2

 

 

I must not have been out long, because when I came to my senses, I was still in the bar. I heard a lot of feet scuffling across the floor, but couldn’t tell what direction. Maybe it was all directions.

My head throbbed.

There were voices, too. A mess of them, coming from all sides.

“Did you see that? His nose freakin’ exploded.”

“I saw. It exploded all over on my new shirt.”

“Get him out of here!”

“This is better than Roadhouse.”

“Nothing’s better than Roadhouse.”

“I said, get him out of here! The cops will be here any second.”

I slid my hands and my right knee under my body and pushed up. The movement made me dizzy, so I paused to get right. When everything settled into place, I struggled to stand up.

Someone pushed me from behind, right into the stools again. This time, my head whiplashed into the side of the bar, and things went fuzzy again.

I lay there, unable to move. The fight was over, I was pretty sure. I tried to bite back a groan, but a long, pitiful one slid out of my throat anyway. Darkness was slowly closing over my left eye. I reached up to rub it and winced as soon as my fingers touched the skin.

Damn, that guy punched hard.

More voices.

“Look at him. Boy is messed up.”

“Kinda chicken shit, pushing him from behind like that.”

“What do you care? He’s an asshole.”

And further away.

“We good? Yeah? Then toss the guy out.”

I recognized that one. It was the same voice that said to get me out of the bar just a few moments before. The bartender, or the manager. Or hell, maybe the owner of the place. You never know when someone gets behind the bar. People like it back there. Some kind of authority to it.

I reached up to the bar top and pulled myself slowly upward. I was about halfway up when a pair of strong hands grabbed my jacket in two places.

“Up you go, troublemaker.”

“Get your hands off me,” I slurred.

“Stagger this way,” he said. He pushed me out in front of him and walked me forcefully toward the door.

“Lemme go.”

“In a couple seconds.”

I reached behind myself and tried to strike at him, but he had me at a disadvantage. Several, actually. He had position on me, and momentum was on his side, too. Plus, from the sound of his voice, he wasn’t drunk. Hell, he was probably bigger and stronger, too. Why not?

“Watch the door,” he grunted, then planted my face into it. The door flung open and we powered through it.

“Lemme go,” I repeated.

“Don’t come back,” he warned, and gave me a hard shove.

I lurched forward. My foot caught on something, and I tripped. My head crashed into the pavement, and it was lights out for the second time.