Bob the Viking

 Sully's brings all kinds out to his bar, and "Bob the Viking" is one of the characters that can be found there on a regular basis. Truth be told, none of are sure if "Bob" is his real name or not. Bob is a bit of a mystery, and seems to like it that way. He's a mountain of a man, well above 6 feet, and at least three bills. Pale blue eyes that give nothing of what he is thinking, if he is thinking anything, away, and blond hair that a super model would be proud of. When asked he says he is from "up north" which for him is quite the speech, and that would be the extent of our knowledge as to Bob's ancestry. Sully has said that Bob told him his 'real' name once, but that it contained a lot of vowels and a lot of syllables and so he just called him "Bob." Bob didn't seem to mind, and didn't bother trying to correct Sully naming of him as Bob the Viking. He answers to Bob, and so it is as Bob that he enters our tale.

Bob always sits on the same stool (which must be reinforced to hold his big ass up), it seems that Sully's is close to having assigned seats. If some newcomer sits in Bob's seat by mistake, and refuses Sully's request to move, then Bob shows up, looms over said newcomer, and suddenly his seat is free. You only have to mistakenly sit in Bob's seat once to get the message. Bob doesn't talk much, or generally at all. Relying on grunts, and facial expressions to get his meaning across. Trust me, when Bob looks at you at certain way, you suddenly remember all sorts of other places you need to be. Your mother's house, a dentist appointment, a facial, a spa day, anywhere but in his way. Not that Bob is a violent fellow, he just sits at the bar, and quietly drinks his pints, content to be let alone, and not to meddle in the affairs of others. Which considering how many "affairs" are conducted at Sully's is no mean achievement. Bob is a walking example of the strong, silent type. Fair play to him, we have too many talkers at Sully's anyway (see David the Liar).  

Once, many years ago, a few of us old heads did see Bob lose his temper, it was not a pretty sight. Sully is not a small man, and since it is his bar, he was the first to try to get Bob to settle down. He woke up a day and a half later very confused, and with his jaw wired shut for six weeks. It took about six of us to "settle" Bob down, that is after he cold cocked Sully. Bob has a slight scar on his left eye from (what I like to think) was a mean right hook of mine, but truth be told he walked right through my punch like it was a mosquito bite. We never figured out what sent Bob into a beserker rage that his Viking ancestors would have been proud of, we were just glad that he wasn't wielding a battle axe at the time. He was at the point of telling me "to make peace with my gods" when the bar stool crashed over the back of his skull, and knocked him out, was swung by a particularly brave bar maid of Sully's. She knocked him out, and said "that's it, I have enough of this shithole. I quit!" She then walked over to the till, and took her wages out of it, and left. Sully was unconscious at the time, and was in no condition to argue with her even if he had wanted to. Bob seemed to have a bit of grudging respect for me after that, I am not sure if it was because the punch hurt him (I doubt that), or that he appreciated the fact that I was stupid/brave enough to throw it at him.  After Bob's "spell" it took several hours for the "survivors" to clean the place up enough to make it worth drinking in again. That is if Sully's has ever been worth drinking in to begin with. It didn't matter that the sole proprietor was carried to his bed to recover, the bar must stay open! 

After that, Bob was as quiet as a church mouse. He just sat on his stool, and drank pint after pint of some foul, bitter beer that the rest of us refused to touch. Unsuspecting first timers would sometimes order it to their cost. It became know as a Bob Special. And the only thing special about it was it was a miracle it didn't kill you at the first sip. Sully told me one day that Bob told him where to get the stuff, and would sometimes go and pick up Sully's order of it, just to make sure that Sully didn't run out of it at an awkward time. I don't think Bob would take to kindly to Sully running out of his favorite libation. One shudders to think of that scenario. Bob even brought his own mug to Sully, and told him to use it, and it only. We all figure it is probably lined with lead to keep the swill from melting it. Sully has never showed us it up close. It holds more than your average pint, but Sully is not inclined to charge Bob more for it.  A broken jaw is a great motivator to keep the peace it seems. In spite of the broken jaw, Bob was the type of customer that Sully enjoyed the most, the paying kind. 

We don't know where Bob got the money to pay for the massive amounts of pints he consumed, and few of us cared to ask. Sully's is a good place to practice the idea of "don't ask, don't tell." Even that bastard Felix was perplexed. Everyone who is a regular at Sully's gets on Felix's radar at some point, and the mysterious Bob was no exception. One day when he was feeling expansive, Felix told me that he had his best men tail Bob when he left the bar. And that Bob always lost them in less than 3 blocks. You'd think something that big would be easy to follow, but Bob seemed to be a master at losing people following him. Felix said that Bob would never take the same route two days in a row, so that Felix's goons didn't even have an idea in which part of the city Bob lived. "He could live 4 blocks from here or 4 miles from here" was Felix's sad statement. He went on to say "he could be a longshoreman, or a ballet dancer for all we know." Though the idea of Bob dancing ballet was akin to thinking about an elephant playing tennis, but Bob wasn't ungraceful in his movements, so I guess anything is possible. 

I even made some gentle inquires myself (being the curious type that I am). I was rewarded with one of the longest conversations I ever had with Bob. One day he motioned me over to the stool beside him, and being as I was in no position to refuse such a request, I plopped down next to him, and gave him a questioning look. Not many people got this close to Bob without a reason, and I had a good idea what my reason was. Bob grunted at me as a way of greeting, and I arched an eyebrow. "I don't speak enough "grunt" to get your point Bob, you're going to have to use your words for a change of pace." He turned those very pale blue eyes on me, and said "I know you've asked that pretty, little blond girl that works for Felix to find out what they know about me, and since she's a little sweet on you (only the gods know why) she tried to find what you were looking for." I nodded, and kept my smart mouth shut for once. I had no desire to go on the Sully liquid diet. He continued "ask your boy Felix what she found, oh and get a less pretty spy next time, the pretty ones stand out too much" and then he waved me off to go upon my merry way.

As mentioned, Bob didn't talk much, seems his philosophy is that if you don't express an opinion, no one can argue with you about your opinion. Probably a sound philosophy in today's troubled times. We are pretty sure that Bob worships the old gods, but ask him about religion, and he would grunt. Ask him about women, and he would grunt "women are trouble." Ask him about the football and he would grunt. Bob did a lot of grunting, and you learned to interpret them. Discussions of politics would garner you another, more dismissive, grunt. Maybe Bob had to talk all day at his job, and by the time he got to Sully's he was just out of words to say. There is a saying that tells us that "we all need something to live for" and maybe that is true for us all. I am not the man to ask that particular question, and certainly neither is Bob. After "knowing" Bob for a considerable amount of time, the conclusion I have reached is that Bob might just live for his pints. Sometimes life is just that simple. We haven't heard the last of Bob the Viking.

 

Mac's Play

 "Hello, Sully, how are tricks?" I asked my sullen barkeep and sometime "friend" as he slid one of his "finest" across the bar towards me. It was a boring Tuesday, and since I was tired of being bored at home, I decided to come to Sully and at least be bored and drunk at the same time. My mistake. Sully cocked an eye at me and replied "tricks are the same GI, you slobs come in here, and moan a lot, drink a lot, and then tip even less. However, David the Liar" he nodded over in the general direction of "my" booth, "is looking for you for some reason. God only knows why anyone would look for you, and I pity him now that he has found you." I followed Sully's eye and noticed David the Liar nervously occupying my booth. When you tell as many lies as David, nervous is your default setting. It pays to sprinkle the occasional truth amongst your lies, that way you can be less nervous. It seems David never learned that lesson, or he just chose to ignore it, and let the dice fly high. "He doesn't look any more nervous than normal" I said inclining my head in David's direction. "But, I am bored, it's Tuesday, and I am not even drunk yet, so I guess I might as well wander over there and see what the bastard wants of me." Sully nodded, grunted, and went back to polishing his glasses, when Sully polishes his glasses it is a sign that his part of the "conversation" has reached its conclusion, and you can fuck right on off. Knowing this, I decided to fuck right on off over to my booth.

I slid into my booth and slid the untouched beer I had got at the bar across to David, knowing that, as per custom, he was fucking broke. David the Liar is always fucking broke. "Hello, David. How's the lying business treating you. Still telling elderly widows they are the light of your life, and convincing them to put you in their wills? Or charming bored housewives out of a large part of their husband who doesn't love them anymore salaries?" David glanced up from his (free) beer, and that's when I noticed that the bastard appeared to have been crying. "Christ, David are you fucking crying? Here, in Sully's? Do you want a beating? They beat people in here for showing that kind of weakness on general principle. I'll be lucky not to take a beating just for sitting across from you. For the love of fuck, pull it together. It's a boring Tuesday, but I don't want to liven it up by getting taken out back and having my ribs used as a xylophone by some masher that saw you crying" He sniffled a little more, wiped his eyes, and muttered "sorry GI, but it's been a rough couple of days." I nodded "it's been a rough year or so David, for all of us, but have the decency to cry in private, or if you have to do it publicly find a bathroom stall where you can close the door at least. Anyway what is the rumpus that has you crying like a schoolgirl on a boring Tuesday?"

"It's Mac, no one has seen him in four days, and I am very worried something untoward has happened to him. I'm even more worried that what has happened to him might happen to me, depending on what it was that happened." I nodded Mac and David were "special" friends, and he was probably right to be concerned on both counts. I said "Mac the Knife?" He hated that nickname but, it fit him perfectly he was very fond of knives, saying that knifing a man was the "more polite way to do things, you have to get up close to him, it shows you care, that you want to get all up close and personal with them. Guns are for people afraid to get their hands dirty (or bloody)." David nodded yes Mac the Knife, you know him, and you know what me and him are all about. I did, and do. David was the Liar, and Mac was the thief. It was a lovely combination, spreading two of the world's greatest sins out over two people instead of concentrating it into one complete bastard. This way you had two half bastards that weren't completely beyond redemption, or at least that was their theory. Mac and David had some very odd theories, and it was generally best not to explore them too deeply, lest you end up in a line up with them being asked none too politely to "turn to the left, now turn to the right."

