I Want the Leader!
In Tampa one night, before 3 a.m., I noticed a woman staring at me.
In fact she was kind of … glaring, as though I’d done something improper. I couldn’t figure it out, so I ignored her. Larry and I continued playing pool, gulping our beers between turns. I was quite enjoying myself; pool made bars extra fun.
Suddenly that glaring woman rammed into me. “Excuuuuuse me!” she squealed delightedly. Then she laughed and walked back to her side of the bar, and changed back to glaring mode.
After our game, Larry and I both plopped down on our bar stools and the woman started staring at Larry. I saw her wink at him, and blow a kiss.
I looked at Larry, who was smiling but looking down.
“Do you know her?” I asked Larry, confused now.
“Never fuckin’ seen her in my life,” he said. “She’s just tryin’ to pick a fight.”
“With who?” I asked, perplexed.
“With you!” Larry looked at her and she blew another kiss and winked again, then glared at me. She was like a badly drawn cartoon.
Then I heard her voice again: “I want the leader!” she squealed. “I want him!” And she pointed directly at Larry, who was apparently “the leader” – of what, I’m not sure.
Then she glared at me and mouthed the word “bitch.”
It occurred to me that I was wearing giant skull rings, bulky and solid metal, so they’d be great for punching someone. But I didn’t have any desire to hit that girl. She was ridiculous.
“Take the pool cue,” Larry whispered to me.
“Huh?”
“The pool cue,” he said. “Ya gotta surprise her. Hit her with the pool cue.”
So, as instructed, I picked up a pool cue and walked around the bar to where the girl was sitting. Since I didn’t want to fight, I imagined I’d knock her out with one swing.
She stood up when she saw me coming, still blowing kisses, then laughed, “look at the little bitch!” And as she turned her head to say it, I cracked her across the back of her skull with the heavy part of the pool cue.
It actually knocked her down. Both of us were surprised.
While she was on the ground, I realized that I was rather angry – although not necessarily angry at her.
But the mere act of swinging that pool queue released something in me that I hadn’t really noticed before. Underneath my drunk, quiet exterior was enough rage to blow up a building.
Before she struggled to her feet, I hit her with the stick again, then kicked her in the face with my boot. When she then pulled herself onto her knees, I punched her in the jaw with that brutal metal skull ring. She reached out to grab my hair and missed, and I punched her in the nose, which bled immediately.
She went back down to the ground quickly. Everything happened in slow motion.
I became vaguely aware that people around me were yelling. Another girl was frantically waving the pool cue in my direction. Some guy was pushing at Larry, who brushed him aside with one arm and pulled me off the girl.
“We gotta go,” Larry said, his voice low and slow.
I was still kicking.
“We gotta go,” he repeated, ultra-calmly.
“I’m not done with my beer!” I said.
“They called the cops,” Larry said. “We don’t want to be here when the cops get here.”
So without my beer, we went outside, hopped on the bike, and roared away.