Turning the key back, the car tapered into silence. This was Lost Hope Stead. Cheery little place, ironically. Been here once before for a drink. Looking up above the car, I saw the sign had been replaced with bright fresh white paint on the same old spruce panel; The Mosquito Joint. Another charming name. The radio echoed in my head as it finished a sad, bluesy tune.
“I have lost myself along the way… and that’s okay…”
“Oh yeah, you all heard it here first. That one comes from Deaf Jonny Williamson. Think we could all take something away from that! That is, if you’re willing to listen. That is, if you can hear at all.”
Leaving the car I noticed the place was relatively busy. Shouldn’t be a problem. I walked through the doors and found the inside to be renovated in addition to the sign. Everything had a rustic cedar look and smell. The bar on the far wall with stairs ascending behind it, had two patrons. Some lone diners sat at tables that scattered the floor. There were a couple of men dancing to the sounds of a ragtime piece being played by the well-dressed man on the piano. Everyone seemed to be in a good spirit. I marched to the bar to take a seat, with at least 2 spaces away from others.
The bartender came over with a smile, couldn’t tell if it was genuine. He had short, black hair and a twirly mustachio with some kind of product in both. “Hey, hey, hey friend what can I get you? Thirsty?”
I nodded at the man. “Very.” Perusing the selection was killer. They had quite a bit more product than the average establishment. “What’s that dark bottle with the gold lined label on the second rack?” I pointed it out.
“Ah, the full one? Yeah it’s pretty new actually. From just out East, not far off of the end of the Morgan Route. It’s called Hangman’s Noose. 10 years.”
“The fuck is with this place and the names? I’ll take a double of it regardless.”
The tender grinned and let out a laugh. “Lights shine brightest in the darkest places, friend. Not that The Mosquito Joint is that dark. The owners called it that because they drink like those skeeters drink blood. Like it’s in their nature.” He charmingly explained as he poured the drink. “And Hangman’s Noose? Let’s just say the proprietor of this drink no longer has a husband and this is the product of her healing process.”
I furrowed my brow with a smirk. “Everything’s got a story, huh?” I grabbed the drink and placed change on the edge of the bar.
“Beginnings, middles, and ends I’m afraid!” he announced as he went to serve another patron. Ahead of me, posted behind the bar was a bounty board. More stories behind each of those sketches I imagine. Sipping the bourbon brought an unspeakable satisfaction. A rich, buttery bite that matched the deep and dark caramel colour. Perhaps good things do come from tragedy. As I was preoccupied in thought, I finished half of the drink before someone came into the saloon. The only reason this was of note, is that the tension had to go through me to get to the bartender. One of the other bar-seated patrons came and sat in the seat next to mine. Most likely getting away from the man who was clearly here to confront the man behind the bar about something. I was aware.
“Hey, stranger.” I heard the patron next to me say under her breath. I acknowledged her but kept my attention focused behind her to the approaching man. “You look like…” I honestly stopped listening as the bartender seemed to lose his coolness and become panicked. “… with that being said, what’s your name?” she finished her sentence.
“Sorry, I was out to lunch there. It’s hard not to take my eyes away from that.” I gestured behind her as the man pulled a knife out from underneath his long coat. I looked at the bartender and found us make eye contact. “Are you okay?” I asked him.
The man darted his head at me. “Who the fuck are you? Mind your business.” The ragtime piano began to fade. All eyes and ears are here.
The bartender shook his head as the man spoke. This wasn’t good. “A concerned citizen. My business of drinking this drink is being interrupted.”
“Yeah well you’re gon’ be servin’ your own fucking drinks if this guy don’t give me my money.” he tensely said. He didn’t seem afraid to do something about it. Judging by the scars on his face and knuckles, and those two cauliflower ears.
“What money?” I looked at the bartender.
The guy was scared and shaky when he answered, “I swear I don’t owe him anything, h-he’s trying to make me pay for his protection.”
“Well it looks like you fuckin’ need it, right?!” the assailant yelled.
I took a deep breath and actually thought before I spoke. “Please, the guy clearly doesn’t want trouble because he doesn’t have trouble. And everyone else in here could live without the stress.” I sounded reasonable but I wasn’t holding my breath.
“No, fuck that and fuck you man. If he’s not gonna pay, maybe you’d like to pay for him then?” he lost zero tension in his posture as he began his stride my way with the knife no longer concealed at all. He pointed it straight at me. Looked like a hunting knife, had to be at least 8 or 9 inches long.
I stayed seated despite the urge to leap off my the stool. “Alright, alright. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to leave peacefully. Just going to finish this drink.” I motioned him over as he approached me. He held the knife at my neck. “Can I swallow this without worrying about puncturing an artery?” He didn’t like the comment, but lowered the knife to aim for my kidney. This was far more advantageous. As I tipped back my head to drink, I strained my eyes to look back at him and the very moment his eyes came off of me I swung my arm like a haymaker. Only this haymaker had an open hand with glass in it.
KA-SHHH
The glass broke over his brow embedding shards in his forehead and right eye. The woman next to me yelped as the glass rained around her. He responded with a resounding scream of pain. Gotta admit, even I cringed a little bit. He began an expletive filled plea for help, and actually threw a wild punch back my way blindly. His fist was a hard ball of bone and glass remnants. It plowed my left cheek, opening a cut on my cheekbone and the inside of my mouth as it scraped across my teeth. I swear I could feel my brain bounce on both sides of my skull. Had to make distance fast. I quickly threw my shoulder forward with power, hoping he was still there. Charging into him, I threw him off his balance as the blood continued to blind him. Before he had a chance to find out which way he was even facing, I grabbed my stool from behind me and smashed it into his head and upper back. Two loud thuds later and he was still, with a small pool of blood forming at his head. The stool actually stayed in one piece and did the job. Looks like he was out.
2 hours later
The mess had been somewhat cleaned, aside from the odd pieces of shattered glass and dried blood. Guy will live, but out of commission. I was sitting back on that sturdy stool while being tended to by the woman who sat next to me. Turns out she had medical experience of some kind. The bartender thanked me profusely and offered monetary reward, but I opted for the remainder of the Hangman’s Noose. My face was utterly sore and swelling, but livable at least. The cut was stitched, but bound to scar. I think my story here was coming to an end. So I thanked both the bartender and the stranger who fixed me up before finding my way to the doors despite protests from the bartender and impromptu nurse.
I slowly walked out to the car. As beautiful as ever. I went to the trunk to find something for my pain. Looks like the sun was finally setting. The town seemed to begin to fall asleep with it. I turned the key over and pulled on the nearest road exiting town, and I turned on the radio.
Kkkkcchhzzzztt — “en, it’s a cold and dark night ahead of us. We will pray you make it safely. But what’ll that do?! Hah! Don’t miss the next show, it will be KILLER. Hahah! This has been your boy Benny Boy for RS180, toodle-oo!”