"I know this is a silly question, but have you asked Felix or his goons if they have seen Mac?" He snorted "that is a very silly question GI, you know we don't all have the cat/cat relationship that you and Felix have, to the rest of us, Felix is the cat, and we are the mice. I don't know what you "have on" Felix that has him suffering to keep you alive, and not locked in a cage where you belong, but the rest of us try to give Felix, and his goons, as wide a berth as possible." I laughed "fair enough David, but not much in this town happens without Felix knowing about it, doing it, or have it done on his behalf. It was just an idea to solve your little mystery and to get your crying ass out of my hair. I said I was bored, but this isn't the entertainment I had planned, if you catch my drift." He nodded, and follow my glance at the newest of Sully's blond barmaids. "I get it GI, you have your amusements, and they are generally all that matters to you, but to us humans, which I am not sure you are one, there are more important things than a roll in the hay with the new help." I had the decency to look hurt "now David that was unkind, she's a lovely lass, and a lot smarter than she looks." He laughed "by the looks of her, I would hope so, but I doubt it's her mind that has you here drinking beer on a Tuesday. But, can we focus for a bit on Mac? He wasn't your buddy I know, but you two seemed to get along well enough, or at least as well as anyone can get along with you."

"Mac didn't hold a special place in my heart, no." He winced at my use of the past tense, but I figured that David had already spun out a scenario  in which the worst news was the only news he was likely to get. "What was Mac the Knife up to the last time you had dealings with him?" "He was doing a tail job on some woman for a doubting Thomas of a husband." I winced "a good way to find yourself in more trouble than you need. I am sure the husband already knew the wife had declared their relationship to be "open" before he hired Mac?" David nodded "seems right, I think hubby just wanted to know who the fellow was, not if he existed, he had sorted the existence part out already. Mac said that the husband just wanted to know "if he knew the bastard that was two timing him with his wife, or if it was a stranger. I guess it made some sort of difference to him. I don't pretend to know why." 

Mac was good at tailing people, even though I had told him it was going to end in tears one day, he persisted saying "a girl's got to pay the rent GI, and I like to play the ponies on occasion, and I like to eat even more often." Fair enough I guess. Mac's skill was that he was as grey as a mouse. If you spent five whole minutes looking at him, and were to be asked an hour later to describe him, you probably would be the despair of the officer asking you the question. Tall? Maybe medium height, maybe a bit on the short side. Fat? No, I don't think so, too thin perhaps? Eyes, yes he had two of them, but I've no idea what colour they were. Hair? a shade of blond? brown? not red at least. Mac was just there like the coat rack in the corner that no one pays any attention to, even when they are putting their coats on it daily.  For all my dislike of the way "he paid the rent" it was difficult not to like Mac. He was a personable fellow that didn't talk too much, and unlike his partner, he told the truth at least half the time. The trick was figuring out which half, but for those of us who pay attention (and I do pay attention) he had a tic that allowed us to know when he was lying. I doubt he had any idea, and I was never going to clue him into it. Turns out I wouldn't have the chance anyway. I knew this, and now it seemed that I was to have the "pleasure" of telling his best mate David the Liar.

I sighed, "four days usually isn't that bad of a sign on a domestic tail is it? Maybe the paramour took the wife out of town for a long weekend "to visit her sick auntie" and Mac decided to stay an extra day to enjoy the local attractions?" David shook his head. "No he told me when he left that he would be back that night, or the next morning at the latest." I guess there was no way around it, David was just a bit too upset to notice the "let it lie" signs I was giving him. "Okay, David here's the scene, they found Mac yesterday in an alley off of Water Street with a one bullet in his brain, or at least that is what they are saying. They are also saying it was suicide, claiming some note existed that no one has yet to produce, and that is the end of Mac the Knife." He looked stunned and stammered "b.b.but Mac didn't have any truck with GUNS, he's Mac the fucking Knife for the love of fuck! There is no way he would off himself at all, and certainly not with a gun. He could barely stand looking at them, and certainly wouldn't use one to kill himself." I put up a hand "settle down David there is a real need for you not to shout, look around the room." He stopped, and took a look noticing the fellow that I had already pegged as an "outpost" a large, hairy fellow that was straight out of central casting from the "goon who likes to break things" section.

 I said, "his knives were missing, didn't have a single blade on him, or so they say. I find that odd because we all know that Mac the Knife didn't even go take a piss without a blade somewhere on his person." David nodded "this is wrong GI, wrong, wrong, wrong. Who did he piss off? Was the boy toy someone he didn't need to be following? Do you have any idea about this? Now would be a good time to tell me." I shook my head "no, David I don't have any idea, and even if I did, now would be the worst time to tell you ever. I just have the barest of details, and I doubt that I will get any more." He nodded, finished his pint, and left muttering that drinking alone was probably his best choice for the nonce. I paid his bill, and started my walk home. I didn't have it in me to tell him that besides the bullet in his brain, Mac had another one in his heart. I am no expert on suicide,but two bullets are rarely used especially in those two places, but as the saying goes lie to a liar for they are his coin.

 

 

David the Liar

 It's a quarter to 2 a.m. in Sully's and last call is being bellowed out by Tomas the barkeep. No sign of Sully or his new, pretty barmaid, but the denizens of his place are past caring where they are. The few male patrons are looking blearily around the bar hoping to find that "last call queen" that they can take home and find solace with before the sun ruins it all. Hoping to find someone who will believe late night truths before they turn into early morning lies. I am sitting in my usual spot, alone for a blessed change, no idiot has disturbed my thoughts, and it looks like I am going to be able to stagger home and find my solace in more drink. I should have known better than to hope such a silly thing, but hope springs eternal. 

"Hello GI, what's the rumpus?" he said as he slid into the booth opposite me. I looked up and sighed. "Hello, David, what brings you over here at this hour?" He glanced at his watch, "sorry about the hour, but we both know that "last call" doesn't apply to you, and generally to whomever you're drinking with, and I could use a couple of more drinks." I nodded my assent, and walked to the bar to order us both a drink, because I knew that as always David was fucking broke. David is always, always fucking broke. 

We call him "David the Liar." He's a short fellow with thinning hair that he likes to keep on the long side, hoping (I guess) that length will make up for lack of substance, and sometimes I wonder if maybe he's right, and I am not talking about hair. Either way, David is not his real name, he used several before he decided on David. Muttering something about it meaning "friend" and how he is everyone's friend. Make no mistake David is not your friend, David has one friend in the world, David, and even then the bond is not that strong. If he could find a way to sell himself out, and profit and live, I am pretty sure he would do it. Luckily for the world, David isn't nearly as clever as he thinks. He claims, depending on to whom he is talking to, to be from the north, the west, or back east. It varies from day to day, and from person to person. He explained the system of what direction to use to me once, but I wasn't really paying attention, and plus he lies all the time, so why bother remembering it? Besides, if you every called him out on his lies, he would just spin a larger lie to explain it, and if you kept calling him out by the time the story was over David was the Czar of all of Russia, and was doing you a favor by telling you the "truth."

David does have one thing going for him. He has some startling green eyes, like emeralds they shine out of his mostly forgettable face, and they have drawn many a person into trusting his tales. I knew that behind those lovely green orbs, he had the loyalty of a cat. He seemed to have more than his share of luck with the ladies, so maybe he was a lion in the bedroom, I mean pretty eyes can only take you so far right? Other than those eyes, David was pretty nondescript, you wouldn't pick him out of a lineup (a fair amount of people have tried), and you wouldn't be dazzled by his wit. He's clever, not as clever as he thinks mind, but he mostly hides that. After all he would say "no one wants to talk to someone that is more clever than they are." Therefore, you wouldn't mind sharing things with David the Liar because you'd never think it would come back to bite you on the ass later, you would be wrong. He doesn't introduce himself as "David the Liar" and by the time you figure it out, it might be Felix time. 

Once you had the misfortune to get to know him, David would come bother you with all sorts of nonsense if he thought it could make him some coin, or get him a few drinks. I had conducted a lot of "business" with David. He didn't know it but I had it all written down, and stored in a very safe location, just in case I needed it. Lie to a liar for they are his coin, but keep copious notes just to be on the safe side.  Memory (or so they say) sometimes fails us, but a well written copy of the proceedings can make the difference between your bed, and a bed at the "Felix Arms."  The benefit of David the Liar was that you knew he was lying, if he was talking, he was lying. If he told the sky was blue, you should walk outside and verify it. Lying came as natural to him as breathing underwater comes to a fish. His true talent lay in lying by omission. You had to pay careful attention to his lies, not for what he was saying, but for what he was leaving out. He was a craftsman at omitting details, and facts that would change the entire complexion of a story. You had to be on your toes when he decided to regale you with the "facts as he knows them" (a favorite saying of his).  Don't get me wrong, David the Liar could lie in every way known to man, and maybe a couple that have yet to be discovered. He was not a one trick pony. He is a very, very tricky bastard. 

I was far from the only person that David the Liar conducted his "business" with and I knew it. He knew that I knew it as well, but he would always try to convince me that whatever lie he was spinning at the moment it was just for me, and no one else. Of course, I knew that he was telling whatever other person/people the same lie about the lie, and I put no stock in that little disclaimer. Again, if David was talking, David was lying. I had on many occasions sworn to myself to just stop listening/talking to him, but he would always come back with some lie that had just enough truth mingled in with it, that I would buy him a drink, and listen to it in the hopes that something in the stew of shit he was pedaling would be a carrot of truth. I was usually disappointed, David the Liar is very disappointing though he doesn't realize it. David didn't know it (yet) but I knew his real name, I knew where he was actually from, and I knew that half of the jobs he'd claimed to have had, and half of the experiences he related to his marks were actually lifted from the life of someone he once knew. I also knew what had happened to that "special" someone, but I wasn't about to share all this information with David the Liar. It might sour our relationship beyond repair, and I wasn't ready to do that, at least not yet. I had a use for David the Liar.

I slid back into the booth, and pushed his drink towards him. "So, David what is the story tonight?" He gulped his drink, and looked up "No story, just the facts as I know them." I rolled my eyes "Christ David it's nearly 2 in the fucking morning, let's cut to the chase shall we, I've got plans tomorrow." He laughed "I know you've plans, and I know who they are with, and you might want to change them considering the facts." "OK David what are the facts." I asked hoping to shorten the length of his lie. "Well GI" he said smugly "it's 2 a.m. and do you know where she is?" He put up a hand to forestall my speaking, "don't give me the unattached pronoun speech, you and I both know who "she" is, and don't pretend otherwise." I knew who he meant, but was surprised by his knowledge maybe David the Liar had better sources that I had thought. "OK David, where is she, and who are they with?" He proceeded to tell me, and I began to laugh. "David, my lad for a second there I thought you had better sources than I had thought. You once again disappoint me, my 'friend'. I've known that for hours, I know the who, I know the where, and I even know the why." He arched an eyebrow at the last part, and I smiled "the why is for the oldest reason in the world." I motioned him to lean in closer, and decided to get my money's worth. I whispered to him "I know your real name is ______, and I know it means "paid for." Now you can figure out the why can't you?" With that I got up, left enough money for the drinks I had bought him, and a couple more besides, and walked out leaving David the Liar very perplexed. Happy April Fools' Day you mugs.

