've no desire to know what, if anything that you think. In fact, I've a fair idea that you don't think much at all, which is the problem." 

Her green eyes blazed with anger as she said these last words. They were the green eyes of a cat, and she was about as loyal as one. That was one of our major problems, neither one of us was particularly loyal to the other, or so we thought. It wasn't until after I had "betrayed" her (in her eyes at least) that I realized how loyal she was to me. After that, she never believed that I was ever capable of being loyal to her.  Which was a shame, because my betrayal of her was made under circumstances in which I should have known better.

I paid the price of my "betrayal" in many ways. I lost her. Whatever she was to me. I lost the person I "betrayed" her to, and I lost a lot of self respect. I should have known better, and I should have done better, but I didn't, and no matter how many times I admitted that to her, she was not in a forgiving mood. I glanced over at her, I could feel the anger radiating off of her, she was all but vibrating with rage. "I'm a bit too drunk for this conversation, but I figure you knew that already." She laughed "of course I did, you fucking moron. I know you a lot better than I would ever admit, and I know Tuesday is a day of drinking for you, and I know you'd be doing it in this shithole."  

I nodded "well I understand you are here to vilify me, and I can't say that you are wrong, but I would like to at least attempt to explain." She gave me a very, very dirty look and said "fuck you Shakespeare, you've explained it to me over and over, and all it comes down to is that you preferred fucking her over being friends with me." I shook my head and tried to think of a reply to that statement. The problem was that, godsdamn her, it was exactly on point. How do you reply to that shit? How do you tell what might have been one of the two people in the world that you trusted (and she would say of me multiple times that "___ doesn't trust anyone.") that you betrayed one of her deepest secrets to one of her "enemies." 

How do you explain that you were, in fact in love with one of her enemies? How do you explain that to someone who is angry enough to murder you in your sleep? She's in no mood to listen to how your were retarded enough to believe her enemy was anything but your enemy as well, no matter how many times she fucked you. "You've no idea the way I felt about you do you?" she asked. I pondered this for a minute. I had an idea but it was more of hope than an idea, and I didn't figure that this was the time to try that theory out on her. Instead I shrugged, "well I had some hopes about what we were, but to be honest I was never exactly sure." 

She rolled those lovely green eyes, "you fucking idiot, how in the hell could you have not known? I trusted you. I told you shit that I didn't tell anyone else. How, in the actual fuck, could you be so godsdamns stupid? You sat across from me in my office, at meetings, and at several bars, and we talked about this, here she waved her hands in the air to imply what "this" was. "This is why I hate you. You ignorant bastard. Even more so because you're too fucking stupid to know why." 

An odd thing about a woman you've know for several years, a woman whom in spite of her theory of you, you did in fact trust, a woman that perhaps if things had been slightly different you could have made an attempt at, telling you that she hates you. It has a rather sobering effect, no matter how many pints you've managed to pour down your throat, being told "I hate you" with the conviction she had, sobers you up a bit. How do you show her how you feel? How do you tell her all that trusting bullshit, when you put a knife in her back? Stop pretending you weren't the bastard she is calling you? Admit you are the bastard she claims you are? Will either of those help? The result is the same. 

I looked her in the eyes, and said "don't leave like this, I promise someday I can be the man I used to be in regards to you." She said "I wish, I really wish I could take that for the truth, but I know I can't keep believing I will ever see a change in you." She looked me back in the eyes and said "don't bother telling me anymore lies, I've heard them all before, and I understand that you'll never be the man I thought you could be." With that she stood up, and said "I imagine you'll spot me one final drink for old time sake" and walked all the way out of my life.

The Day they Hung the Kid

 It was a rather nondescript day, the day they hung the Kid. I was there, but I wasn't exactly advertising my presence. There were several people at this blessed event that would have liked to had a "word" with me outside, and would have left me laying in a puddle of my own blood "outside". Either way the Kid, was the man of the season at this soiree, and this dusty, little town in the backwaters of _____ didn't have a lot of soirees, and I was just there in the back to see them do what they needed to do. ____ had saloons yes, whorehouses yes, and an oddly plentiful supply of banks, but they didn't throw a lot of parties for the likes of me or the Kid.  What is not to love about a town full of whiskey, whores, and money that just begs to be stolen? Two of thsoe things are just there for the taking if you have money, and well the third, if you were me and the Kid possessed the money we needed to get the first two, and we weren't the "taking out a small loan against next years crop" types.

