Elbowing through the group at the bar skunk drunk John pokes his way to the counter. A glassy and insidious grin across his channeled face broadcasts to the world that I am his possession, and he orders his screw driver,
- make it strong, baby, you know how I like it!
I turn to mix his drink and I hear his inebriated hum inciting a slur exchange with the gypsy brothers on my behalf.
- so.. I see you guys come to a club to jerk off, eh?
- none of your business, man! Big gypsy brother replies all pumped up and ready to pounce on skinny underfed and intoxicated John.
- I’m going to make it my business, John mutters and then addresses me
- honey, make me a strong one like you always do! His words shift everyone’s attention on me. The most dreaded moment is on me and it seems unavoidable. I turn to give John his drink and he reaches out to grab my hand, I pull back in the nick of time leaving him empty handed. I bend over the sink to wash the glasses away from John and his drunken rambling. Washing glasses does not secure me a safe heaven, I am only feet away from an alcoholic cuss sail picking up steam and I’m getting sea sick, this has been a stormy long night. Just when I’m about to straighten my back I hear screams preceded by loud pops, more screams and a fast stampede for the narrow door which leads to Seneca Ave. Four five pops later John is standing alone gun in hand creepy gaze fixed on his spirits distorted face. Nada and I are totally petrified behind the bar. I feel a cloud of guilt and doom descending on my mind, how could I be so naïve? This guy is dangerous! Fighting my gloomy thoughts and my fear I walk over to John’s spot and I put my hand on his armed boney hand.
- John calm down, put the gun away, I whisper in a most calm and confident voice. I slowly reach out to remove the gun, and he tightens his grip.
- give it to me John, the cops are going to come soon, let me hide it.
- no, I keep my gun, he replies, and bends over o place it in his ankle holster, an entire night without sleep, smoke and alcohol suddenly get the best of John and he loses his balance ending on his right knee on the dirty bar carpet, gun flung out of his hand under a table near by. Nada helps John on his feet while I grab the gun and rush to hide it in the waste basket behind the bar. John, the 15 minutes cowboy, has lost the will to shoot and seems rather unaware of his wild west gun slinging bout, he now seems in need for his pillow. Nada decides we call it a night and leave before the neighbors call the cops.
While I’m glad no one got hurt and no arrest was made stuck with drunk out of his wits John is not a very happy perspective. At the end of Seneca avenue in my apartment rag doll John collapses on the couch and snores within minutes. I shower and get myself ready for bed thinking this is the end of me and gunslinger John Holiday.