Ward 15

 They put me in Ward 15. Two of the possibly only 4 people in the world that still seem to care about my whereabouts caught me at the train station, asked me where I was going, and seemed unhappy with my answer of "anywhere but here." They brought me here mostly willingly, and I was given this new set of clothes to wear, and a nice lady asked me a lot of somewhat personal questions. My friends left before this happened, they had done their duty by me, and they left me here. I guess my answers to those questions is what led me to being put in Ward 15. No one ever really told me why I got put here, and I didn't then, and don't now really care. The hospital had several wards, and their own way of designating who went to which ward. I wasn't overly concerned with the number, and I didn't really care to ask any questions of my own. I am tired of asking questions. I am even more tired of hearing the answers.

My fellow citizens/inmates of Ward 15 were excited for my arrival. I guess a newbie is a cause for excitement around here, doesn't bode well for the social scene, but then again I'm not overly social anyway. After listening to their chatter about "welcome to Ward 15 and other nonsense" I inquired what was the reason for me being in Ward 15. A couple of them vaguely mentioned there were 17 Wards, and Ward 17 was where they put the truly hopeless. I guess it was a small mercy that landed me in Ward 15. They also shared the news that Ward 15 was called the "Omega" Ward, which made no sense to me since it wasn't the last Ward, but I was listening to the denizens of a madhouse. One old timer (he looked 80 at least) told me. "well, they say the higher the number, the less unwell you are, they don't like using the term "sick" too politically incorrect, and it might hurt our feelings. Which, if you ask me, is our fault for having feelings in the first place. Then again, I've been here neigh on 18 years, so asking me might not be the best idea." He laughed quite loudly, and a bit too much for my liking, but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I listened to him prattle on as he explained my current situation. "They also say that the opposite is true, that the higher the number, the more hopeless your case is, and they just shift you out here to live and die with as much dignity as your mad ass can manage. I don't know which rumor to believe, I've been in Ward 15 for my entire time here. I guess that means I've not gotten any "better" but on the upside it also could mean that I've not gotten any "worse". No, I am pretty sure I will die here in Ward 15, unmourned and unmarked except by my roommate if he happens to be lucid that day."

I replied "well they told me that I would be here a maximum of three weeks, and maybe only two if I responded well. I'm not sure what I am supposed to respond to, but two weeks doesn't seem that long or that bad, maybe I'll get some rest, and get "better". Though I am not exactly sure that I am sick." The old geezer cackled again and said "Three weeks is what they told me 18 years ago, though they left out the possibility of shortening it to 2, guess they've gotten more hopeful now days. Anyway, if things go as usual they will leave you alone for a couple of days, and then on day 3 they will start trying to "cure" you. Of course, they won't call it "curing" you cure meat, they will call it "getting you well" but the idea is the same." I nodded vaguely, I didn't want to listen to this damn fool, after all he had been here 18 years, he was clearly as mad as a March hare, but he wasn't the type to leave a man in peace. Sure I didn't want to be here, but I was really unsure where I wanted to be, or if I wanted to be anywhere at all. "Nowhere" doesn't exist in the geographical sense, but I sure wanted to go looking for it just to be sure. That's why I was at the train station when my friends intercepted me. 

On day two it somehow got around the Ward as to who I was, and what I did for a living. Which led to all sorts of citizens/inmates coming to me and asking me for advice. I wasn't in the mood to practice my "craft" and politely told them. "I am not here to practice my craft, this is a madhouse right? I am here to be mad." Some of them laughed at that remark, some of them just stared, and a couple swore at me with great fervor, but it was as honest an answer as I was ever going to give anyone here. It was this day that I made the decision that has me still here, and it's been a damn sight longer than 3 weeks. I looked at my roommate John, James, or Jack, I don't really remember his name, said "I'm sorry" and punched him as hard as I could right in the ribs. In my defense, I hit him with my weaker left hand, not in the face, and to be honest it wasn't that much of a punch. I'm a lover not a fighter, it wasn't designed to hurt him over much, it was designed to get my own room. It worked like a charm. He folded over like a tent, and two large, burly gentleman rushed into our room, and frog marched me to my own private Idaho i.e. an isolation cell. I felt like Steve McQueen's character from the Great Escape, except no one threw me a baseball and a glove to use to pass the time in the "cooler".

I was provided with a lovely "jacket" which buttoned at the back, but luckily for me one of those burly fellows buckled it for me, and tossed me onto the bed, which was the only "furniture" in my new private room. Luxurious it was not, but it was my own, and that was what mattered to me. Alone time was necessary, it gave me time to think of a way out of Ward 15. Surely there had to be a way out, without giving away my soul. Eventually, they came and pulled out of my own head, and led me to an office. I had expected this, I was sure I was going to meet some nice lady or fellow that just wanted to talk to me about my feelings, and make sure I was "better." I sat down, and a bearded fellow walked in, sat down and introduced himself as Doctor K____. He asked me if I knew why I was here, and I told him that as much as I cared that I did. He seemed to think that was progress, and went on about how it was a good sign. I don't know what the good Doctor was expecting from me, but I was in no mood to provide it to him.

A few more fruitless trips to Doctor K did not result in any further progress, and I kept my private room because I was able to convince the turnkeys that if they put be back in a shared room, my new roommate would meet the same fate as my previous one. I wasn't just saying that for the luxury of the private room. A toilet, and a bed that was bolted down, was not exactly the Hilton, but at least it was private. Here I remain in Ward 15 wondering if I am going to eventually have to give the same welcoming "I've been here 18 years speech" to some newbie like myself with me playing the role of grizzled old timer. I hope that is not to be the case, but as the saying goes, only time will tell. 

 

Serge and his Apples: An Interlude

 Where Felix and his goons left me that November day, and the following disaster that occurred, will have to wait for another day. This story struck me as needing written first, and since it is my history, I get to tell in the order that I pick.  

As I walked into Sully's one fine night, and by fine I mean it was just a day that I was on the right side of the dirt, Sully gave me the arched eyebrow that meant that the idea of "fine" was about to take a turn for the worse (as most turns in my like are wont to do). I sighed, and considered exiting stage left, and going home to write a long overdue letter to my mother, but decided that would probably not be received any better than what I was about to "receive" either, and since writing isn't my strong suit, I decided to brave it out, and hope for the best. Silly me. 

I walked to my normal booth and was not surprised to see some gangly, bright eyed, fellow already sipping on one of Sully's finest pints of piss. "Careful with that stuff lad, it will put hair on your chest, and by the looks of you it would be the first." He glanced up surprised by my sudden appearance, cleared his throat, and stammered "s.s.she told me you'd be here." I rolled my eyes, sat down, gave Sully the bring me pints till I pass out wave, and replied "well son, you see that there "she" is what us intellectual types call an unattached pronoun. I know a lot of "shes" and many of them know where to find me at given moment of my day. Though most of them only know it so they can avoid those places like the plague. So you're going to have to be a little more precise when you tell me "she told me you'd be here." Are we talking about the tall one, the short one, the left handed one, the mean one, the one who treats me like shit, or any number of other exotically nicknamed bitches who keep sending me fools like you to terrorize me in my dotage." 

He opened his mouth to reply, but I put up a forestalling hand. "Never mind lad, whichever "she" sent you isn't really important to me anymore. I've long since stopped spinning different tales for different "shes" one set of lies is enough to keep track of. So why don't you just tell me which lie "she" wants to hear tonight, and I decide if I'm in the mood to spin it for her or not." He narrowed his eyes at me and said "she said for me to figure out which large R you were tonight, and gave me two envelopes to pick from depending on your answer." I sighed "of course she did. Well lad since I am, sadly, stone cold sober I figure you'll want to open the one marked "Rationalist" and start from there. Did she also tell you to wait around for me to get a few pints in me and then open the other one, and to compare the answers?" He nodded his assent to my statement, took the one marked "Rationalist" and started to read silently to himself, trying my patience even further. 

"Damnit boy don't just read it to your fool self. Aren't there questions or some such bullshit written on there that your "she" wants answered, or is it a love poem that you're steeling yourself up to recite to me afraid that it will sound as gay as Christmas to read out loud. Which in case you're wondering nothing sounds gay in this place. We love all kinds here lad."   His eyes widened at my comment, and he slowly said "it says to give you these" and he pushed a set of several photographs across the table towards me. I picked them up, they weren't the best quality. A bit grainy, and shot from a (safe) distance, and black and white, but the gist of them was immediately clear. I arched an eyebrow at him, more to hide my feelings than any real reason. It seemed to work because he snow plowed his way past the look in my eyes, and read from his script "not exactly sorry to show you these GI, but I figured you needed to know. Even though with your suspicious mind, I figure you had a good guess." Here he stopped and looked up at me with a questioning look. "I don't have an answer for either you or her lad, so stop giving me the dramatic pauses and finish her little love letter then get the fuck out of my sight."

He nodded then swallowed hard, and continued his recitation of the tear down job "she" had planned for me. Seems that my earlier idea of a "fine" day had fallen to shit. "There isn't much else here, it just says that you know what those mean." He pointed at the photos that were still in my hands. "and that you know where to find everyone you need to find in case you want to do something about it." I nodded well lad, you've narrowed some things down for me, but you've also caused me considerable consternation, so I'd suggest you get the hell out of here while you still are able to move all your limbs of their own accord." He blinked, and if it is possible to blink loudly, that is how he blinked. He stood up quickly, and pushed the other letter towards me "She told me to read both to you, but I think I'll take your advice, and find myself a safer drinking companion." He walked out without looking back, and left me to brood in silence, which is best for brooding.

I wasn't about to tell him that even though the photos did tell me which "she" didn't send him, I was still mostly in the dark about which "she" did. Most "shes" don't publish their bile and/or dislike for me, it allows them to have plausible deniability when asked if they know me or not. Generally, they avoid me like I have leprosy, and that is mostly the best plan. A couple of them like to communicate with me when they have something particularly mean that they want to tell me, but those are not everyday occasions. This little photo montage was one of those particularly mean things, and I was beginning to regret not asking the fool lad which "she" it was that sent him to ruin my day, my week, and maybe even my month. Or maybe that was "her" plan all along. She knows me well enough to know that I don't have a high tolerance for fools, and so she sent a fool (or one that seemed to be) to me, knowing I wouldn't listen to more than 4 words he had to say. The photos did tell me something that I already pretty much knew, but they also provided me with new information. Information is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands, and I was decidedly the wrong hands for this information. 