I had the dubious pleasure of knowing the Kid longer than anybody, bar his parents.  I can't say that it was exactly a decision I had a lot control in making. We went to school together and our last names were one letter apart. Therefore we got sat together, picked to do random tasks together, and in no relation to our last names, punished together. Usually, such forced socialization results in random conversations in which most people find they have something in common, even if it just vices. The Kid and I, well, we had a lot of vices, most of them in common. The vices we shared (he had one that made me shudder, but that is not our concern here), were the usual ones of young, stupid men with no idea what they want to do with their life other than enjoy it too much. 

After school was through with us (which was long after we were through with school), the Kid and I went our different ways. I heard about him, and his "exploits" from all the usual sources, and I secretly hoped he would become so infamous that I could tell people I knew him "back when he was a nobody" for free drinks at my local bar (after all, a boy has to pay the rent). I figured that was all I would ever do, read about the Kid and his crimes, I never figured that I would be a part of them. But, life doesn't stop for you to think too much, life generally carries you along like drift wood on a raging river. 

It was in a riverside tavern that I ran into the Kid. I was propping up the bar, and making sure they didn't go out of business for lack of custom, when in walked the Kid. At first, I didn't really think of him as "the Kid." After all, we were the same age, and I wasn't going to call someone I had spent time trying to learn my letters and numbers with, "the Kid."  "Hello A____, it has been a while, I would ask what you are up to, but all I need to do to know that is read the paper." The Kid glared at me that is until he recognized me, then he broke into a wide grind, "GI, fancy meeting you here! Where have you been hiding yourself all of these years?" I shrugged "working, earning, you know being a good little Prole. Just like my father and his father and so and so." 

"Still playing the sucker bet GI? You know of all the reprobates we grew up with, I figured you to do better. You were my guy." I looked over at him with a bit of shock, "your guy? I am not sure that being your guy leads to a long and healthy life." He let out a small chuckle "aye, you've the right of it. My 'guys' have a bad habit of dying. But, you GI, you're a lucky cunt if there ever was one. You'd beat the Maid at her own game, and few, few people beat the Maid." 

"I was very,very lucky to beat the Maid, it took exactly zero skill." He laughed "see that's me point, even after winning the jackpot, you're too stupid or humble to admit that it took a fair amount of skill. Humility, is what they call it, and since I've none and you seem to be awash in it, I decided to bring you along." I smiled at him, "well since that jackpot has long since been used upon the vices we used to (and probably still do) share, I guess I am "volunteering" to be your partner, unless you've a better option." He slapped me on the shoulder and said "good lad, I knew that I could count on you. Now here is the idea." With that, I became his 'second'. His partner in a fair amount of crimes, that if caught and convicted of, would see us spending a fair few years of our lives in stir. 

The law was thin on the ground in those days, and the Kid and I made a lot of hay while the sun shined. We stole a lot of things, and money. We tried to justify it by saying that we stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and that we were the poor, but that was bullshit. We stole for the sake of stealing, and for the lifestyle we lived off of it. We tried very hard to steal just from the banks, not from the people, but sometimes a large diamond ring is just too pretty to resit. These days were happy in their own way, and I don't regret them per se, but I realized that perhaps the Kid had different ideas.

The Kid was, not to sound gay or anything, a very pretty man. He had the indecency to couple his good looks with a charisma that would make a nun blush. I was just basking in his reflected glory, and counting the money we stole. We never actually had to shoot anyone, which was great because for the most part I handed the Kid a shotgun that was as empty as his head. I figured the Kid would never pull the trigger on purpose, and I didn't want him pissing himself and accidentally shooting some poor fool that we had no grudge against. We weren't going to retire to the south of France with the money we took, but it was enough to keep us in a semi-fancy lifestyle. 

It was that semi-fancy lifestyle, and the Kid's natural charisma that changed his, and by extension, my life. It seemed that people just naturally liked the Kid, and he ate that admiration up like a kitten with a bowl of milk. I, on the other hand, just cared about the dollars. I wasn't trying to win a beauty contest, I was just trying not to have to go back to mines and work for a living again. Over 12 years, the Kid and I robbed 15 stagecoaches, and 4 banks. The banks were the harder of the two, and twice I rode away with a bullet in me from a over eager bank guard. The Kid, as one would expect, rode away unscathed.

