Bar Room Brawl

Joshua drained his beer in one long swallow, the condensation from the bottle dripping onto his wrist and amber liquid escaping the corners of his mouth into his week long growth of beard. He had just begun to slake his thirst, precipitated by working eighty-four hours in the last seven days on a gulf coast oil rig. His eyes scanned the room in search of the barmaid, whose name tag read Natalie. A smiley face was beneath her name.

Joshua was the star of his high school baseball team, breaking pitching records that dated back to the first school team, a half century earlier. His college career was stellar as well, but his skill never translated into the professional level. After floundering for six years in the AAA league, never getting the call for the big show, he simply gave up and walked away. Never scared of hard work, he felt his efforts were all for naught and he would be better served doing something else.


After a night to unwind and rest, Johnny would embark on his weekly trek, north to Arkansas, to spend five days with his soon to be bride, Jessica, and Boo, his black and tan beagle.


Joshua turned his attention to his buddy, Tib, short forThibadeaux, who had just nudged him with an elbow. Tib was more of a local guy, a former defensive tackle for LSU who saw his own aspirations to turn pro end in a more decisive, if not brutal fashion. In the second to the last game ofhis senior year, his knee was virtually destroyed in a heated SEC battle against the University of Alabama. Sometimes Joshua wondered sometimes if Tib wasn't the luckier of the two of them.


"What's up, brother?" Joshua asked his friend.


Tib, who tended to communicate largely without words, nodded toward a commotion at the far end of the bar.


A small semi circle of patrons was blocking his view of the source of the commotion, although a snapping sound could be heard, accompanied by the yelps of someone, presumably a female.


Josh gave Tib questioning look, who merely raised his eyebrows in response. The pair of ex athletes slipped off of their stools and sauntered down to the opposite end of the forty foot long bar. Looking over the shoulder of a spectator, Josh was aghast at the bizarre event taking place before him and disgusted with the onlookers gawking like timid sheep.

To be continued...

​

 

Sorry, y'all, but they really abused me this week. Here it is Saturday night and I just got home but will try to squeeze some in before I leave out tomorrow night.

 

Elbowing his way past a slovenly looking young man wearing a goatee and a Mardi Gras T-shirt in need of a good washing, Josh stepped within a few feet of the balding biker wearing a leather vest and oil soaked jeans.

The bully had apparently removed his leather belt, which resembled an old style razor strop with a thick, odd shaped buckle bearing a symbol that was difficult for Josh to identify under the circumstances. The belt was being used to whip the backs of Natalie's legs, mainly the soft area behind her knees. On either side of her were two of the brute's brethren, preventing her escape from the humiliating torture.

The man with the belt turned to see what his cohorts were staring at behind him. "What the hell you lookin' at, pretty boy?" he said as he turned around.

Josh recognized the man's face, even without the helmet he was wearing during their previous encounter a week earlier. Josh was preparing to leave this same bar when the biker blasted off, rear tire spinning, spraying Josh's pickup truck with dust and gravel, cracking his windshield in the process. The brake light flashed on the Harley as it slowed to return. Josh was expecting an apology at least, but what he got was the middle finger as the biker laughed and took off again.

More to come...

 

"I'm looking at a fella that owes me a windshield, but I have insurance for such matters. The main thing right now would be for you to unhand the young lady and let everybody be about their business," Josh responded, evenly, his eyes belying the tone of his voice.

After a few seconds of startled silence, the biker spoke, mainly for the benefit of his posse. "Geta load of this clown, would ya. Young lady, he says," to the amusement of his pals.

If the biker thought the man before him would be easily intimidated, he was sorely disappointed. But rather than let it show, he resorted to a more direct approach.

"Let me spell it out for you, junior. You got about two seconds to get outa my face, or I'm pulling your britches down and givin' you some of what she's gettin'," which drew some snickers from the onlookers as well as from his buddies, who, in focusing on Josh, stepped away from Natalie, allowing her to slip away unnoticed, for the time being anyway.

It wasn't lost on Josh that both arms were behind the man's back as he talked, much the way a pitcher would hold the ball behind himself, rotating the ball by feel of the seam, getting it where he wanted it for the next pitch, away from prying eyes. Only it was a belt that was being hid, one with a heavy brass buckle that was being manipulated, causing Josh to focus more on body language than the words being spewed from his would be opponent's mouth.

 

I didn't intend it to be that way. I was so tired last night I made that double post and to top it off I forgot to save work on my Word program and lost the rest of what I written and had to pick up from scratch today. Only home for 20 hours so heading out soon as race is over. Hopefully back to normal next week.