Smitty's

I don't just go for the easy targets; I'm a professional. I'm also a picky man; I have standards. Sometimes it takes all night to find the right gal but my daddy taught me the virtue that is patience and I know my waitin'll pay off. Good ol' daddy, he had the eye, the eye for picking the best apple in the bunch. Picking up a floozy little thing now would only soil his good name. No, I have to wait it out, try to find the needle in the haystack. It’s like fishing, really. If you reel in every time you feel the slightest nibble you’re going to come up empty-handed. What you have to do is drop your line and wait for the prize, the one that makes the whole trip worthwhile. You’ll scare all the fish in the sea if you’re too desperate and cast out every other minute. Me, I’m a patient fisherman. Of course, it helps when the fish are half-drunk.

Smitty’s is a nice place to go for a drink. Nice enough, at least. Smitty’s looks less like a bar and more like a hunting lodge. There’s steer horns and animal heads hanging all around the walls glaring down at you and everything from the décor to the patrons screams Texas, and Fox News is always on—it’s a republican’s wet dream. The country music plays softly and every few seconds the clash of the billiard balls roars like thunder alongside the sound of the pounding rain.

Even with it being busy tonight nothin’ catches my eye. None of the girls are giving me that burning feeling. People watchin's a nice way to pass the time though. There's a young yuppie couple with trendy clothes and expensive haircuts—certainly not from around here—sittin’ across one another at the table just off to my right. The girl’s got her yellow scarf on as tight as a noose. Her voice has the highest pitch I've ever heard in my life. I like it. I wonder how high she would scream if I pulled that yellow noose real tight. I can hear the guy going on about money and accusing her of being an adulteress and the like and he's leanin’ in real close to yell at her without drawin’ too much attention—it ain't workin'. Every time he curses he does so through clenched teeth and a slightly lowered head. It’s bad manners to curse in front of a woman, but at least he does it quiet enough so as not to disturb the other patrons.

“Why do you insist on making me look like a damn fool, Rachel? Don’t I do enough for you? Do you think I actually like having to talk about this shit? Well? Say something, for Christ’s sake”

Downright disrespectful, taking the Lord’s name in vain like that.

“I don’t know, Jacob. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what you want me—“

“You don’t know anything do you? You’re just a blissfully innocent little angel. Ha!”

His hand is placed firmly on hers and he's squeezin’ mighty hard and she’s trying as best she can to fight the urge to break down and cry. Her scarf lowers a bit on one side and a row of black and blue spots is just visible across the side of her neck. Her hand’s turning red now. How can she love a guy like him? What she needs is a real man, a man like myself. No, he's not the right one for her. He's an amateur. He makes me look bad. It's a damn shame, but it ain't my place to say anything.

Once in a while I try to chat up Will, the bartender, but he’s having none of it. I know it’s busy, but a barkeep is supposed to make a fellow feel comfortable, give him a laugh or two as he slips into drunkenness. I shouldn’t gripe about ol’ Willy though, he’s nice enough when the mood strikes him.

In fact, on more than one occasion Willy has led me to the prize of the night. When I first started coming to Smitty’s he would call me “Mr. Mystery.” He had a real friendly disposition towards me and he would point out all the trophy girls in the place. I suppose if I’m the fisherman than Willy’s the captain. He’s at the helm there behind the bar and points me in the right direction. Or at least he used to. It hasn’t happened in quite some time. He probably thinks it strange that every time I leave with a girl they never show up to the bar again. Probably stopped because it’s bad for business. He looks at me funny nowadays, like he’s keen on something he wishes he wasn’t, but I’m a loyal patron—hell, I probably order enough myself to keep the place running. He still gets me my drinks though, so I have to admire him for that.

And it’s not like I need Willy’s help. I’ve got instinct on my side. Every girl has a certain sound to her, you just have to listen for the right one to come along. Finding her is the hard part, after that it's smooth sailing. Nobody ever thinks it can happen to them. That's what people like me count on, what keeps the ball rollin' and the cum flowin'. A friend of mine used to say there just ain’t much thrill in sex if there’s no chase. I guess for me the chase is more fun if the gal is actually trying to run away. To each his own, right?