 Living what people would later call a 'double' life can get confusing after a while. Getting names straight when you have to change them as often (or more often) as you change your underwear, can be very confusing. Add a fair amount of whiskey to the equation, and a fair maiden or two that just needed one more fancy lie to fall into bed with you, and you have a prescription for disaster. The Kid didn't partake of much of the former, and his good looks and charm made the telling of the latter less necessary, However, those among us (i.e. me)  who possessed less beauty and loved more than his fair share of john barleycorn, had to tell a few tall tales to those fair maidens to convince them that we were the heroes of the day that they had been waiting all their lives to meet. 

As one would expect, eventually one of those fair maidens would take more than a little offense to my convincing lies, and would find her way to the gendarmes to explain that at least of the fellows who had recently robbed the stagecoach to ____ was, at present, snoring the remains of the morning away in her bed as they spoke. It was only because the Kid had remained less than black out drunk the night before, that he was able to rouse me out of my death slumber, and get us the hell out of that particular town. The Kid was a happy go lucky type, but he was not amused. "Your love of the bottle will be the death of us one day ___," he would say with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "mark my words." 

I did mark his words, but whiskey has a call that's easy to hear and hard to resist, and fair maidens well they have a certain allure that I didn't even bother to attempt to resist. After all, life is short and you might as well dance while the music is playing, because eventually you'll die dancing on the end of a rope. Which was why the Kid decided that maybe the outlaw life wasn't for him anymore. I suppose besides those pretty looks, the Kid was also the brains of the outfit. Looks and brains, why did I hang out with such a loser? I suppose it was inevitable that the Kid and I would eventually go our separate ways, which one day in ____ we did. He shook my hand and said "____ we have had a good run, but there is just no future in this for us, you're either going to drink yourself to death, or your drinking will be the death of us, and I am just not quite ready to feel the Devil bite me on the ass as they pull the lever on me because your drunk ass couldn't keep his story straight."  I nodded "fair enough Kid, I don't really understand why you've stuck around this long, but no harm done, and I hold no grudge against you and wish you well." With that, I went west and he went east, I found out eventually he went very, very far east.

I kept the big iron on my hip, and went about the business of trying not to starve to death. Honest work had long since lost its allure to me, and I decided that without the Kid at least my percentage of the take would double. The main problem is robbing stages and banks is a lot harder by your lonesome. I had some near escapes, and wound up with a lot less of a "take" than I had hoped. Several weeks would pass when I did have to bite the bullet (so to speak) and perform what people would call "honest work" just to keep body and soul together. I didn't like it, but I figured that dying of hunger was a lot less fun.  

I would get news of the Kid from time to time, seemed going east had agreed with him, and he had become some nob banker type. The irony of that was not lost on me, and I figured the Kid was just playing the long game before he robbed the bank from the inside for a change. The allure of ____ like the allure of hard work, lost its luster, and I decided that maybe east would be as nice to me as it was to the Kid. Which is why I was there the day they hung the Kid.

I was surprised that the Kid hadn't ended up in some big Eastern town, but I guess he wasn't as sociable as one would think, maybe all those years of hanging out with me had rubbed off on him. The dusty little town of ____ would not have been out of place a thousand miles west, but it was this town that decided that day that the Kid needed to be hung. I am not much of one for parties, and parties that require me to play dress up are even lower on my list of things I want to do, but I figured I owed it to the Kid to be there when he was hung. But here I was, wearing what passed for my Sunday go to meeting clothes, waiting for the guest of honour to make his appearance. 

Eventually he did, he swanned into the room flanked by two fellows who were clearly strapped, all smiles and with the same woman melting grin on his face that I had seen a thousand times. He didn't seem to have changed much, except his Sunday go to meeting clothes were a lot nicer than might. Seems getting hung required everyone to play dress up. The actually act of being hung took a lot more time than you would think. A few people had to give speeches about the Kid and what he had done and whatnot, and then someone would remember a story about him, and would just start talking. It went on, and on and on. I was begging to wonder if I had came to see the Kid hung or to some sort of rally in support of the Kid becoming governor. 

I stayed as far back in the crowd as possible. I ain't much for mingling with strangers, and I didn't think this lot wanted to hear MY stories about the Kid. Seems most of their stories made the Kid out to be some gentleman who loved his mother, Jesus, and walked on water. I knew that the Kid's mother was a whore in a parlour house on Utah Street in El Paso, and that he didn't much care for Jesus, and that he couldn't swim. I also knew that my stories making the Kid the human bastard that I knew him to be wouldn't exactly win the crowd over to my side. I decided, for once, that keeping my gob shut was the best plan, at least until the Kid saw and recognized me. 

