blocks away, so inevitably a few of them drifted into Rosie’s throughout the week, looking for a quiet night.
“Everybody twenty-one?” Will said.
The kid showed him his ID, sighing with the patience of a beleaguered saint. Legal less than a month.
“What about everybody else?”
“Yeah, man. Want me to get them?”
A weak bluff. Will thought about it; it was a Tuesday night, the shift was almost over, and the drawer was light. He decided he didn’t care. “Don’t worry about it.”
Someone put some money into the jukebox and Tom Waits filled the silence. The college kids huddled around the table once they got their drinks, their backs forming a wall against the world. They seemed to be fixated on something between them. They were a lot quieter than he thought they’d be, though, which he considered a blessing. The night continued along its smooth course until Eric and his buddies walked in, staining the mood. They’d obviously already been on the bar circuit that night, coming in with beers in hand, descending on the pool table. Eric lifted his chin to Will in greeting; his three friends didn’t trouble themselves.
“Hey Eric. You guys need anything?”
“We’re set for now, brother. Thanks.”
Eric was a little plug of muscle and charisma. He was the sweetest guy in the world when sober. When he was drunk, though, every human interaction became a potential flashpoint for violence. He lived in an apartment above the bar, so Will got to see that side of him a lot.
“How’s Carrie?” Alicia asked, drawing him back.
Will shrugged, feeling a surge of unanchored guilt. “She’s fine I guess. Head in the computer all the time, working on that paper she’s doing for school. Same as always.”
“You got yourself a smart one.”
Jeffrey perked up, caught in a wash of inspiration. “Hey, we should all go out sometime. Does she like football? We could go to a Saints game.”
The idea almost made him laugh. “No, man, she doesn’t like football.”
Alicia touched his hand. “That’s totally a good idea though. Let’s just hang out. I haven’t seen her in weeks. We could double date!”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t be a dick, Will. Make it happen.”
“I’ll suggest it to her. I’m telling you, though, she’s living her school work right now. I’m not even sure she remembers my name.”
“Make it happen.”
A bottle shattered somewhere by the pool table, followed by a muffled grunt. The bar went silent except for the sound of scuffling shoes and short bursts of breath, overlaid with a jaunty dirge from The Violent Femmes. Eric and one of the guys he’d come in with were grappled together, Eric’s arm around the other guy’s neck. He hit him in the face with three quick shots. The guy gripped the jagged neck of his beer bottle and swung it around to rake it across Eric’s arm. Blood splashed to the grungy linoleum.
“Goddamnmit!” Will said. “Somebody get that fucking bottle!”
Nobody wanted to get near them. One of the other guys Eric had come in with, some heavily muscled punk with his hat on backwards and some kind of Celtic tattoo snaking down his right arm, leaned against the pool table and laughed. “God damn , son,” he said.
Fights happened all the time, and sometimes you just had to let them play themselves out, but the jagged bottle elevated this to a higher level of calamity.
Eric wouldn’t let go of the guy’s neck. He hit him again a few more times, and when the bottle came around once more he took it on the cheek. Blood sprayed onto the floor, the pool table, across his own face. Eric made a high-pitched noise that seemed to signal a transition into another state of being, that seemed to carve this moment from the rational world and hold it separate. It seemed that another presence had entered the room, something invisible, some blood-streaked thing crawling into the light.
Jeffrey flew in from the sidelines, like some berserker canary in a sky full of
“Everybody twenty-one?” Will said.
The kid showed him his ID, sighing with the patience of a beleaguered saint. Legal less than a month.
“What about everybody else?”
“Yeah, man. Want me to get them?”
A weak bluff. Will thought about it; it was a Tuesday night, the shift was almost over, and the drawer was light. He decided he didn’t care. “Don’t worry about it.”
Someone put some money into the jukebox and Tom Waits filled the silence. The college kids huddled around the table once they got their drinks, their backs forming a wall against the world. They seemed to be fixated on something between them. They were a lot quieter than he thought they’d be, though, which he considered a blessing. The night continued along its smooth course until Eric and his buddies walked in, staining the mood. They’d obviously already been on the bar circuit that night, coming in with beers in hand, descending on the pool table. Eric lifted his chin to Will in greeting; his three friends didn’t trouble themselves.
“Hey Eric. You guys need anything?”
“We’re set for now, brother. Thanks.”
Eric was a little plug of muscle and charisma. He was the sweetest guy in the world when sober. When he was drunk, though, every human interaction became a potential flashpoint for violence. He lived in an apartment above the bar, so Will got to see that side of him a lot.
“How’s Carrie?” Alicia asked, drawing him back.
Will shrugged, feeling a surge of unanchored guilt. “She’s fine I guess. Head in the computer all the time, working on that paper she’s doing for school. Same as always.”
“You got yourself a smart one.”
Jeffrey perked up, caught in a wash of inspiration. “Hey, we should all go out sometime. Does she like football? We could go to a Saints game.”
The idea almost made him laugh. “No, man, she doesn’t like football.”
Alicia touched his hand. “That’s totally a good idea though. Let’s just hang out. I haven’t seen her in weeks. We could double date!”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t be a dick, Will. Make it happen.”
“I’ll suggest it to her. I’m telling you, though, she’s living her school work right now. I’m not even sure she remembers my name.”
“Make it happen.”
A bottle shattered somewhere by the pool table, followed by a muffled grunt. The bar went silent except for the sound of scuffling shoes and short bursts of breath, overlaid with a jaunty dirge from The Violent Femmes. Eric and one of the guys he’d come in with were grappled together, Eric’s arm around the other guy’s neck. He hit him in the face with three quick shots. The guy gripped the jagged neck of his beer bottle and swung it around to rake it across Eric’s arm. Blood splashed to the grungy linoleum.
“Goddamnmit!” Will said. “Somebody get that fucking bottle!”
Nobody wanted to get near them. One of the other guys Eric had come in with, some heavily muscled punk with his hat on backwards and some kind of Celtic tattoo snaking down his right arm, leaned against the pool table and laughed. “God damn , son,” he said.
Fights happened all the time, and sometimes you just had to let them play themselves out, but the jagged bottle elevated this to a higher level of calamity.
Eric wouldn’t let go of the guy’s neck. He hit him again a few more times, and when the bottle came around once more he took it on the cheek. Blood sprayed onto the floor, the pool table, across his own face. Eric made a high-pitched noise that seemed to signal a transition into another state of being, that seemed to carve this moment from the rational world and hold it separate. It seemed that another presence had entered the room, something invisible, some blood-streaked thing crawling into the light.
Jeffrey flew in from the sidelines, like some berserker canary in a sky full of
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