I sighed, and signaled to Sully to bring me the tab, this was a job for the sober me to undertake, and that made me a bit put out, I had planned to get happily drunk. Those plans were now scuppered. I left twice as much money as needed to cover my tab, rose slowly from the booth, and said aloud to myself "well, I guess I need to add a name to my list of enemies, and I guess I need to go see that smug bastard Felix." With that I left Sully's and began to make my way across town....

 

Meet Nicklas

 "I knew that I would eventually find you here." I looked up, slightly bleary eyed from the corner booth at the latest bar I had wandered into to see the source of the voice (slightly annoyed) looking down at me with a great deal of would might pass as concern, unless of course you knew the fellow the look was attached to. I did know him, had known him for years, and know him well enough to know the "concern" was just disdain trying to look clever.  He slid a glass over to me that contained some clear liquid, and said "drink that, and when you finish it, you're going to have another and another until I am satisfied." He didn't elaborate as to what he had to be satisfied about, and I wasn't particularly interested in his "satisfaction anyway. "Well at least you brought me a godsdamn drink to go along with whatever sermon you're about to deliver." I took the glass, swirled around it's contents and threw it back expecting some clear liquor, and damn near choked to death with I discovered it was water. Clear, clean (at least for this dump) tap water. I coughed about half of it back up and said "the fuck are you doing Nicklas? Trying to fucking poison me? This appears to be water. Do you know what fish do in this stuff? It will kill you quicker than our mutual pal Felix." He laughed and said "it is in point of fact water, and you're going to drink enough of it to float a fucking ocean liner if I think it is necessary to get you sober enough to get out of here in one piece." I glanced around a bit myopically, "what's wrong with this place? You've survived a few drunken nights here, and were no the worse for it." He shook his head "take a stronger look around you damn fool, where do you think you are? This is Sully's you idiot, I went there first looking for you, and Sully said he stopped giving you drinks two hours ago, and kicked you the fuck out." 

I did as instructed, and looked around with a little more sobriety, and realized he was right. I wasn't at the home away from home that was Sully's bar. I was at the Purga's Cove, a place of last resort. The kind of place your mother warned you about, and even your dear, old, drunken father would think twice about setting foot in, a dive and a dangerous one at that. I had few to no friends at Purga's Cove. "How the fuck did I get here?" He shrugged "as best as I can put it together you somehow managed to walk from Sully's place to here, and even looked sober enough for them to keep serving you. Although for this place that is a pretty low standard to clear." He signaled to the barkeep, and a whole fucking pitcher of that vile stuff known as water appeared. "Now drink up my lovely, you've got a lot of explaining to do to quite a number of people." Nicklas was always a bit of a smug bastard, which I guess is why we got along so well. Well, not the smugness that bit was annoying. It was more the bastard part that I found easier to get along with. 

"Why are you even out and about at this time of day/night Nicklas? Don't you have family obligations to keep you busy?" He scowled "I do but we decided that one of us needed to come and pry you out of the gutter you seem to have moved into on a permanent basis." I raised an eyebrow "and by "we" you mean? I don't understand you lot and your unattached pronouns, like I'm supposed to know who "they" are who "she" is, and so forth. I am not a mind reader, and am too drunk to get the allusion, so you're going to have to be a bit more forthcoming old chum."  He let out a long sigh "we" are the few people that still manage to give a fuck whether you live or die. Does that help with your clarity any?" It did, and he knew it would, did I mention he was a smug bastard. "Oh you mean those two?" He nodded "yes those two and me it seems. I'm the one tasked to come here and pour water down you because I picked the wrong card out of the deck that we used to decide who would get this fun little task. All things considered, you're lucky I drew the card and not one of them." I shuddered because the water was cold, but more because he was right. I'd take Nicklas' smugness over the other two options any day of the week.  Not that they didn't care or weren't lovely people, it was just their approach might have been a bit rougher than Nicklas'.

I choked down another glass of water, and Nicklas refilled my glass. He seemed to be enjoying the situation far more than was strictly necessary. "You seem to be enjoying this situation more than is strictly necessary Nicklas. Why is that exactly?" He laughed without mirth, and said "it has been years since I've been your 'running around' buddy, and I find that the experience is not one that I miss, plus I will feel a lot better than you when I wake up in the morning." I nodded "this is true, and I don't need reminding of it. Is there something in particular you lot want out of me, or is this just a warning that this is my 'last chance', because I've already heard that speech before. At least twice if memory serves." He tutted "three, but who is counting? You and your semi-charmed life are about to undergo some changes. Well, that is if you want to keep living in the manner in which you've grown accustomed." Here he waved a hand around, and said "though I am not sure that if you'd call this living in a manner in which anyone would want to grow accustomed. Why hasn't someone done you the mercy of putting a knife in your ribs. That way we could mourn the talent we lost rather than despair of the talent you're wasting by doing this." I arched an eyebrow "Nicklas! where did you pull that line from? Have you developed the soul of a poet all of a sudden?"  He chuckled "no dickhead I stole if from you, though I doubt you remember saying it. I just thought it true, sad but true and figured it would hit home. Apparently I was mistaken."

He pried himself up from his side of the booth and with a long sigh said "I don't think you want to get clean, and until you do this is pointless. The worry I have is, I am not sure that even if you wanted to get clean you could, and that is going to be a problem. But, like you are so fond of saying it will be and is a "you" problem, and you will have to be the one to fix it. If you choose to try, you know where "we" will be." He turned to walk away, but stopped after about two steps and came back to say "however, you might want to read this before you go back to ordering whatever piss that passes for beer in this shit hole." Here he handed me an envelope, turned on his heel, and walked out the door like he owned the place. Which is about the only way to avoid getting stabbed in Purga's Cove. I looked down at the letter he had dropped on the table, picked it up and inspected it. It wasn't anything special just a plain, white envelope with my actual name written on the front in a very familiar handwriting. This was not going to be pleasant, but for some reason I didn't order a beer, and merely refilled my glass with water before opening it and starting to read...

 

Serge and his Apples III

 It's been almost a year since I wrote the cliffhanger of part two, today's a good day for part three (never said I was a quick thinker).

I walked between Viktor and Lazar, and behind Felix as we left the latest bar I had decided to attempt to find a beautiful oblivion. I was well on my way to that oblivion, regaling some whippersnapper sent by "her" with the tale of Serge and his apples, when Felix and his playmates decided my presence was required elsewhere. Being the accommodating type, and not currently being strapped, I decided to follow along with Felix. After all, where else did I have to be? It's hard to get places you need or want to be with two broken knees, and one eye swollen shut, which is Felix's playmates general way of persuading you to 'come along quietly and don't make a fuss'. I had seen it happen to several people before, and made the command decision that I was too pretty for one of those persuasions. Therefore, I decided to follow along with Felix's plan without know what it was because I decided that the ability to walk and see were pretty important in my line of work. If I ever decided to do any work.

We reached the street, and Felix pointed to the straight out of central casting black sedan, and said "get in GI, we are going for a little ride." I sighed "Jesus, Felix can you be anymore of a stereotype? Why can't you lot show up in something with some colour? Try red or yellow, no one would ever suspect you're up to no good if you show up in a bright yellow roadster." Felix's smile did not reach his eyes, "Get the fuck in GI, and stop with the comedy act. You'll need it for your next audience." That didn't bode well for me, as I figured Felix was the worst audience I was going to have. If wherever we were going was worst that where I thought Felix was taking me, then I wasn't nearly drunk enough for this shit. "Fine Felix, just let me finish one thing" I said, and took my trusty flask from my coat pocket swirled it around, uncapped it, and before his thugs could stop me finished the contents at a gallop. I coughed "Christ, alright Felix I am ready for my close up as the saying goes" and I got into the car followed by Viktor and Lazar who took up their stations on either side of me. Sometimes Felix's imagination lacks a certain flair.

Felix got in the front seat, and looked over at the driver, some mug I had never seen before, and said "you know where we are going, get us there without an fuss." I settled into my seat and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, that being a difficult task since I was squashed between two bruisers, slightly drunk, and with no clue where I was going, and if I was going to have access to a bathroom anytime soon (that shit in the flask goes right through you sometimes). As the car pulled out into traffic I reflected on why at 2 p.m. Felix was even awake and roaming the streets. With nothing better to do I asked "Felix, it's 2 in the afternoon, why are you awake, and roaming the streets? Didn't you have a long night of beating the shit out of someone to tire you out before your warm milk and bedtime?" He arched an eyebrow at that, not sure if he thought I was guessing or really knew that he liked warm milk before bed, sometimes it's best just to throw lines into the water and see if anything will bite. You just have to be careful they aren't too big to reel in, and don't bite too hard. "Not that you deserve to know, but I despise milk, and I don't beat the shit out of people. I just gently persuade them to tell kind Uncle Felix what he wants to know. Failing that these two sweethearts" here he pointed to Viktor and Lazar, "beat the shit out of them, as you so colourfully put it."

I figured that was about all the conversation I was going to get out of Felix, he's a tight lipped bastard even on his most expansive days, and Mutt and Jeff were the grunting type. I don't think I'd ever heard either of them say more that five words total, so I decided to enjoy the ride. I generally walk places I need to be, it makes the stagger home more interesting and challenging. A car ride I didn't have to pay for was a treat. Then I noticed we weren't going the right direction, "Hey Felix, is your boy new? He just missed the turn onto Water Street, how else are we getting to your 'office' if not that way?" Felix turned around and said "we aren't going to my office GI, why don't you just relax?" When a man like Felix tells you to relax, you start to get nervous, very fucking nervous. "I'm so relaxed that I am almost in a coma Felix, but I'm curious where are we going? Let me guess, you've decided to take me to a nice restaurant for my birthday, but Felix today isn't my birthday, surely you know that?"  He didn't bother to turn as he answered me "I'm also not taking you for a walk in the country, just settle down, and try to keep your face shut for the rest of the trip, though your birthday joke will be even funnier later." 