He was in mid-conversation with some overstuffed fellow in a suit, and his eyes raked over me, and expressed only a moment of surprise before he looked away, if you hadn't been paying attention, you wouldn't have thought anything of it. Lucky for me, I happened to be paying attention. Robbing places on your own makes you pay a lot more attention than if you have a partner. I didn't make any move to talk to the Kid, I figured as he was the star of this show, he would find his way to me in his own time. O

For once, I was right. A few minutes later the Kid sidled up to me and said loud enough for some people to hear "Henry Mckinney!!! As I live and breathe. Last I heard of you, you were in the frontier prison of ____ for conning little old ladies out of their egg money. When did they let you out?" My face reddened as I gave him the best "fuck your mother" glare I could manage under the circumstances and "Replied, You sir are confusing me for my brother Dick, the shame of the family he is, and we try not to talk about him in polite society." Nonplussed the Kid walked closer and grabbed my elbow and steered me to a quiet corner. "You sir are correct, I apologize and beg a moment of your time." 

The Kid was not longer a Kid some grey had reached his hair that I could see now that he was up close and personal with me. "You miserable Son of a Bitch what are you doing here? I really did figure you to be dead or in prison by now. How have you managed to maintain both life and freedom at the same time?" I shrugged "well Kid, I guess they" I pointed to the crowd "don't know you by that name do they?' He smiled "No they do not, and I would ask you not to tell them. It might shock their tender sense of decorum to know about the things we did together." I laughed "Oh don't worry Kid, your secrets are safe as houses with me, not like this lot would believe me anyway. Besides I just came to see you hung."

Before he could reply, some fat fellow in a suit two sizes too small for him called for everyone's attention. I figured that we should at least pay some attention to the fellow as he seemed to be making the announcement that I had came for. It was the big moment for the Kid, and here he was caught off guard and out of place (in the back talking to me) seems the east had dulled his sense of timing, and I was secretly thankfully that I wasn't robbing the place with him, he would surely get us killed with timing as bad as that. 

The speech came to it's big finish and cries of "George Rawlins, George Rawlins" rang out from the crowd. I quickly figured out that "George Rawlins" was name that these people knew the Kid under (it wasn't close to his real name, but I wasn't Henry Mckinney either).  With a flourish, the fat fellow pulled a rope, and a silk covering fell to the floor. "It is my pleasure to unveil this portrait of George Rawlins, the youngest director of the Bank of _____, and all around good egg. I looked over the heads of the crowd, and there on the wall hung a fairly well done picture of the Kid, all dressed up and smiling like the cat let loose among the pigeons. 

I suppressed a large laugh, and looked at the Kid "It's a perfect likeness, really catches the je ne sais quoi of you. Don't you think? He hissed back between firmly clenched teeth "we will talk later you SOB!" Then he plastered that pigeon eating smile on his face, and made his way to give the speech these people had come to hear. Not me though, I shook my head one last time, and gave the Irish goodbye to the Kid. Maybe one day we will talk again, but for today's purposes I had heard this town was famous for a certain brand of whiskey, and I was anxious to find a bottle of it to climb into. And that is the story of the day they hung the Kid. 

P.S. for those poor savages that don't know. Things are hung, People are hanged.

Powers' Gate

 Fresh off the victory of Brock's Pass the collection of reprobates that deemed to call themselves Claudell's Marines staggered away drunk both literally on a lot of pints, and figuratively on its own sense of power. I say we called ourselves Claudell's Marines because, well we did, none of us had managed to figure out a new name to attach to our mast, and therefore we wandered around as Claudell's Marines. We were just missing Claudell, and as mentioned before none of us were in any shape, form, or fashion marine material. Hell, I couldn't even swim. We had won the battle of Brock's Pass, and we thought that maybe this fighting thing wasn't so tough after all, and therefore, full of piss and vinegar we stumbled onto Power's Gate.

By this time, Wilson had managed to find a new 'leader' to be the semi-loyal second in command to. His name was Apple, like the fruit. He was far, far from a fruit. He was a hard man, tough as a two dollar steak, and as dumb as a box of hair. Perhaps, that was what endeared him to Wilson. Hard but stupid is a lot easier to control than a thinking man who doesn't really want to die, but realizes that he has to fight for a living. I wasn't involved in the command decisions of the group who by now had decided that Lobar's Wolves had a intimidating ring to it. Therefore we were newly christened Lobar's Wolves. No one had to know that Lobar was the cook of the outfit, who it seems had one goal, which was to poison us with his terrible cooking. Perhaps, we could wreck terrible revenge forcing Lobar's 'stews' upon the unsuspecting populace of the world. If the stew didn't kill us first. 