I find that by the second drink the gal's ready to take off, some sort of effort to preserve her dignity. It's always the same line, "I really should be going." Music to my ears. And from there the fun begins. The scream. That first shrill piece of music that flows vibrantly out her lungs and into my ears—beautiful. Every gals' scream is different but it always hits the same final note: silence. I don’t much care for the silence. It’s too…final. At that point the fun is over. But there’ll always be another fish in the sea. My daddy taught me that. He taught me a lot of things, gave me a lot of useful advice.

When I was little I had it bad for a girl who lived down the street. She was a year ahead of me but we rode the bus together. She was the quietest girl in the world. She didn’t so much as let out a peep. I tried as best I could to sit with her every morning. We’d ride along in silence, with me hoping I’d be the one she finally talked to, but she never once said a word to me. One day I was feelin’ extra courageous and I asked her if she wanted to play with me after school. She sat there, covered in silence, shook her head from side to side and looked out the window the rest of the way to school. Soon as I got home I started cryin’ and told my daddy what had happened.

“Son,” he said as he took off his hat and bent to one knee so we was eye to eye, “I know it hurts. I know that right now you feel about as low as can be. But trust me, someday you’re gonna grow up and have any girl you want. Nothin’ comes easy. If you want something, you have to take it. You just have to be patient. Patience and persistence, that’s what’ll get you the ladies. There’s more than one fish in the sea, you know? Forget about this one.”

And up until a few years ago I did forget about her. Then come one idle Tuesday in spring I see her walkin’ out of the grocery store. That same night was the first and only time I ever heard her make a sound.

By now I’m starting to get a bit restless and I've gone through half a pack of Marlboro and enough gin to start a car. Car. That reminds me...note to self: look into soundproofing the truck. That guy coming out of the bathroom, he looks like he knows a thing or two about trucks. He's got a mean ol' look though and I don't like talkin’ to people that can't even bother to look friendly.

There's this old man at the end of the bar and he's wearing this ratty old cowboy hat. It's angled down but I can still make out the deep dark lines on his face. Skin torn open, healed shut again and risen above the surface forming those dark scars. He has even more across his old worn-out knuckles. I wonder what he fought for: girls, money, justice, I don’t really know. He keeps glancing at me, the pool table, and then back at me out the corner of his eyes and I can’t help but think he’s going to pull out a gun and rob the place any second.

A cigarette is dangling lazily from his hard lips. The wrinkles around his mouth tighten up every time he takes a drag and he lets out the smoke in wisps that careen up and over the brim of that old hat. He keeps flipping this silver bottle cap onto the reddish-brown mahogany counter. The cap collides with the wood reverberating like the sound of glass. He's incessant. He flips it, he snatches it up, he flips it again, as consistent as the rain outside and the clashing of the billiards inside. He just keeps doin’ it and doin’ it and every time it leaves his dirty old thumb I want to jump up and smash a bottle across his fucked up redneck face. I want to take a shard and jam it into his neck and drag it up to his chin and watch the flesh tear open and hang loose. Like flaps. Like trap doors where his slimy crimson tongue can hang loose and the thick, dark blood can pour down it like it was a red slide. That noise! How can anyone stand that goddamned noise? Deep breath now...in...out...in...out...

Around midnight a skinny little brunette about my age walks up and sits beside me at the bar. She's got on a tiny skirt, tall boots and a short white shirt that reveals her midsection. Women in their thirties shouldn't be dressing like she is, but she's pretty. Pretty ain't always enough though. A girl's got to be sharp, have some wit about her. She orders a fruity drink from Willy and leans in toward me. Her whiskey-stained breath enters my nostrils and I can tell she's already drunk as can be—I darn near got a buzz just from her sigh. Anyway, she leans in, swaying slightly from side to side and she says to me, "You look like you've got a big ol' cock."

Soon as she said that I felt like slappin' her off the goddamn bar stool. A lady doesn't have to be a saint but she should at least be somewhat proper; this lady was a fuckin' cunt and a half. Taking a deep breath I put one hand on the bar and the other on her shoulder and whisper with a smile, "If you don't get the fuck out of my sight I'm gonna tie you to my truck and drag you till you look like tenderized meat. Then I'm gonna feed you to my dogs."

