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Chase, Rick and I stand to back Dom’s play.
The bar is half full, the last thing anyone needs is for this to get ugly. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.
“Problem, fellas?” Dom steps up to them.
The guy with the bottle speaks first, “They’re cheaters is what they are!”
It looks like they’ve been playing poker.
Dom asks the other three, “That true, boys? Anybody been cheating?”
The first of the seated men says, “Didn’t need to.”
The second says, “The man’s so drunk he can’t even read his cards right.”
The third, “We don’t know this man, Dom. He invited himself over and he’s been drinking himself silly ever since.”
The bottle guy says, “Fuck all of you! I want my money! God damn cheaters! Card swindling sons of bitches!”
Dom tells him, “Time for you to leave friend. I’m not going to ask twice.”
He stares down at the lot of us, “Is that right?”
Rick says, “You heard the man. Get stepping.”
The hazards of owning a bar. I wouldn’t say that shit like this happensallthe time, but it happens often enough.
Being the only watering-hole for miles means that every blue-collar passing through comes here to get shit faced. We’ve had more than enough episodes with pretend tough guys drinking too much liquid courage…guys who don’t know us and don’t know when to back down.
“I ain’t afraid ‘o you,” he spits on the floor before he dumps the broken bottle.
And then it happens…the thing you always pray never will…but always have to be prepared for—it’s all in slow motion for me.
He reaches behind him and under his shirt.
The three men at the table start to move away, surprise etched on their faces.
I start to draw the piece that’s tucked in my belt. Chase does the same.
Dom moves forward to shield us…but he’s too far away.
Only two seconds have passed.
The gun clears his shirt and comes to his side. Before he can raise it and take aim, I’ve already got a bead on him. There’s a flurry of pops and muzzle flashes and screams from the ladies to punctuate them.
He’s too slow…too drunk. He didn’t stand a chance, but we had no choice.
The look of surprise on his face is the same one you always see in a gunfight. They never think it’s going to happen to them...till it does.
You can’t know what it feels like…because you only get to experience dying once.
Six red flowers bloom through the blue denim on his chest. Three from Chase, three from me. He looks at them, then back at us…and he goes down.
But then…so does Dom!
He slumps back on his butt and puts his hand on the inside of his right thigh, “Son of a fucking bitch!”
The blood comes fast. The fucker got a shot off. It probably happened because he jerked when my first bullet hit him.