Victory, no matter how easily achieved, has an affect on people. Win one, and you start to think maybe you are a lot tougher than you really are. I mean after all, Brock's Pass was a walk in the park wasn't it? Maybe Hester's Reach was just a mistake, an anomaly that wasn't a true expression of our fighting abilities. Yes, that had to be it, Hester's Reach was just a foolish mistake made by that damn fool Claudell and now that he was rotting, unmourned, in his grave, we could move on to victory after victory, and become the men our mothers wanted us to be. Of course the problem with becoming the men our mothers wanted us to be just meant we were becoming our fathers, a terrible idea for a lot of us. 

 Avoiding falling into the trap of "becoming my father" was the main reason that I took the King's Highway away from the small, small town that threatened to "swallow me".  But, as I have said, victory does crazy things to people, and despite our most fervent sputtering to the contrary. We marched the direction they told us to march, because that's what dogs do, they follow the path the master has pointed out. Apple was a bastard, but he marched right with us, no fancy high horse for him. Apple ordered you to march with him, not for him. That makes a very, very large different once things that can kill you start getting thrown around. 

Swaggering away from Brock's Pass, our newly christened band of idiots now known as Lobar's Wolves, decided to go north. I mean on maps north is up, and we all want to get "up" in the world right? We packed our death dealing baggage and hit the road. Thankfully for us, the powers that be had built a fairly easy road north. Striding north, on good paved roads, led us to getting what was, for us, considered "happy" not the smiling, giggly type of happy that most people experience, but a brief lifting of the gloom which is what passed for happy for us.  When things seem to be too good to be true, they probably are, it was on that gentle walk north to nowhere, that Lobar's Wolves ran into Powers' Gate. 

The flatness of the road was a lie, a trick played by the god(s) of geography into making us think we had a easy run in front of us. As usual, we were wrong, it wasn't Apple's fault per se, but a few of my fellow 'wolves' weren't best pleased with him. Flat land does funny things to time, climbing up, or falling down a hill or mountain has a way of making time flow a bit differently. It slows at some points, and speeds up at some points, but when walking on flat grass and seeing nothing much more than flat grass all around, time drags. Eventually, the fattest among us started to complain. It seems that the fatties of the group could tell when they were walking uphill. 

As we topped the rise that the fatties had told us we were climbing we stopped for a second. Most people, if they are actually human, stop for second at the sight of Powers' Gate. The South River tore a great, gaping hole in the landscape in front of us. It made zero sense that the South river would be north of where we had been, but who are we Mercator? The South River had at least one unique quality about it. For reasons none of us could figure out, drinking from the South River made about 1/3 of us puke our guts out. We had a doctor with us, and one would think he would have sorted out what made the water make some of sick, but when he was sober (which was one day in three) he would say it's in Gods hands. 

A religious doctor was as useful as tits on a boar hog, but he was all we had. And when it is the only opinion you are given, well then it has to be true. The power that the South River threw against Powers' Gate was amazing to behold. The cannoning of hateful water against the iron gates of disdain was enough to make a man deaf as a post. The news that we were dreading, but assured of, happened within minutes. Our task was to force/take those gates to slam into those gates like the South River, but with the added benefit of capturing the gates for the Empire. 

Powers' Gate didn't fuck around, it was very tall, very solid, and very much storm proof. The son of a bitch that had designed Powers' Gate was a real bastard of engineering. I don't think the Empire was ready to pay the bill that it would cost them to have us force Powers' Gate. But, funny thing about Empires they pay those costs all the time, need a garrison of men to die for the cause in some desert wasteland? The Empire can provide, need a band of heroes to die in the flat grasslands of the East? Ask and the Empire shall provide. Want to launch a winter crusade? The Empire will provide a multitude of men wearing crosses on their armor prepared to die for whatever God you are crusading for, and a few for the God you are crusading against just to make it interesting. 

