Rough Night

Rough Night


Quinn’s footsteps shuffled on the barren streets. He had a rough night, that’s all. A few dollars and some credit cards stolen were nothing to worry about. Everything was just dandy. He started to pick up speed, heading towards his house. The night was cold and the stars that glittered brightly in the sky seemed to be icicles in the clouds themselves. He was running now, running fast straight into a crowd he hadn’t noticed. They had gathered in front of his house, he didn’t know if they had waited for him or if it was a coincidence.
Once he hit the crowd, the strangers thrusted him into the mob. They beat him to a bloody pulp, smashing his face and bruising his body. He couldn’t take it, he wouldn’t! Quinn pulled out a machine gun from his shoulder holster and haphazardly aimed it. Keeping his finger pushed on the trigger, he pumped every single one of the strangers full of the lead bullets. Afterwards, he made his way into his quiet and peaceful house to clean himself off as best he could.
After every drop of blood was washed off, the traces of an attack were still present. He decided to go to the local pub, The Elf Crown, where he could drink away his troubles. Dressed in clean clothes and ready to go, Quinn dropped his gun onto a nearby table and made his way outside.
Until now, he had forgotten the bodies that littered his driveway. Figuring anything he did probably wouldn’t help, he shrugged and left them. He lowered himself into his Volvo and peeled out onto the main road towards the pub. Minutes later he arrived in his fat-lipped glory.
He entered slowly – with a faint limp- so he could become accustomed to the dim lighting. The pub was packed, maybe because it was a Friday, maybe not. He found his way to an empty bar stool, a red cushion torn in various places with a gold crown embroidered in the center. Descending to the stool gently, Quinn ordered his first of what would most likely be many shots of whiskey. He was reluctant to start drinking now that he had it in his hand and he swirled it absently while scanning the room.
With the weak lighting, all was shadowed to his eyes. There was a comedian telling lame jokes in the back of the warmly furnished room. Maybe if he started drinking now, after the first 10 shots the jokes might just be a tad bit funny. He turned on his barstool and listened to the myriad of voices floating up to him. Directly behind him a deep voiced man commented, “Hey Marty, check it out. Cops are surrounding this place like there’s a killer on the loose!” Instinctively Quinn knew that they were out to get him.
His glass was raised halfway to his bruised lips when two cops busted through the pub’s doors. “Everyone, spread eagle on the floor!” one of the officers angrily shouted. A buddy of his backed him up by adding:
“Drop any weapons!”
Obediently, Quinn dropped to the floor, his arms and legs spread, his hands outstretched. Two more cops walked into the pub and traveled through the maze of frightened bodies that laid flat upon the cold wooden floor. They caught up to the other police and whispered harshly to each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw one of the officers aim directly at one of the customers with a gun. The shot echoed through the whole pub as did the terrified screams and whimpers of the visitors.
Next thing Quinn knew, everyone was getting shot at. He clambered up from his position on the floor and made his way unnoticed to the bar counter. Slipping behind it, he waited for the commotion to die down. Finally, the last shot was fired. He let out a relieved sigh.
“So we got ‘um all?” one of the officers asked.
“Guess so.” The answer was provided from an intimidating cop in full view of Quinn.
“Guess again, Johnny Boy.” A skinny man Quinn hadn’t seen before grabbed him from behind and lifted him up.
“Hmm… I never saw him.” one of the other cops that had shot the first person leveled a gun to Quinn’s chest.
Once Quinn saw the gun aimed towards his heart he knew he had to do something; not doing anything meant certain death. He grasped blindly behind him, and recognizing the soft feeling of fabric, thrusted the body of the skinny cop over his shoulder, sending him headfirst into the others.
The collision had caused a domino effect. All five of the cops were down on the soiled ground. Quinn ran out of the pub like rabid dogs were on his heels. Still running, he went all the way to his street again. Catching a glimpse of his house showed him that it was surrounded with police cars and flashing lights.
Looking to his left, he saw an old rusty dumpster. He knew that was the only place to hide for now so he jumped into it. In minutes he had himself fully covered in disgusting trash, but the good part was Quinn was pretty sure he was safe from cops and mobs that felt the need to abuse him. Hours later, he heard sirens pass him and he peaked out into the darkness of the night. The coast was clear so Quinn jumped out and made his way back to his house. The events of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders, he collapsed into a dreamless sleep.