The Big O Saloon

The attentions of all in the smoke filled bar room were directed towards the women dancing in the center of the bar, men and women both throwing coins in their direction.  Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters and dollar coins, 5 dollar coins, and ever some 10 dollar coins.  Many of these had been subdivided to create smaller bits, or 1/5 of a 5 dollar coin, or 2/10 of a ten dollar coin.  An unspoken contest had broken out between the two dancers.  Dancing harder, faster, more sensually in an attempt to win the attention of the lustful drunk men surrounding them, not because they wanted these men's attention, but their money.  One woman was clearly in the lead and continued to skillfully shuffle her feet to collect the money she was getting and maybe even a little of the other womans into her pile away from the prying hands of others and continue to please.  Coins clanged across the floor, the music throbbed and the women sweat. 

A man, hardly ambulatory, black bearded, beer bellied stumbled out the back door.  Wobbling toward the forest line behind the underground bar tucked way back in the country he began undoing his pants.  As the excess liquid flowed, he noticed a glint of moonlight reflecting off of something metallic several yards into the woods.  Grunting he finished up and elevated his zipper.  He started off into the woods, tripping over thick vines,   gingerly removing thorns from his flannel shirt and blue jeans.  A car rested silently in a small glade.  A large tree was down right in the man's path which he knew would have been nearly unsurmountable in a sober state.  He looked to the left and right and saw to his distaste that the tree had been down long enough to foster a grove of thorny vines on either side.  He leaned his barrel chest against the trunk of the large downed oak.  Clumsily he lifted his right leg up and on top of the oak and pulled.  He found himself then on top of the tree, straddling it like a bull and he felt the world spin much as if he had just mounted a bucking bull.  Placing his two hands in front of him for balance he belched and looked around assured of his grasp; he was alone in the woods.  He started the laborious and somewhat comical effort to relinquish control of this great oak.  He started by placing his head close to the trunk of the tree and laying flat along the trunk; it smelled of rotting wood.      He had imagined himself swinging his feet around and then slowly slipping off to a gentle landing on his feet.  Gravity and drink had a different idea though.  He slid bodily off the log, crashing through thorny vines to rough and bloody landing.  He lay and groaned.  He set his jaws against the task and pulled himself up and walked towards the car.

He walked around the car surveying the area.  Satisfied he leaned his back against the car's trunk, and lit a cigarette.  After two or three long drags he turned slowly and placed his elbows against the red trunk of the Cadillac.   The faint red light of his cigarette illuminated a ghastly image in the back seat of the car.  A severed head with lips twisted in pain stared back into the mans eyes.  Screaming a loud he backed quickly from the car tripping over a root and crashed to the ground.  He stood, suddenly sobered and turned towards the bar.  He ran and deftly cleared the tree which had been such a difficult task before hand.  Ran headlong through thorns but steeled by fear and adrenaline he ignored the painful digging sensations as they ripped through his skin.

He burst into the back room of the bar and screamed.  Out of breath, sweating, and bloody he created a ghastly image of his own.  Between sucking breaths he yelled into the bar that there was a dead body in the woods.  The music stopped, a few men went out to look and others continued drinking; business as usual.  The more successful woman was clearly agitated and began to quickly gather the coins she had amassed, stuffing them into her purse and watching the looks of the men around.  The other woman took note which encouraged her to dance more to try and gather the men's attention; the music had started by then.  Several men booed the woman who had stooped to collect her things.  This caught the attention of one of the men.  

As she walked away from the bar in a quick trot, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her closely to him.  She punched him quickly in the jaw and continued her exodus.  He grabbed her again, this time making sure to gain control of both arms.  

"You have a car out there with a severed head in it, miss?" He asked with faux politeness.  She continued to struggle and kneed him in the crotch and left him groaning on the floor.  She made it out the door and heard the sirens.  Though this was a an underground bar there was certain level of understanding between the local cops and the proprietor.  The cops turned a blind eye to certain illegal activities of the bar in exchange for information just like this.  It made for some angry patrons at times when their problems were aired out to the cops, but the bar could afford to do that; it was the only thing of its kind in the surrounding 5 counties; new patrons always came.

The recently kneed man got out the door in time to see her in a dead run towards the woods opposite the car.  He chased after and cut her down with a tackle.  

"Shut up and listen, I ain't exactly in good with the pigs either," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large handful of coins, "there's more where this come from and it's here.  You wait just a while and i'll grab it and we can be on our way."

"Why should I trust you?  Get the fuck off!" She scratched and fought, a cornered animal is a dangerous one.

"Laura, the dead man in your car, I was after him too.  I've been following you since Port James.  I was contracted to kill Frank.  You throw in with me and we might have a chance to make some money."

At the mention of all this she stopped struggling.  She turned her head towards to low rise of hill in front of the bar and saw the first hints of lights coming over it.  The sirens were much louder.  "Ok, let's go."  She said, not all together trusting but clearly in a spot where trust was not as important as other things.  

The man ran quickly to the trash can just outside the bar, reached in and pulled out a brown leather saddle bag full of coins.  Laura had just made it to the edge of the woods and was hiding crouched behind a tree.  He ran across the parking lot to the woods.  The cops had crested the ridge and saw him running.  A 9mm bullet crashed into his knee sending him sprawling.  He stood to begin again but a rapid burst of automatic fire ripped into his side and he fell.  He flung the saddle bag towards Laura and pulled out a revolver, showing it to her.  He winked, hid it under his jacket and rolled onto his back.  Laura grabbed the bag and started to run.  She made it a few steps into the woods and turned back.  

"But, what's your name?" Her question was drowned out by a revolver being fired into the the group of officers checking the man for a pulse.  

"Thank you," she started to say.  But her words were drowned out by automatic weapons fire once again.  "Thanks you," she said again, this time her words were choked by emotion.

She turned and fled.