However, Empires be damned, we weren't Empire men. We were Lobar's Wolves, and Lobar's Wolves didn't want to get sent home in tiny, wooden boxes to the few loved ones they had left behind. But we had been paid, and Lobar liked to say that "once I've been paid, I always see the job through." It would have made a nice epitaph for his tombstone, problem was we never found enough of Lobar to bury, so he received no tombstone. The main problem was we weren't experts at this fighting business one crushing defeat, and one walk over victory do not make hardened mercenaries out of farm boys, shop clerks, and degenerate gamblers. Powers' Gate was very much a bridge too far for Lobar's Wolves, and it was at Powers' Gate that Lobar's Wolves ceased to exist.

I somehow managed to stagger away from the disaster of Powers' Gate, one of the few of us that did. I don't remember much about it. I take that back, I remember way too much about it, but every time I think of it, I go and get mind numbingly drunk to make myself unremember it. It is not a pleasant memory, nothing about the massacre that happened at Powers' Gate bears remembering or repeating. Apple died, Lobar died, and most of Lobar's Wolves died. I almost died, there were and have been many, many times that I wish I had died there, and Wilson almost died, which is saying something, because Wilson is not the dying kind. 

Powers' Gate was the kind of life altering experience that most men don't walk away from intact. I damn near didn't. Powers' Gate made me consider the priesthood, and I don't believe in any of the Gods. That's how bad it was.  I counted the steps away from Powers' Gate in inches, not miles. Every inch away was a minor miracle. It was nasty, brutal, but not short. Time has a way of elongating when you think you are about to die, and I felt that the 'battle' of Powers' Gate lasted as long as the Trojan War. 

I did manage to make it away from Powers' Gate alive, I had no dignity, I had no pride as a fighting man left, I was a husk. Someone who the battle had ripped open, and sucked out all but the very last dregs of life. It was a massacre, it was a disaster, and to this day we do not speak of it. All of all the bruises left on our collective souls, Powers' Gate is the biggest by far. It has never healed, and I doubt it ever will. It was nearly the end of me (us), and the less said about it the better. It was many years before I even considered re-entering the lists again. Many, many times after Powers' Gate, I considered joining my fallen comrades in the most simple of ways. It took a lot of will power that I didn't know I had to not just end it all, but I figured I owed the fallen something. I owed them the chance at redemption. It just was going to take a while to achieve anything close to it.

 

She loves

 She sits down next to me, and tells me she's fallen in love with me. "I love you" she says as she stops her thoughts and turns her head. "I guess I am not suppose to care but I do, I love you."  It is said in an almost apologetic voice, as if falling in love with me is something to be sorry for. If only she knew the truth of the matter. However, who am I to tell her? She's not a classic beauty she's not the tall, willowy type that has a walk that makes traffic stop, and grown men feel underage. Yet, she is still miles out of my league, and has no business being in love with me. She just sat down and said "I'm in love with you." Not something one expects whilst drinking himself into yet another stupor on a random Tuesday, but nevertheless, here we are. I glance over at her to see if maybe, just maybe, she's taking the piss out of me, but no she is looking as earnest as can be, and seemingly quite serious about her declaration of love. 

She  glances back at me and says "don't laugh, it isn't fucking funny. Do you think I had any intention of falling in love with you. YOU of all people. You're a self confessed bastard, and that is putting it mildly as to what you really are." She lets out a small laugh that could have been confused for a madman's giggle. "It makes exactly zero sense to be in love with you, after all you seem to only capable of loving yourself and no one else. The shitty part about that is, that you told me that, and I wasn't clever enough to believe you. Why, I don't know. What it is about you that made this happen? You bastard, do you have any idea how alive you make me feel?" I looked at her with something approaching panic, and said the only thing I could think of which wasn't clever. "I've no idea what that means, am I supposed to?"

She calls for a drink, which I think she desperately needs, and looks at me with those muddy brown eyes, and repeats "I am in love with you, you stupid son of a bitch. Do you have any idea what this means?' I shudder a bit as the reality begins to sink in. "Well, I guess it means we need to think things through a bit more than we have so far." She chuckles a bit at that, and replies "think things through? What the actual fuck do you think I've been doing for the last month, you ignorant bastard? I've spent hours telling myself that there is no possible way that I love you, that you're the most self-centered bastard I know that you always take the hard way to get what you want. That I love you in spite of yourself." 

