Chapter 10: Hot Times at O'brien's

It was jumping by the time we got there. I'd called ahead and asked the owner, a former professional boxer named O'Brien, if he could save a spot for me and he'd promised there would be a table or two when we got there.

Of course, some urban cowboys had spotted the tables, brushed off the objections of the waitresses trying to hold it for us and were sitting and being obnoxious when we walked in. Normally, O'Brien would have cleared them out, but he had his hands full with a catfight between two ladies over some guy in the back and the three cowboys were sitting leaned back in our chairs and drinking Longnecks.

Percy, Bobby, Percy's boyfriend and Chauvonne stood at one of the tables, looking at the cowboys with their store-bought Western duds but not saying anything.

As Gail and I walked up, I heard one of the bigger cowboys tell Percy, "No saving spots in O'Brien's sweetheart, everybody knows that. Why don't you and your girlfriend head downtown! There's a really NICE queer bar down there. Take the nigger and his bitch with you too, unless you want to get hurt."

Then he looked at Gail and me.

"Grandpa, you can sit on the other side of the table, if you'll let Big-Titty come over and sit down with us. What about it, darling? You look like you could, really, really use a real man right now. Been awhile, hasn't it?"

Gail looked at him and an evil grin spread across her beautiful features.

"There's a real man around here? Where? I could use a good night's hard fucking, but all I see are three candy ass punks that couldn't keep it up long enough to satisfy a high school girl, much less a woman. Can you even get hard?"

That's when the fun began.

Percy threw the biggest one across the bar, which was a considerable feat seeing as how it was 10 feet away. His friend hit Percy from the back and knocked him down. He couldn't have held him down, except the cowboys weren't alone and two more dived onto his back. Then Percy's friend dived in, and he was no small man.

The cowboy who'd insulted Bobby stood up and, in the same motion, threw his beer bottle at Bobby, who moved without realizing Chauvonne was behind him. The beer bottle hit with a solid 'thunk' and she went down holding her mouth. Bobby took one look, screamed and climbed over the table and began trying to beat the cowboy to death.

Another two cowboys jumped Bobby but all they did was to slow down the process of Bobby killing him.

"Oh, shit," I said, pushing Gail out of the way, and wading into the mess on the floor that was Bobby and three and now four of the cowboys and their friends. Like I said, I work out and stay in shape, and I'd boxed in the Army and then in the Police Athletic League for a few years when the Hunt Bank provided 95 percent of its funding.

The first cowboy I pulled off Bobby had a glass jaw. A straight right to the jaw sent him to the floor and he didn't even move again. The second one was a little tougher, but after I buried the point of my shoe into his balls, he lay down and didn't want any more.

"Hugh" I heard Gail scream. I was turning and saw something out of the corner of my eye. It looked a lot like a mug full of beer coming straight at my head. I'd seen a guy walk into one of those in a bar fight in Berlin back in the 70s – and he never got up again! This guy wasn't playing.

Except, it never reached its target. A hand grabbed it and stopped it in its arc. I backed away enough to see what was happening. A guy who was big enough that he didn't need the weapon – he had at least three inches over my 6-foot-2 – was poised to put my lights out permanently, but for the dark-haired guy who had stepped between us. He was about my height, maybe an inch shorter. He had the bruises to show he'd been in some serious disagreement in the not too distant past. He wasn't muscle-bound, but he looked like he kept in shape. Right now he was staring at the guy holding the mug.

"You don't want to do that! This was just a friendly brawl. You hit somebody with that, you're going away for a long time. Just walk away."

"Let me go you cocksucker, or I'll put you down before I take care of the old man. You got two seconds."

I heard a voice I recognized from behind me.

"I ought to let you try to take him, but I already lost one plate glass window last month and I don't want another riot in here tonight. Take a good look, asshole! You REALLY want to take him on?"

The tall backstabber took a closer look at the man holding his arm, then his glance flickered toward the front of the bar, where a long plate glass window ran the length of the establishment. Something ... some recognition, flashed in his eyes.

A short, dark-haired, limping guy more my age came forward, carrying a Louisville Slugger.

"If, by chance, you make it past G, I'll put you down myself. You still want to fight?"

The man with the mug, who looked more like a trucker than a cowboy, thought about it, then jerked his hand away and the man called "G" let him go.

"Fuck it, it's not worth it. There are plenty of better places to spend my money, my money and my friends' money."

"I'll hate to lose your business, but if that's the way you feel," and O'Brien pointed with the business end of the bat toward the front of the bar.

In five minutes a dozen cowboys and their friends had made their way out after making numerous promises to see the queer, the nigger and the old guy again. We just enraged them by pretending to shiver in fear. I know, I know, it was juvenile as hell, especially for an old fart like me, but it felt good.

Percy and his boyfriend rubbed the blood off each other's face and noses and Percy laughed as he caught Bobby's eye. Bobby had loved on Chauvonne's lip where the bottle had busted it, but it hadn't damaged any teeth.

Bobby turned to me as I sat next to Gail, "Hugh, you gotta stop dragging us to these dives. Two upstanding banking executives can't be going around kicking ass in low life dives."