I knew that a "walk in the country" with Felix meant that Felix would have a nice walk and come back, you would have a nice walk and not, so I decided to keep my whore mouth shut, and began to ponder his birthday remark. Felix is not a man to say things by accident, and only tells you things he wants you to hear. It's a character flaw of his that I have discussed with him many times, and yet he persists in doing it. Some dogs just can't or won't learn new tricks. I suppose the good news, if there was any good news, was that Felix said "later" implying that there would be a "later" in which I would be able to enjoy (or more likely rue) my birthday joke. It's the small mercies that are sometimes the most appreciated.  I decided to try one more ploy with Felix, it might not be the best idea, but I don't generally like surprises, and I had a feeling that Felix was about to give me a very unpleasant (for me) surprise. "Well, I know we aren't going to your house Felix, because we aren't going east." That bolt did find its way home. He turned fully around, and snarled "I said for you to keep your face shut, and you had to open your mouth and turn smart didn't you?" He gestured to Viktor, and Viktor punched me very quickly, very quietly, and VERY hard in the ribs. I gasped in quite real pain "Christ, Felix that wasn't necessary." He smiled "it wasn't until you made it so, now settle down, and if you like your ribs in their current condition, stay silent. It's not too far now." 

I looked around with a tad more interest in my surroundings, we had turned into a slightly more posh neighborhood, one where "my kind of people" were only welcome if we were taking trash off the sidewalk, or here to fix the plumbing issue of one of the toffs who lived there. "Wait a second" I begin "Felix are you lost or have you gone mad? This is. . ." "I know exactly where we are going, and so do you, you've been here at least 4 times before, though according to my information the last time was unpleasant. Remember your joke? Now you can see why I think it's final got a little humor in it." He held up a gloved hand and showed me a little red pill, "Though I suspect your last little shot of liquid courage may have been enough to keep you calm enough, we will just have to make sure. Boys have him open wide." His goons nodded in unison and grabbed my jaws and forced them open. Felix handed Lazar the pill. "Make sure he swallows it, he will thank me for this mercy the next time he sees me." I struggled, but it was mostly for show. A man has to know when he beat, and I was beat. Lazar shoved the pill into my mouth and I dutifully swallowed it down. Felix nodded and said "Good lad, now in about 10 minutes you are going to say good night for a while. I am not exactly sure where you'll wake up, but that wasn't part of my deal. I am just the delivery boy. Enjoy your nap GI, I don't think from what I've been able to tell about the person I am delivering you to that you will enjoy waking up from it." About 8 minutes later he nodded to his goons, and I was dumped like a piece of the aforementioned trash onto the sidewalk. I knew then that sleep was on its way too quickly for me to leg it, and so with a sigh I sat down and waited for what was to come. All the while thinking what an absolute bastard Felix had become.   to be continued (again).

 

 

Of Barbarbians and Safes

"Not all men seek rest and peace; some are born with the storm in their blood" - Robert E. Howard.

M. Howard from whom I shamelessly steal the above quote was the man who "created" Conan the Barbarian. It was a very long time ago, and many of us have only accessed Conan through the films starring the former governor of California. Giving the books a read, or a listen in this digital age is worth your time. After all, sexting your boss at 3 a.m. is starting to get old, and you have to try to better yourself as a human being right? 

There is a school of thought that rest and peace will allow you do that. I mean hours of study and self-reflection, if properly done, will advance your knowledge (if you study the "right" stuff), and make you more fun to talk to at parties that you probably don't want to attend. Reflecting upon the mysteries of life, and using the right 'detectives' to help you unlock them is a grand undertaking. Aristotle, Plato, all the Greeks will help, but don't forget the Philip Marlowes of the world. The allegory of the cave is a wonderful thing, and there is a lot of life lessons in it to be learned, but The Big Sleep has a lot of more gritty life lessons that you will need to learn as well, especially if you want to get your hands a little dirty. Peace is also a wonderful thing, we all want peace right? Civil unrest, and disorder start to strain the seams of society. However don't forget "the Romans create a wasteland and call it peace."  Peace can be a tricky thing, and no all men are made for it. Hindenburg and Ludendorff were pretty necessary for Germany in World War I, and they were not men of peace. Conan is not a man of peace, he is a man of action, and a lot of people think that peace is not an action it is the lack of action.

A nice warm study with a volume of Voltaire is not for the men of Conan's ilk. They can solve the mysteries of the universe if they want, but Conan is out in the universe. Discovering its mysteries by running amok in it. Most men will spend their lives in quiet desperation, reading about the adventures of Conan, and men like him pondering what they would do if they had the balls to do what Conan does. Some might try to "arm chair quarterback" Conan, and point out his 'mistakes' and what they would have done differently to get the girl and the treasure rather than sacrificing one to save the other. That is easy to do with a glass of fine brandy in one hand, and your cock in the other. Any damn fool can point out the errors of others, it takes a different kind of fool to realize that many times those mistakes make the story.  These 'men of peace' aren't going to risk anything more than tripping over the cat on the way to the bathroom, and certainly are going to go barrelling around the world in a loincloth with a sword looking for dragons to slay, and women to 'rescue' (whether they need it or not).  Perhaps, if they think about it enough these fellows will understand the fact that the warm study, the glass of brandy, and even the cat exist for them because of men like Conan. Maybe they are hyper-aware of the situation of the world, and maybe they appreciate Conan and his kind. Probably they don't, that is why the term barbarian gets stuck to him. They look down their long noses at his savagery, and tut tut his actions as the actions of an uncivilized boor. However, they overlook the fact that without boors like Conan, they probably would have been gored to death by a boar a long time ago.

Take some time to think about the circle of people you loosely call your friends, is there a man or woman (this is the 21st century after all. I for one, wouldn't be upset at being rescued by a 'storm blooded woman') among them? Would they consider you to be that person? Are you all men of peace? Are you all men at peace? Of peace and at peace are very, very different things. Men like Conan may have moments in their lives where they are 'at peace' they are probably never 'of peace'. The storm in their blood doesn't work that way, and it shouldn't. The storm in the blood is there since birth or at least it develops at a very young age. Conan (since his is fictional) is lucky he lives in the Hyborian Age that gives him ample chance to unleash the storm in his blood, and plenty of dragons, snakes, and other monsters to slay (even the human kind). Being more 'civilized' we are unlikely to take up sword and loincloth and go racing to the 'rescue' of the damsels in our lives. Most of us would look shockingly bad in a loincloth, and probably couldn't lift a sword over our head for the life of us, and more than likely the damsels don't really need rescuing in the first place. Polite society, or at least the idea of it, can be rather boring for men with the storm in their blood.

That is the unique thing about this storm, it might can probably be suppressed if you struggle hard enough. That struggle is hard (as a proper struggle should be), and you're never to know if suppression is the 'right' decision. You have to realize that once unleashed the storm is not going to be "put back in the bottle." You unleash the Kraken that is the storm, and you are no longer a man of peace. Storms like that aren't like punk ass bitches of hurricanes that lash a coastal area for a couple of days, pouring rain down on poor citizens, and flooding them out of whatever hovel they call home, and then disappearing inland to go out with a whimper. No this storm is not a novelty, it is not something that you can control any longer. It is the surge in your blood that is going to put you on Conan's path. It is, in some ways, a declaration of independence. A way to tell the world that you aren't going to be bullied anymore. It is also probably going to cost you. Maybe it will cost you the job that you pretend is a career. It might cost you the girl that you are pretending is the 'one'. It might cost you the hovel you are pretending is a home.  It might cost you that circle of friends that you are pretending are your best mates.

 

 But in counter weight to all those losses are the potential gains. Don't be confused and fall for the trap of thinking that Conan doesn't have moments of mind numbing terror, he does. Don't think that Conan always get the treasure and the girl, he doesn't. Don't think Conan lives the high life, he spends a lot of nights "sleeping rough" without a copper to his name. He doesn't sleep in a lot of soft comfy beds. He sleeps where he can, and shitty inns with vermin infested beds and kitchens are the norm rather than the exception.  Don't think that just because he has the balls (so to speak) to run around in a loincloth that Conan doesn't have his own doubts, he does. He just doesn't let them control him, they may occasionally slow him down, but they don't stop him. Don't think that just slashing the monster's throat always solves the problem it doesn't. The monsters outnumber you on a staggering scale, and those so called men of peace are creating more monsters daily. You, and your kind, will always be outnumbered. The siren's call of the 'storm in your blood' life can also be a dirge. A dirge to the comfy beds, the steady pay, the decent food, and the steady, uncomplicated relationships (yeah right) that make up your placid life. It is a decision that one would think must needs to be made, but in reality indecision can be just as much of a decision as an active unleashing of the storm. You may 'choose' to suppress the storm, and/or not act upon its call. Not choosing it is just as hard of a decision to make. It creates a duality in you that is not always going to be pleasant, and is probably never going to go fully away, or be fully resolved to your (or anyone else's) satisfaction. 

 

Perhaps Howard had the storm in his blood, but living the in the early 20th century, he realized the chances to chuck it all over, and go slay dragons were very limited, so he created Conan. I doubt Conan was his alter ego, and I am not familiar enough with Howard's works to attempt that kind of deep analysis, I am just stealing a quote from him, and fashioning a stupid blog post around it (that also doesn't need any deep seated analysis). Maybe Conan gets a lot of the girls because Howard only ever had one girlfriend in his life, and that didn't end well. Neither did Howard's life, at around the age of 30, distraught over his mother's slipping into a coma from which he was told she would never awaken, he walked out of the hospital, and blew his brains out with a pistol. Not the happiest of ending for a man who created a legend, but all stories can't end with the half naked girl wrapping herself around you while you look over the carnage you've created with your broadsword. The storm exacts its own price, and you just have to be willing to pay it, no matter how high of a price it might be. It takes courage, but sometimes the game has to be worth the candle. I wish you luck. 

 

 

 

Of Wheels and their Wagons

 He staggered in at a little past 2 a.m., and given that it was what he likes to call "a school night" I knew something must have gone terribly wrong. He was listing like a Spanish galleon, and looked a little worse for the wear, and I decided to try to handle him the best I could before he caused too much of a scene. I didn't need a 2:30 a.m. visit from Felix and his boys.  I met him close to the door, and boomed "GI so glad to see you gracing my fine establishment. What brings you down here to the docks to drink among the peasants at such a late hour?" He trained his bleary eyes on me "piss off with the fancy talk Sully, you know why I'm here, at least you should if you have a calendar handy, and posses the ability to read it. Which I actually somehow doubt, men like you are only worried about the 1st of the month when all the money you are owed comes due, and you have to figure out how many legs you need to order to be broken." I took a step back, "that seems a bit harsh GI, even for you. You know I run a honest business, and abhor violence. I am a man of peace." That brought a harsh laugh from him "sure thing Gandhi, now peacefully let me find a place to sit down, and then peacefully bring me a turbo, and then bugger off and let me drink in peace, man of peace my arse." 