I take a very thoughtful swallow of my beer, "you will get over it, I promise." Her eyes flash at that and she very, very calmly says "fuck you, you dumb son of a bitch. This isn't something to 'get over' like the flu, I am IN LOVE with you. Do you have any fucking idea what that means?" I look over at her again, her eyes are virtually shining with feeling, "no I don't think that I do, and I think I might be afraid to ask." She glares at me again, and says "well let me clue you in Shakespeare, it means I am in love with you, you with all the faults you tell the world you have, and all the faults that you refuse to admit that you have. All that shit you spew out to the world to convince them you're a terrible person, I don't buy, I see past it. I see the large "R" romantic in you that refuses to die, no matter how hard you try to kill him. I see the not only the man you are. Which, godsdamn me for saying so, is pretty amazing, but the man you can so easily become if you just get out of your own way just a little bit."

I shake my head, "sweetheart you are much too smart for this, this is a decision that someone like you just doesn't make." She puts up a forestalling hand, "no dumbass stop talking. You just don't understand it, and I am not sure you ever will. To be honest, I am not sure I can put it into words, or at least words you could understand. And you know what, fuck that why do I need to? Why do I need to break this feeling down for you? Why can't you just accept the fact that, for reasons passing understanding, I am in love with you. It defies logic, it makes exactly zero sense, it is perhaps the worst decision I've ever made, but here I am madly, passionately in love with you. All you have to do is just accept it." 

I take another long swig of beer, and smile at her. "You're as mad as a March hare. There is no way anyone like you can possibly be in love with someone like me. It makes as much sense as chickens learning the polka. I am not quite the bastard I make myself out to be, but I am still not worth all this emotion." She snorted at that, "don't you think I know that you, you idiot. Of all the men I know you are the least likely..." What I was least likely to do, I never found out, because at that moment, the front door of Sully's swung open and in walked the dynamic duo of Mutt and Jeff. "Boss wants to see you dickhead, come along nice and quiet like for a change." said Mutt or was it Jeff? Who the fuck knows, and at that moment I gave exactly zero shits. I nodded at her. "Well, sweetheart, it would appear that my dance card has been filled by another. Fear not, I shall return, or at least one hopes I will. With these ladies" I pointed at Mutt and Jeff, "one is never exactly sure."

She glared (she is a great one for glaring) at me, then at Mutt, then at Jeff. I winced because I had been on the wrong end of that glare before, Mutt and Jeff, well they aren't smart enough to understand the meaning of that glare, then again it probably didn't bode as ill for them as it did for me. I stood up, and pushed enough money across the bar to cover my tab as well as hers. "I am sorry for the interruption, but these gentlemen, using the term very broadly, don't like to be kept waiting. Do you boys?" Mutt, or was it Jeff grunted, and replied "just get your ass in the car GI, we have other things to do besides retrieve you." I finished my beer, I am sure you do lads, I am sure you do, helping little old ladies across the street, saving children from burning buildings, and such other heroics surely take precedent over ferrying me back to your boss. Lead on MacDuff, off we go to pay the piper that is Felix." 

With that I walked, cheerfully for once, out of Sully's with Mutt and Jeff to find out what fresh hell Felix had cooked up for me. I suspected that when I walked in and all but kissed him on the mouth for rescuing me from the spot of bother I was in,  it would greatly confuse him. Which for once, gave me the upper hand with the bastard. However, I knew that at some point, he would let me go, and she would find me again. After all, all the Pipers must be paid. 

Visiting Day

My "cage" as Felix called it was pretty much that, a cage. Bars, poorly lit, and a bucket for a toilet. It wasn't my first time, nor did I expect it to be my last time, of having a sleep over in my cage, but it certainly perplexed me as to why Felix had caged me this time. I had given him a gift, and this is how he repays me? The ungrateful bastard should be buying me drinks, or at least giving me the coin to buy my own drinks. Not putting me in a cell to ponder my sins. I can ponder those just as well drunk as I can sober, in fact drunk me has a lot more to say about my sins than sober me cares to remember. There wasn't a lot to do in my cage, not a shelf of books to peruse while I waited for Felix to eventually let me loose again. I had no doubt that he would eventually let me loose, he always has before. I am more use of him out in the world bumping into shit, than I am in a cage. But, caging me on a whim lets me focus on who is the big dog in this particular kennel.

There wasn't even a tin cup or a harmonica in my cage to at least allow me to be the stereotypical prisoner with nothing but time to kill. When you are in a cage, time becomes a lot harder to kill. Felix thinks it makes you calm, Felix is a bastard who has killed a lot of time in prison himself. Maybe that makes him an expert, and my amateur opinion about the calming influence of being in stir is wrong. I have no desire to spend enough time in prison to find out that it has calming properties. Of course, the length of my stay was not exactly up to me, I couldn't call the front desk and tell them I wanted early check out. Sadly prison rarely cancels reservations. 

