No one really wanted to work there. The place had a rep as a hard core biker bar. The owner “The Saint”, came in every afternoon to pick up the money, stock, take inventory, and check up on the place. He came with the blue money bag and a hand gun carried visibly in front of the bag, in case anyone had any ideas about ripping him off. He drove up in his cherry red Corvette convertible with his gorgeous blond Playboy model girlfriend at his side.
The Saint had done his time in Vietnam. So the story goes, he was a platoon leader and all his guys were getting high when the Cong attacked. He lost several men that day and turned into a hard case anti-drug hard ass. He came home with a purple heart which he said he did not deserve. Lord knew why he wanted to own this dive?
The bikers were not only dealing drugs there, but they were shooting up and selling pussy too in the back room where only certain people were allowed to go. The Saint closed his eyes to all of this or maybe he was just blind stupid. Hell, maybe the cops were using this place to ferret out information. Who knew? But he walked in every day with that hand gun and his money bag.
There was a bouncer for the night shift and a sawed off shot gun behind the bar in case things got rough. “Look there,” the bouncer said as he pointed to the holes in the ceiling and the wall across from the bar. “That’s when we had to fire off a couple of shots one night,” he explained. “The first shot is rock salt, the second one is buck shot. It doesn’t matter where you aim, just cock it and shoot. People will get the clue.” The first thing Kristie did when she walked in for her shift was to place a bar towel over the shot gun so she wouldn’t have to look at it.
The Saint was fastidious about the inventory and stocking. He had very strict rules. The bartender was not allowed to give even one beer away without getting caught. Other bars where she had worked expected that the bar maid might give away two or three beers during the night to favored customers. As long as no one over did it, it was ignored. Saint made it very clear that any beers that were given away would lead to dismissal.
Saint also had spies who told him everything that went on there. Spider was a spy who had convinced the bartenders that since he was such a good friend of the Saint, he should get free beer. Whoever fell for this line ended up getting the beer deducted from their salary or getting fired.
Spider was a big mean Mexican with a pot belly and a missing front tooth, but there was something about him that was oddly seductive and repulsive at the same time. He looked like he could have stepped out of the villain role in a Few Dollars More. Of course he dealt drugs: reds, whites, smack, pot, acid, dolls… any which way you’d care to go – upwards, downwards, or sideways. He would pimp out his girlfriend for a pack of cigarettes.
Spider fancied himself a great pool player… and you had to be careful if you won because then he might accuse you of cheating and then kick your ass or shoot you… and then there was his knife which he kept sheathed at his side. Kristie’s current boy friend, Mick, a very decent pool player with his own custom made stick, lost more than a few games on purpose so as not to stir the pot. Mick didn’t like Kristie working there, so he hung out more than he would normally do just to keep an eye on things.
Some of the guys were having a party one night, so Mick and Kristie stopped by just to say hello. Walking in was like entering a bad dream. Everyone was past being passed out. The front door and all the windows were wide open, but no one was around. The music was blaring the same LP over and over again, Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On? A sofa and other furniture had been moved out onto the lawn. Three people were passed out in the yard. Inside the remnants of cheese, crackers, chips and salsa were covering a big table in the dining room along with numerous empty bottles of beer lying this way and that.
A few chairs were up against a wall here and there. In one bedroom a guy was passed out with two chicks on either side of him… also passed out. In another bedroom at least eight people were frozen in various sexual positions as if Vesuvius had erupted in a brothel and this was what they had dug up. In a hallway alcove on a twin bed, Spider was naked with his little skank passed out on top of him. Basically no one was awake – they might have all been dead for all they knew.
“Let’s get out of here,” Kristie said and Mick agreed. They had been careful not to touch anything just in case the worst had happened.
The next night at Saint’s was like normal. All the players were there getting a taste of the hare. Mick stayed with Kristie all night carefully losing at pool and slowly sipping his beer. “I don’t like you working here. You’re not safe.”
They developed a plan. When Spider came in starting in on his spiel about how he should get free beer because he was such a close friend of the Saint, Kristie gave him one and then another… which led to a six pack. Two days later when Saint confronted her about it, she lied and said she didn’t do it. The skank confirmed his suspicions, “I saw her do it.” He fired Kristie on the spot.
(First published 11/01/11)