I lead him to the booth in the back, the one nearest the restroom figuring that he would need to be close to it when all the booze he'd clearly had caught up to him, and it was also the one I could just fold him into and let him sleep it off with the least amount of trouble, it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. "Certainly GI, might I recommend the booth near the facilities?" Again he laughed "you mean the one closest to the shitter in case I have to puke? And the one I can sleep in without too my fuss? Lead on Sully there are beers that are dying to be drunk, and before you ask" here he pulled a wad of bills from his coat pocket and waved them around "I've got the coin to pay for them." I considered this to be good news, usually the bastard was piss drunk, and piss poor. I didn't bother to ask where or how he'd gotten the money, that wasn't my business. I figured the less I knew, the less I'd have to tell anyone who asked, and I didn't fancy a night out 'dancing' with Felix and his goons. I'm too old, and have robbed too many banks for that shit. "Well, this is an even greater pleasure then GI, your company, and the money to make it bearable!"

"Just get out of my way Sully, I can find the booth myself, and get me a damn drink. I'd rather die of drink than of thirst." I moved out of his way, and made my own way to the bar. I waved the bartender over, "Tomas, pour GI one of his turbos, and make him a cup of coffee, he will be needed one or the other if not both. I'll take them over myself, no wait that will make him suspicious, or rather more suspicious. Betsy (not her real name, or at least I don't think it is, but good help is hard to find) GI likes you well enough, for a blonde, be a good lass and take these drinks over to his table. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with him, or you'll be stuck there the rest of the damn night, or morning or whatever you call this time of day/night. If he's doing anything particularly stupid let me know, and I'll come over and sort him. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to." Betsy nodded, and took the tray of drinks over to his table without incident, came back to the bar and said "he's just sitting there talking to himself, or at least there's no one with him, but he seems to be carrying on quite the conversation." I nodded "thanks Betsy. He's known to get lost in his own head from time to time, and when he's tight it has a tendency to spill out verbally. It's most gibberish, and makes sense only to him, but every now and then he says shit he shouldn't." 

I snapped my fingers, "Tomas you know what to do, go over there quite like and sit your ass down in the booth behind him and listen. No wait" I looked at Tomas' considerable girth. "That would be like asking him to miss a mountain, and I don't think he's quite drunk enough for that yet. Go get one of the kitchen boys, the smallest one if you can manage it, and bring him to me." Tomas nodded and soon returned with a small, rather dirty lad that fit the bill perfectly. I looked at him, nodded my approval and sent Tomas back to the bar. He would find out the full story tomorrow without me telling him, Tomas is like that, he learns all sorts of shit that he probably shouldn't and one day it's probably going to get him killed. "Okay lad, I need you to wander slowly over to that booth" here I pointed to the one behind GI "and sit your ass down nurse this beer, and listen to what he says. Can you read and write boy?' He nodded, "good here's pencil and paper, if you can write it all down, and bring it back to me. Don't be obvious, and don't make in sudden moves. The man might look drunk, and he is, and he might look harmless, but he's not. So be careful, and do a good job, and there will be a little extra in your pay packet come Friday."

I didn't tell the damn fool that I had noticed the obvious bulge in GI's left coat pocket, and had sussed out what that meant. I didn't feel the need to scare him that badly. Besides it was my hope that I was mistaken and it was just another wad of cash carelessly wadded up and stuffed in the most accessible pocket. A few minutes passed, and I kept one eye trained in GI's direction. The boy seemed to have settled in behind GI without notice, and was busy scribbling what looked to be his life's history, as GI's arms moved about a bit in time with his head moving. Clearly he was have an animated discussion with someone that only he could see. I hoped it wasn't anything too serious, crazy, or worse something that he was supposed to be saying out loud. Betsy soon came by on her rounds to report that he was downing the beer like it was mother's milk, but hadn't touched the coffee. I had expected that, he wasn't blurry enough to not care what was in front of him yet. "Bring him another round of both, raise the turbo level on the beer just a touch, it will be the last one we give him. Or at least one that isn't a small beer."

Betsy did as I requested, came back and said "Umm, there's a revolver on the table, and he's still talking to himself. Should we do something?"  I sighed, my guess had been right. "Tomas, go fetch Roscoe for me, and then recall our little "listening post." I need to read what he's heard so far. Tomas nodded came back with Roscoe, and I slid him into my coat pocket just to be safe. A dangerous drunk with a gun wasn't something that I needed on a random Thursday night. The boy made his way back handed me his "homework" and said "he seems to be telling some crazy story about two people named Rome, and Readel I can't make any sense of it, but it seems important to him." I nodded as I begin to read what he had written, nothing in it made a whole lot of sense if you didn't know GI, but I knew him and despite the boy's poor spelling and dodgy grammar, I made enough sense of it to be slightly alarmed, and a mental note to educate the boy a little better.  "Here Betsy let me take him another round over to him, just the beer though the coffee is useless at this point." I walked over to him he was muttered about horses or some shit, I knew what that meant as well. "Don't you think you're taking this if people are horse bullshit just a little too far?" He glanced up, smiled and said "well Sully we will see, I mean not every bet is a winning bet. You just have to make sure you don't bet more than you can lose." I looked down at him, go to the men's room you daft cunt, you've spilled beer on yourself." He looked down starting to disagree when I poured just about a fourth of the pint I had brought him onto his coat. "Whoops clumsy of me. You know we don't have a fucking back door, so don't try to bounce on the tab, clean up and come back and I'll top this one off for you on the house." He reached down for his revolver, "leave it, ain't no one in here to steal it, and no one is going to try to kill you in the damn toilet" I patted my own coat pocket "and I've got me own iron." 

He nodded, I was thankful he had enough sauce in him not to argue, and toddled off to the bathroom. Both of us knew what I was doing, but at least he had the sense to do it. I grabbed his revolver, emptied it, and placed it back on the table, he gave me ample time to do it before he came back to the booth. Nodding his thanks for the beer (wink, wink), he picked up his pistol, hefted it, nodded knowingly to me, and said "well, I guess I need to be heading home." Grabbing the coffee and drinking it down in one long gulp he said "thanks for the beer Sully, here's your coin, minus of course the cost of the bullets you just took off of me." Grinning I replied "you're welcome GI, now get the fuck out of here, and make your bosses proud by showing up on time tomorrow like a good boy." "The last thing my bosses think of me is as a good boy Sully, but I'll do my best. See you next Thursday."

 

 

Heureuse

 We (the non royal we that is) are going to try a little something different in this post. It will probably fall to shit somewhere in the middle, like the majority of the things we write, but at least it will be a different kind of shit. Sometimes you have to try new things in order to realize the old thing was better for a reason. 

We are going to leave behind, for the nonce, the seedy little world that GI has been trying to navigate himself, and by extension ourselves, through without getting himself killed, or giving away too much of the actual truth. Today we leave behind Serge and his apples (that aren't really apples), Sully and his bar that sounds a real palace, Felix and his fanaticism, and any other "characters" that GI has, or might introduce us to that will make us wonder about his poor taste in relationships. They will return to foul the internet soon, but for now let's us talk about you, and the elusive idea of happiness. This is going to be difficult, so bear with me dear reader(s).

If you've been rotating on this planet, and by extension revolving around the class M star that is our Sun, for any length of time, more than likely someone, somewhere has told you something along the lines of "I just want you to be happy." If you are lucky they actually meant it, for some of us it was generally said as the person was making us decidedly unhappy, but that isn't the point of this ramble. I will try to stay focused. Happy is, from what we hear, a lovely thing to be. Birds sing louder and more melodiously, the sun is a little brighter, but not as hot, and grass is a lot greener, and doesn't make us break out into hives when we are happy. Things just taste, feel, smell, and look better when we are happy. They (whomever they are) tell us that happiness is contagious like the clap, though most of "them" don't use that analogy.  One other problem that "they" leave out when they make that statement is they don't tell you how to achieve this happiness that they seem to desperately want you to be. If you are a little chubby, there are loads of people both willing and able to help you with ideas about how to become less thick and more fit. If you have less than acute fashion sense, many people will give you "helpful" advice on how "not to dress like a homeless person." Many of life's problems are just a helpful agony column away from being solved, but happy, well happy is a tougher nut to crack. It involves a lot of variables that are quite beyond your control, or so you would think, and it depends on whether you think it is the type of feeling you have in the here and now, or the type that thinks it concerns your overall life quality.

Before we delve into that last idea, we have to take a bit of a detour, you were warned dear reader that things might fall to shit, and this might be where it happens. We need to discuss you for a minute. You, whoever you are, have probably been told that you are a unique, one of a kind, individual, and that it makes you "special" (the good kind of special not the sad kind of special), well we hate to break it to you, but that probably isn't true. You are one of around 7 billion people on the planet, and the idea that you are unique on the planet is unlikely. Depending on where you live, there are probably a lot of people in your city, county, state, province, region, or country. Then we start to talk continents, lots of people live on at least 6 of them. There are probably one or two of "yous" running amok in your country, probably 3 or 4 "yous" on the planet, and then we start to expand our horizons, I mean that's what horizons are for. 

We start with the easy expansion, science is pretty sure that Earth is the only planet with a "you" on it in this particular solar system. That's good, no version of you is rotting away in a prison on Mercury, or dying of radiation poisoning on Jupiter, sadly this also means that no "you" is emperor of a large chunk of Saturn. We continue our expansion to the Milky Way the barred spiral shaped galaxy which all the version of you inhabit. It's a monster to us, but fairly mundane in the universe of 'galaxies'. It contains about 100-400 billion stars, and about an equal number of planets. It is about 170,000 light years wide whatever the hell that means. A group of people way smarter than any version of you knows, have estimated that there are at least 30 "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" in the Milky Way, we just can't figure out where exactly they are, and how to communicate with them, maybe they can't either, or have made contact with us, saw how shitty we run this planet and decided to bugger off without talking to us (can't says that we blame them). There are a whole lot of other mind boggling numbers that we could toss out here about the Milky Way that would make you feel even more small and insignificant, but we aren't here to do that, this is about happy. We leave our loving "little" Milky Way, and expand further to the universe. That monster of a Milky Way is but one galaxy in the universe which contains somewhere around 2 trillion galaxies, of which about 500 billion would be "Milky Ways." Ponder that for a second (we will wait), and think of the implications it has to "you" and your uniqueness.