I was laying on the slab of wood that passes for a bed trying to kill time by not freezing to death (Felix somehow manages to lock me away only during the winter). The one blanket was doing a piss poor job of keeping the cold at bay, but Felix was a one blanket each is all you need, kind of guy. Other than plot my revenge on Felix (which I swear one day, I will have) there wasn't a lot for me to do while waiting for him to release me back into the wild. Therefore, I was quite surprised when a familiar voice came out of the gloom (other than cold, Felix also likes to keep my cage mostly dark, I know what a dime novel artifice, but I guess Felix likes dime novels, or maybe he's too cheap to pay the electric bill). 

"Well this isn't quite as palatial as your shit hole of an apartment, but other than a lack of books, it's not too far off." I sighed "fuck me, are things so desperate that Felix let you in here to remind me of my mortality?" My visitor laughed and walked closer to the bars and into the little light I was allowed to have.  "Hullo Nicklas, how are things? I queried my former drinking companion, but now to all appearances a respectable family man. Nicklas smiled slightly, "well things are a lot better for me than they appear to be for you, at least from where I am standing." I laughed "oh don't let the gloom and the cold fool you, I am quite comfy, pondering the nature of the universe, solving all of life's problems, and reinventing the wheel to pass the time." 

"Well, after my little chat with your playmate Felix, I suspect you might have more time to achieve all those goals and more." Nicklas tutted, he was a great one for tutting. "He seems to be quite put out about something you've done latterly than inconvenienced him, he doesn't seem the type to enjoy being inconvenienced." I laughed again, "oh that is just Felix being dramatic. I did him a favour, but I guess I made the mistake of making him do a little actual work for it, and he is pouting, and when Felix pouts I get to spend time here in my cage. He will get over it soon enough and let me go." Nicklas shook his head. "I don't think you understand how mad this fellow is at you. He seems the type to be able to suppress the outward appearances of rage, but it was radiating off of him when he had me in for a chat about you and your sins." 

"Why do you have to be your own worst enemy? Aren't there enough ladies out there who wish you dead, or fellows that you owe money to that would like to snap your legs like twigs?" Nicklas sighed "you really should let them take control of trying to ruin your life, if only for the sake of variety. There are a myriad of diseases out there both social and other types that could just kill you without you helping them along." It was my turn to sigh "did Felix send you in here to lecture me about the perils of living my life, or are you here to get me the fuck out of here?" He shook his head "you know as well as I do that I can't get you out of here, even if I wanted to. Which I am not sure that I do. After all, an invitation to chat with Felix about you isn't delivered with subtly." I peered into the gloom, and noticed the darkness under Nicklas' left eye. I barked a laugh, "you too huh?" He nodded "yeah me too, and unlike you when the goon squad arrived to give me my invite, I had actual people who love me there to see me invited to talk." 

I winced "yes, I suspect one of those people will be quite angry at me for that." He smiled what I considered to be a small smile of triumph "oh yes, she will want to have a little chat with you. If I were you, and I daily thank fuck that I am not, I would ask Felix to keep me in here a little while past the usual time just for your own safety." I nodded "well sadly for me, I don't think I get much say so as to when I am getting out of here, I usually don't and I doubt Felix's heart, if the bastard has one, has grown softer over the years." He grunted agreement "I am pretty sure you are correct, in fact I am for certain you are. That seems to be one reason I got the pleasure, using the term very broadly of seeing you. Felix didn't want you dying of boredom, so he gave me this to give to you. Some light reading, his words not mine, to occupy your time, and to help you understand your situation."  As he said this, he handed me over a slim book, that I took from him. "Well whatever it is, it will help pass the time."

"I think you should look at the title before you get too excited." I looked down at the book, "The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan? What the blue fuck is this? Does Felix think that I am going to find religion or something? If so he is sadly mistaken, and I suspect that 200 pages of dribble about some Pilgrim isn't going to change my mind." Nicklas shook his head "I don't think Felix expects you to find Jesus or any other god in here, I think he's making a point." I laughed "and what point is my old friend Felix making with this nonsense?" Nicklas looked genuinely sad as he said "Bunyan wrote that while he was in prison, or so your boy Felix told me. Not like I have read it either." I raised an eyebrow "prison literature" what is he playing at?" That's when Nicklas sadly told me what Felix's point was. "According to Felix, it took Bunyan twelve years to write it, twelve years that he spent in prison."