Part 2 Fourth drink in twenty minutes and a blonde to boot:
Eighth drink and rude interruptions
“So you shot him with the stiletto?!” his laughter sounded atrocious “hell, that tale deserves another drink” the fact the well-dressed beauty was laughing into her empty glass like a slob made it all the more amusing. For the past thirty minutes they had exchanged war stories, her fondness for hover bikes and some less than polite jokes (told equally by his female companion!), “Another bottle?” the bartender asked, his attitude and posture more energised “I’ll throw in that hole in the head for free” a cheeky little side comment to get into the spirit of things.
Being in an exceptionally rare good mood, smiling even, Bob was as quick on his return “I’ll take your finest drain cleaner bar keep” ‘bar keep’ spoken with an air of sarcastic entitlement, the bartender playing it straight despite obvious attempts to conceal another Cheshire cat grin “Would sir like it strong enough to melt metal, or just enough to dissolve what’s left of your self-control around ‘Blondie’?” this time it was the lady’s turn to smile.
Despite eight tall glasses, intoxicating perfume and the perfect image of femininity massaging his senses Bob was still sober, but inebriated enough that his sense of rage and resentment were having a well-earned night off, black market genetics that only off the grid pilots and mercs could pick up, keeping his reactions on a hair trigger, just in case.
As conversation turned to more serious topics, Bob had given Blondie a vague idea of his current dilemma, a covert attempt to get the mystery women to reveal her own reasons for why she was in a dive like this; questions like, Why him…? What were her motives…? Why the worried glances towards the bars saloon style doors…?. A lack of answers was making Bob’s suspicious nature have a screaming fit “Well I hear that you pilots say ‘Mind yourself, your sidearm and your ship, everything else will take care of itself’” Blondie skilfully ducked Bob’s attempts to draw out the information he sought with a cleverly manipulative remark, he’d have to try a more direct approach.
Bob had barely opened his mouth when Blondie’s face twisted with fear, her look somewhere between ‘hearing bad news’ and ‘about to be hit by a tank’ as in trying to speak she only managed an arid cough, her skin now paler than Bob’s. “YOU BITCH” a crass insult carried with such wrath “YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD JUST LEAVE, HUMILIATE ME LIKE THAT.” Bob instinctively turned to assess the threat, the threat being a young and pompously dressed Junior Official of some kind, his eyes locked on Blondie “YOU OWE ME BITCH AND I’M GOING TO TEAR THAT SLUTTY DRESS, TAKE YOU…”
Bob never pretended to be a hero and wouldn’t be caught dead as a saint but disrespecting a woman, the charming company giving him an eleventh hour reprieve. In a flash his black market genetics cleansed any trace of alcohol from his system, sheer clarity and reaction speed as only a Spacer could know let him leave his barstool in an instant, that incredible venom pulsing through his veins as pure and black heartedly as ever.
“Show some respect you rude little prick” spoken quietly but loaded with more than enough dangerous intent to silence the entire bar, the air filling with tension quicker than Blondie’s anxious heartbeat, the Junior Official frozen in fear, sheer stupidity and shock slapped all over his gormless face.
“Now, if you have an issue with the lady I would be happy to mediate, but if you say anything that even hints at rude I will…” the little prick interrupting Bob’s futile attempt to resolve the situation without resorting to his gun; “THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND THAT WHORE..” the Junior Official never completed his clumsy insult as a ball of burning energy ripped through his leg, the heat from the brutish pirate blaster in Bobs tight grip building up again as it charged for another shot, Bob felt not a hint of regret as far as he was concerned he had given fair warning.
Every downtrodden and repressed resident of the bar secretly cheered, but nobody dared break the silence that allowed Bob to keep his volume at a threateningly cold low “I’m a Spacer, a pilot and a merc…. I don’t dress up in fancy clothes, play nice with others or pretend to be respected in this god forsaken galaxy” Bob’s menacingly slow steps closing the distance between him and the disrespectful wretch on his knees.
The Junior Official held back his cries of pain in fear of again interrupting the stranger that seemed willing to cold-bloodedly shoot him dead; without concern “but I can out shoot and out think you to such a degree you are but a stain of unwanted human bile under my military grade boot” Bob’s glare and words as dangerously charged as his pirate blaster “and you should know, I sent the last little prick that interrupted me straight to hell, fast lane style” the blaster’s barrel resting on the wretches’ forehead, steam rising as it burned his sweat soaked skin.
With Bob standing over the failed attempt of a human being, the Junior Official’s wide eyes welled up, a fresh set of tears streaking down his pain ridden face “I’m… I only… She was meant…” a hint of the man’s original anger creeping back. Bob noticed a trembling hand drifting towards some pitiful excuse of a stun gun, continuing in that cold dead tone “Leave now, and if I ever have to endure your presence again…” Bob’s contempt crystal clear, he didn’t even bother to complete the threat.
Despite the hole in his leg, a nice little burn on his forehead and having nearly collapsed in shock, not forgetting paralysing fear, it took the Junior Official only as long as Bob’s quickly paced stride back to his still warm bar stool, to crawl out of sight. Bob took his place next to Blondie, stonily glaring forward at the bottles lined up behind the bar as he wasn’t able to face her just yet for fear of his reaction “And that’s why you picked the most sober person in the joint to strike up a conversation with…”
Part 4 Tenth drink and ‘everything else takes care of its self’