If those clever people are correct and there are 30 "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" in our Milky Way, then if all things are equal (and of course we've no idea if they are or not) multiple 500 billion by 30, and in theory at least that would give you a working number of how many "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" that are pinging around in the universe. Of course, all of this is in theory, and certainly some of those civilizations probably are Klignons or Ewoks, making them unlikely to contain a 'you'. A Klignon you isn't just quite the same, and you can feel safe in the idea that in relation to Klignons you are unique by comparison. Also in theory, some of those civilizations might be less advanced than we are. Maybe they haven't reached the walking upright stage yet, therefore rendering you unique in comparison to them as well. We can eliminate a certain amount of those civilizations as not quite good enough (in your theory, we are sure) to contain a 'you'. That is the good news, the bad news is that even if we err on the side of 'you' and eliminate 65% of those civilizations, well we still have 35% left, and by our exacting standards and well reasoned research that leaves a virtual fuck ton (which has to be an actual unit of measurement somewhere in the universe) of potential 'yous' populating a whole lot of other places.

Process that for a second, or longer if you need to, it is a sobering thought in many ways, and then begin to ponder what that means to 'you'. You've just been knocked off a very high perch, one that the rest of the world has put 'you' and themselves on since time immemorial. It is an idea sanctioned by usage and consecrated by time. That idea is that you are unique like a snowflake (not the political sissy type, but actual snow), and that the world would at least be different without you in it. Maybe not better, hopefully not worse, but at least different. Let's not break our arm patting ourselves on the back, the idea that the world would be worse off without you is hubris, which is also a long held idea by a lot of people but that need not detain us here.  More than likely, any of the 'yous' wandering around scratching their respective asses in the universe(s) aren't in any position of power that would make their respective demises world altering events, but I guess you never know. Maybe you are the head of some far reaching, world crushing empire, and when you gasp your last breath the entire trajectory of that world will change. I suppose that is both a depressing, and comforting thought. Depressing in the fact that it isn't the 'you' you know about and sort of makes this version of 'you' seem a bit of a failure, comforting in the fact that at least one version of 'you' has achieved the world domination that you are pretty sure all versions of 'you' have planned since birth.

However, those versions, however likely, are unconfirmed and probably never will be confirmed to your satisfaction.  World domination aside, this version of 'you' has goals even if you don't exactly realize it. A goal can be as highbrow as writing the great American novel, or as simple as getting through the day without strangling someone to death. Goals can be defined very broadly. Not committing homicide is a good goal to achieve, and if you manage it, you should buy yourself a beverage of your choice to celebrate. If you are generous you could buy the person who came the closest to having you fail in that homicidal goal a drink as well, and just merely talk about how'd you almost murdered them today. Maybe you can tell them of your desire to write the great American novel about your plan/desire to murder them as a plot device, and they find it funny or flattering, or perhaps they run screaming from the bar, and you never see them again. Thus, removing the problem of potential homicide from your life without you having to solve the pesky problem of how to get rid of a dead body. 

All of this of this rambling shitshow of a post has been written in the aid of making this version of 'you' happy. I suspect it has failed in that task, but then again happy is, for the most part, an undiscovered county or a bridge too far for a lot of people. The point is that even if there are 30 or more other versions of 'you' flailing about in the void, or picking their nose in the next county over, you are this version. The version that has been dealt these cards at this moment, in this place, and you have to play them. Certainly they may not be the royal flush you were hoping for, and they may (more than likely do) suck, but they are 'your' cards. You are the one that must needs play them. For better or for worse they are all you've got. Bluff if you have to, bet wisely, but don't fold them, they are the only cards you can be certain you'll get. And if those cards lead you down the path of curing cancer great, but if they have you turning in to a serial killer (which isn't so great) at least be the best at it you can be. 'You' won't be dealt a new set of cards, or at least if 'you' are it won't be anytime soon. I wish 'you' luck.

 

Of Wagons and their Wheels

 The knock when it came at the ungodly hour of 2 a.m. (it's a sign I am getting old when 2 a.m. becomes an "ungodly hour") wasn't delivered with the force that I had expected. It was a hesitant, almost nervous, knock. It was like the person on the other side of my door really didn't want me to be home to answer, and was knocking out of a sense of duty, and hope that they would be able to go back to whomever sent them to me and say "sorry governor, but the cove wasn't at home, I knocked loud and proper like." Sadly for my nocturnal visitor, I was awake having just ushered a "lady friend" out the aforementioned door with a sigh, and a promise of "brunch" tomorrow. At least that was the plan, I figured our reluctant knocker probably was about to change tomorrow's plans for me. At least I knew it wasn't Felix or one of his goons, their knocks thundered throughout the neighborhood, and damn near took the door off its hinges. Nothing like a good show for Felix and his playmates. Since I didn't have a "double header" scheduled for the night, I decided to end the mystery, and open my door to the nervous Nellie knocking on it. Upon opening it, I was met with a kid of about 10-12 years old holding a note in his, none too clean, hands. "You GI?" he asked, I nodded, "this is for you Sully sent me, said you'd know what it meant." and with that he handed me the, none too clean, piece of paper and scarpered off like he had been shot out of a cannon. 

I suspected that I already knew the gist of the note, if not the actual words, and I began to get dressed (putting on pants at 2 a.m. is just wrong I tell you). For form's sake, if for nothing else, I opened the note and read it "your boy's here, and his wagon has developed a wobble in its wheel. signed SULLY" It was pretty much as I had expected and since it was technically Thursday, I knew what that meant. With a curse and a sigh for being put upon again for the same thing, I left my cozy little love nest and headed to Sully's. It was looking like "brunch" tomorrow was going to have to wait. The walk to Sully's isn't too terribly far from the shithole in which I live, and I figured I would use the time to try to think of a new idea to fix this weekly problem that had begun to plague me, and the few people I sometimes refer to as friends. Multiple approaches had been tried, and they all seem to have failed. Of course, that is the problem inherent in the fact that you've got multiple people trying to solve the same problem each in their own way, and a lack of a "leader" to coordinate the effort. But we do our best, and hope it's good enough, though lately it rarely seemed to be.

"He's been pouring whiskey down his neck for the better part of four hours, figured it was time to let you know your duty. It being Thursday and all." Sully's greeting was delivered with just a slight grin on his ugly mug, and I grimaced in reply and said "thanks Sully you're a sweetheart as always, bring him the coffee he doesn't want, but needs, and me one of your 'turbo' beers. No need for both to be all the way sober for this shit show." I glanced around Sully's place, which didn't take long being as it's as big as a postage stamp, and saw "my boy" propped up in a booth near the back. Good place for him, since it was closest to the bathroom, and the most dimly lit (which is saying something). I slid into the booth across from him, "what's the rumpus cowboy? To what do I owe the 2 a.m. call of the wild?" He focused his bleary eyes on me, which took a considerable amount of both time and effort. "She's dating someone else, and is probably going to sleep with him." I sighed "well it has been months, and it is my understanding of relationships, limited as it might be, that at some point sleeping together is involved, if you are to advance the relationship that is, otherwise you're just friends without benefits." That at least brought a laugh out of him "of all my 'handlers', and yes I know about your schedule, you're the one that makes me laugh the most GI. Why do you think I picked this shit hole on a Thursday? It ain't for the atmosphere or the crowd." Here he waved a hand expansively about taking in the glory that is Sully's bar, and the 5 patrons in various states of drunkenness that inhabited the place.

"So, because I'm the quickest wit of the group, I get the pleasure of this enthralling conversation? Well isn't it just my lucky day" I replied making a mental note to swap my scheduled day with another of our group just to avoid him becoming too smug, and thinking I was at his beck and call. Wait for him to try the old "get drunk at Sully's on Thursday, and expect GI to show up trick again, and be surprised when the least favorite of the group storms in and rips him a new one because they hate Sully's with a passion. He put up a conciliatory hand " now, now don't take it that way, other than the quickest wit, you've also been in the same boat I'm in more often, and more recently than the rest of that lot that call themselves my handlers." I rubbed my eyes "well that is true, but I'd don't think I handled my 'boat' very well, and certainly not well enough to warrant the giving of advice on how to handle yours." He smiled "oh no I'm not going to do what you did, I keep you around as an object lesson, a lesson in what NOT to do."   

The waitress, gods love her, chose that moment to bring our drinks, keeping me from swearing at him with the venom he deserved for that wisecrack. "Here drink your fucking coffee, and no we are not going to "Irish" it up for you." I nodded my thanks to the waitress, gods love her, and sipped my 'turbo' beer, coughed a bit as I realized that Sully had gone heavy on the 'turbo' and light on the beer.  "Well my failures aside, what are we here to discuss? her moving on, your crippling inability to deal with that fact, or the fact we've both got to work in the damn morning, and our boss(es) won't be happy to see how shitty we look when we come into the office?"  "Oh GI, that is tomorrow's problem, if we survive will handle that tomorrow, for now let's try to deal with today's problem shall we?" 

"This, whatever this is, isn't today's problem. It didn't just pop up this morning and surprise you like an Apache scout coming out the bushes and putting an arrow in our cowboy hero's back. This has been an ongoing problem, and I suppose you've picked today for it to come bubbling to surface like oil, but I don't think we are going to get rich off of it" He smirked, "always the wise ass aren't you?" I nodded "yeah, that's me the wise ass who doesn't know any better than to be in this dive with you on a school night. Other than a sense of duty to keep you employed, and not have to do your work if you get fired that is." He laughed again "don't die because I don't want to handle your "cases." I guess that was the battle cry of our group back in the day wasn't it? Well, back before the group went to shit, for which you are partially to blame, I might add." I sighed "we aren't here to discuss my high crimes and misdemeanors, I don't have enough of this in me for that." I said as I waved my beer glass in front of me.

He opened his mouth to reply, but I raised a hand "stop, just stop talking for a bit. You wanted me and my 'quick wit' here, well you've got it, and now I am going to regale you with slash force you to listen to a story that will help you out. It's all connected to the solution of your problem that I came to on the walk here. I'm going to shorten it a bit for you, because Sully will want us out of here soon, and given the amount of rot gut you've had, I figure your attention span has been considerably shortened. The story or stories involve two men, one named Alfred Redl and the other Ernst Rohm. One was an Austrian military officer, and the other a German thug. They had a few things in common the full details of which need not detain us here, but the major thing they had in common was their end. Both found themselves in rather hopeless situations, and were given a loaded revolver and told "to do the honourable thing." Meaning here take this gun, go into that room, and blow your own brains out, if you do we will say you died a "hero's death" and your family won't have to live with your shame."

