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The Bar

Kyle J Cisco

    The roar of motorcycles thundered through the center of town like clockwork, like an afternoon storm. Shop doors closed with a chorus of audible thuds. The thundering continued as the volume of the cacophony grew.
    Riley O’Brien stood at the bar as the town grew silent. Sweat built on his palms as he fingered the handle of the sawed-off shotgun under the bar. The door burst open, smashing the window that sat in the middle of its thick wooden frame. Three large figures stepped into the bar with the sun beaming in behind them. Frozen in fear, Riley ducked behind the bar. He reached out and grasped for the sawed-off shotgun. Two large hands pulled him up and over the bar, and hurled him into a wooden table. It cracked under Riley as if it were made of paper.
    “So, first you don’t pay me? Now you were goin to try and kill me?” said the larger of the three men. “Ya know who I am don’t ya? Well, in case you don’t know I’m the guy who runs this fucking town.”
    “Yea, no one disrespects, Bud, and lives,” said the smaller of the other two.
    As the door swung closed, he noticed the red and black of the Murder of Crows M.C on their biker jackets. The two men moved to either side of Riley, leaving their boss to face him down from the front.
    “It’s like I told you the last time. I don’t pay protection money to no one. Not you goons or anyone else around ’ere,” Riley said as he stood his ground preparing for what he figured would come next. “Now get out of here before you, and your boys’ get themselves hurt.”
    “Ya got balls, kid,” Bud said
    Riley gave no response at first, just continued to back up. He stopped abruptly as he bumped into the pool table in the back of the bar. Riley put his hands on it leaning against it for support. They began to shake with the buildup of adrenaline.
    “Nowhere to run, kid, either pay up, or we can show you how dangerous this town can be.” Bud held a hand in the air, and the two other men began to close in on Riley.
    Riley removed his hat and placed it on the pool table. He always thought not to disrespect the uniform by wearing the hat in a fight. There on the front the Afghanistan campaign medal spread across the hat. “If we have to.” Riley turned to face the man to his left, and the pool stick he pulled from the table flew into the side of the man’s head. Caught by the utter surprise the man writhed in pain on the ground. Riley spun on his heels connecting the stick with the other man’s skull. The second man hit the ground in a shower of splinters from the shattered pool cue.
    Bud in turn grabbed a bottle from a nearby table smashed it, leaving the edges jagged. Then jumped into combat with the younger man. Unaware of just how much danger he was now in.
    Riley dodged the biker’s lazy thrust, caught Bud’s wrist, stepped in across Bud’s leg, and tossed him over his shoulder into a different table. The thud was loud as other glasses were sent crashing into the floor. Riley placed his boot at the fallen man’s neck. He began to apply pressure to the man’s windpipe.
    “As you said, ya better watch out this place could be dangerous for those who don’t know what they are getting into.” Riley turned to the other two men. “Get the hell out of here! And take your boss with ya. Next time y’all come around ’ere I’ll kill him.”
    Scrambling to reclaim their fallen boss, the two men moved with purpose to the door and exited. Riley made his way back to the shotgun, shucked a round into the chamber, ducked, and took position till the roar of engines started once more, peeling out from the front of the bar.

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