With her eyes half-closed she drunkenly peers up at me—I'm sure if I cut out her eyelids she'd have no trouble lookin’ at me. She says to me, "Listen, I'm sure your dogs are nice but I'm not nearly drunk enough to get into your truck. I'm not that easy Mr." With that she stumbles on toward a table in the back.

Some time passes and I’m lost in a sea of gin and happy thoughts. The clash of the billiards startles me and I turn around to see the two young guys at the pool table. They looked like brothers, twins almost, except that one was shorter than the other. They’re well-groomed and even wearing matching leather jackets and jeans. The shorter one reaches for the chalk and holds it between his thumb and index finger with his other fingers spread out wide like he was making the okay sign at his buddy. He places it lightly on the tip of his buddy's outstretched cue and twists it slowly back and forth, back and forth, eyes locked on his friends'. That’s when I knew what that old man at the end of the bar was lookin’ at: a couple of queers. Now I know what he fought for, why the scars on his knuckles are more prevalent than on his face. He fought to keep people like that out of town. My daddy used to say that a man becomes a faggot because his ego's been trampled on by a woman, and a man needs an ego to stay straight. A shrunken ego and a stretched asshole, that's all you get for being a fag. He and the old man would’ve broken the cues over their heads had he been in the bar with me. I don't agree with it, but it ain't right for me to judge.

That fuckin' old redneck drops his bottle cap on the floor and I hear it rollin’ under his chair. Before I have time to get up and cut him open I see her heading my way. Long auburn hair that ends in curls down her back, black silk cocktail dress and high heels—really dressed to the nines. Any other gal wearing that would stick out in the worst sort of way, but not this one. She has this air of confidence about her that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. Everything is swift and deliberate, nothing is without reason. She’s the reason I came out to Smitty’s tonight.

She takes a seat next to me and whispers in my ear in a low voice that gives me a quiver, "I've been watching you from across the bar. What's a sexy cowboy like you doing all alone? Maybe you should buy me a drink."

I'm head over heels. She's gutsy but she seems classy too. I look into her dark brown eyes and say, "Are you really worth a drink or just another girl looking for a free one?"

I place my hand on her shoulder. Her skin is so smooth to the touch. As I run my fingers down her exposed arm my mind goes blank and all I hear is the sound a crystal glass makes when you trace the rim with a wet finger. It’s emanating from her pores and piercing my ears in beautiful waves. She's the one; she's the lucky gal, the one I've been waiting on. Daddy would be proud. She has to be mine. I can't wait to have my hands wrapped tightly around her pretty little neck.

“Believe me, I’m not ‘just another girl,’” she says as she gently but forcefully pushes me away. She puts one petite hand up in the air. “Willy, vodka and cranberry juice if you don’t mind. It’s on my new friend here.” She turns back to me and flashes me a smile that could kill a lesser man. “And what about you?”

I tell Willy to bring me some more gin. She takes out a cigarette and I light it for her.

“Well aren’t you just a true gentleman?” She takes turns between puffing and sipping.

“I’m the last of a dying breed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, is that so? Well then I guess I’m lucky for meeting you tonight. That is, before you die out and there are no honest men left in the world.”

She places her hand gently on my thigh. "Tell me, are you anything special? Or have you just told yourself that for so long that you’ve finally started to believe it?”

She really caught me off guard with that one.

“Just because I have an ego doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”

“Well, vanity and insanity sort of go hand in hand, don’t you think?”

I try and give her my best cowboy smile. "Witty and pretty, I just might have to buy you a second drink."

“One will do just fine, thank you. I can’t have you thinking I’m easy.”

There’s somethin’ about her that’s making me ill at ease. I feel tiny talking to her. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

The sky lets out a howl of thunder. I can imagine the light on the sign outside flickering on and off like it’s got a short. Welcome to Smitty’s.

“So what brought you out on an awful day like this anyway?” I say to her.

She looks up at me with a deadly smile. “I came for you.”