He sighed and started to speak, but I was quicker "one of them chose the hero's death, and blew his brains out. It was Redl, I guess being a military man, he had a sense of honour or some shit I don't know, but he took the simple way out and avoided the scandal. Rohm, the thug, was actually a decorated veteran of World War I, but when he was offered his loaded gun, a room alone, and 10 minutes to do the right thing, he refused. After the allotted time, hearing no gun shot two of his jailers walked into his room (cell) and shot him. He was then erased from history, at least for as long as his killers were in power. We remember them both today, but neither are remembered fondly. Infamy is the price of treason I suppose." I paused and looked at him, gathering my thoughts for the next bit of my speech to explain to him the plan I had formulated on the walk over. I didn't think he would like it, but I wasn't in the mood to coddle him. He had been coddled enough in his life, which I figured was half the reason we were in this shithole of a bar at an ungodly hour.

I took out my own revolver, and pushed it across the table to him. "It's got the one bullet it needs, and there is the bathroom." I pointed behind him. "Sully knows all about this, and this place has a very discreet back door, and no one here will have seen or heard anything, if you choose to take Redl's path. The good news that if you don't, you won't be faced with what happened to Rohm, you just come back here give me the gun, and we won't speak of this ever again." He looked at me with alarm, then looked at the gun, "back that way?" I nodded "the men's room yeah. It's closer to the back door, and it's got a lock. I'll expect a decision in 10 minutes. If it's time enough for Rohm, it's time enough for you." He nodded his head, grabbed the gun, and stumbled his way to the bathroom. Sully came over and dropped another "turbo" in front of me, and said "you mad bastard what are you doing?" Inclining his head towards the men's room. "I'm giving the lad a choice, and waiting to see which one he takes." Sully shook his head "don't you think you're taking this "if people are horses" bullshit just a bit too far?" I smiled "well Sully, we will see, I mean not every bet is a winning bet, you just have to make sure you don't bet more than you can lose." Sully shook his head, and got up "you damn well know we don't have a fucking back door." and walked away without another word.

I looked at my watch, but about that time he came out of the bathroom, handed me the gun, and sat back down. "I couldn't do "the right thing" as you call it, guess I'm a Rohm like coward after all." I shook my head, "no lad you're not a coward at all. Your crime isn't treason, and all of this was just an unfair test. Sorry I had to do it, but I had to know." I flipped open the cylinder on the revolver and turned the gun over, nothing came out. "It wasn't loaded anyway. I was just listening for the click. Also, there isn't a back door anywhere near the bathroom, and carting your fat, dead ass out of there was more work than I was prepared to do. Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.”  His eyes widened and he spluttered "you bastard, you gave me a gun with no bullets and told me go shoot myself? You.... you..." I smiled "I gave you a unloaded gun, and told you to do the right thing. Which you did, now the hard part starts." He raised an eyebrow "and what is the hard part?" I smiled "living you daft cunt, living is the hard part, and living without her is going to be harder than Chinese math, at least for a while, but you've made the first step onto that path, and now let's continue that trip by getting the fuck out of here, going home, and making our bosses proud by showing up to work tomorrow like good little boys."

Of Silver and Bags

 I find myself in a strange room, not Star Trek strange it's not that exotic, just a room that I am fairly certain I've never been in before, and I begin to wonder why and how I got here, and who is responsible for my presence in this strange room when the door opens. A cheery, fat fellow walks in, smiles brightly and says "Oh good, you're awake at last." I nod, not quite sure when I was supposed to have "gone to sleep" and not sure why I would have, and I figure it's best not to talk much (or at all) until I figure out what in the blue fuck is going on here. The fat fellow pushes his glasses back up on his nose, smiles again, and proceeds to look at me with some curiosity. "You seem to have calmed down a bit since they brought you in earlier today. Good that means that maybe now we are ready to begin with why you are here." I nod again, narrowing my eyes, but still don't say a work. Since I don't know where "here" is exactly, and do not remember being brought "here", I figure to let fatty do most of the talking. He nods "I understand your reluctance to talk, maybe you don't remember the last few hours, and are worried about what you've done to be wearing that" here he points at the "gown" that I am wearing. Paper thin (aren't they all) and a light shade of blue that has been tied at the waist, but still feels like I am less clothed than I need to be whatever the situation.  

"You were found wandering down Elm, near Main babbling about "trying to find someone to sell her cocaine, and were quite adamant that you did not want to cooperate with the fellows who found you. In fact, one of them has a lovely bruise on his jaw thanks to you. However, there were more of them than there were of you, and eventually you were "persuaded" to get in the car, and be taken here." I grunt in reply, as I do the math, and figure out where here is, still I have no recollection of wandering down Elm, or any other street near Main, at least recently. I begin to wonder if that 'last call' drink might have been a bridge too far, and perhaps that is the reason I am about to have an unpleasant time with this fat fellow. I shrug mentally to myself, and think it wouldn't be the first unpleasant time I've had with a fat fellow. I suppose I should try to make the best of it. Fat boy chooses this moment to stand up, leave the room without a word, come back a few minutes later, and toss a bundle of clothes in my lap. "Here, we washed them, and got them clean, put them on, we have an appointment, and that," he pointed at my gown "isn't suitable attire for our meeting, it would shock the tender sensibilities of the majority of the Nazi party, and certainly we aren't going to be meeting any of them, get dressed."

I nodded again, and he had the decency to leave the room, while I got dressed into my newly clean clothes, they smelled like industrial cleaner, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. Chubs comes back into the room, gives me an appraising look, and snorts "good enough for our purposes I suppose, but you could do with a shave. Oh well, no time for that now, and I am sure they won't mind, I'd imagine they seen you look much worse many times." I raise an eyebrow at the mention of "they", but fatso ignores my silent inquiry, and walks out, motioning for me to follow. I sigh, ponder the identity of they, suspect it isn't going to be Nicole Kidman coming to take me away from my life of toil that I am going to meet, and follow him out the door. I follow the fellow down a few hallways of your typical bland, institutional type building with the gray walls, and the neutral smells that are designed to be calming, but rarely succeed. We pass no one on the way out, and we eventually make it to chubs car. "Get in we don't have far to go, my office is close, and I figure that would be the best place for our little conference." I slid into the passenger seat, and buckle my seat belt. I figure at some point this is going to be a bumpy ride, might as well get prepared in advance. 

A few minutes later, we pulled up to a typical office building that I assumed contained my new fat friend's office. Confirmed seconds later, when he said "my office, get out, and remember try to play nice. Playing nice is going to be VERY important for your future." Just what I wanted a fat, cryptic fellow trying to be all James Bond on me, while I was still trying to sort out the last missing few hours of my life. I go out of the car, and followed the smug bastard into the building. "In here old boy, and remember, PLAY NICE." He opened the door, and gestured me inside. I walked in, took one look around, noticed the occupants,and turned on my heel with a snarl to head back out the way I had came. Suddenly fatty had a large playmate at his side, a large man with a lot of muscles that were just begging to be used on some idiot like me. Fatty smiled again (he's quite the smiler, our fatty) "now, now just stay calm, and have a seat, and Clarence here" he waved at the mountain beside him "won't have to ensure your compliance."  I looked up at the mountain, and figured that I might hit him, but I doubted he would have the decency to fall down if I did, and therefore would probably hit me back, and since I am a decent fellow, I would fall down, and probably wouldn't be in the mood to get back up, so I decided to not test that theory.

I turned back to face the room (and the "music" inside), glanced around, and took the seat furthest from the other occupants.  There were two of them, and neither would ever be confused for members of my fan club (I am convinced I have a fan club, though I've never met anyone who claims membership).  Fatty chimed in with "I guess you all wonder why you are here?" Neither of the other two spoke a word, just sat there stony faced, clearly as unhappy as I was in be in this situation. I decided to finally break my silence, and replied "not particularly wondering as much as can't see the point of it. None of us, and I am sure my silent partners will agree, think we have anything further to discuss with or about each other."  Tubby grinned, and replied "Oh, I sure you, and these two lovely ladies actually agree about that, it might be the only thing you agree upon, but I am here to give you the, unwelcome to you, news."

I looked at my companions "since I've apparently got a hole in my recent memory, can either of you lovely ladies clue me into what this fat fuck is talking about?"  I pointed at the smug, fat bastard across from us. Both of my companions shook their respective heads in the negative, one looking innocent as is her custom, and the other looking angry as is hers.  Mr. Know it All waved a hand "oh no, no none of you would have any idea that this little conference was going to happen today, so don't rack your brains trying to figure out if you missed something. I mean you have missed something, all three of you, but none of you would have any idea that you missed THIS."  Here he waved a print out of some considerable thickness, and said "you see when we found Mr. drunk off his ass there (here he pointed at me) wobbling down the street last night, he had this on him and was waving it around like a street preacher waves the bible, the only thing missing was the 'doom and gloom' speech about it being the end of the world. Which is ironic, because after reading this" here he dropped the manuscript onto the table in front of him, " someone's just might." 

That was when the drunken memory flooded back to me. I stood up, rather too suddenly for my head to get the message, swayed a bit, pointed my finger at the fat bastard and shouted "you fat son of a bitch! I knew it! I knew you'd betray me, and here you are making ME pay the price for YOUR betrayal!" I lunged at the table, grabbed the papers sitting there, and begin walking to the door. "Call your boy the mountain if you have to tubby, but I am walking out the door, and out of this shit show of a meeting. I suppose I'll give you the customary 30 pieces of silver for this little 'passion play' at a later time, but for now, I am getting the hell out of here."  He put up a forestalling hand trying to placate me "now, now it's not as bad as you think maybe you should read the highlights of that little manuscript before you go off the rails entirely." 

I glanced down at the papers I was holding and rifled through them quickly, oddly most of them were blank. "Are you taking the piss out of me, their blank" I said. "Look closer at the last two pages" he replied. I thumbed to the two back pages, and smile bleakly. "Of course, I should have known that even drunk me would have to be too clever by half. Here you go ladies, I'll leave this mystery solving bit with you" and I left the room. I had made it about 5 steps out the door before I heard them both mutter in unison. "that son of a bitch!" Being the aforementioned son of a bitch, I resolved two things to stay off Elm Street, and to thank a certain apple seller for his silence.