Hands
The bar was mostly empty on a Wednesday night. Some regulars sat on their preferred stools by the counter with their favorite alcoholic beverages in front of them. One of them had a lit cigarette between his fingers. He was an older man, in his 40s. His hair was black and peppered with gray. His brown eyes were focused on the tv that was mounted on a wall nearby. There was a basketball game going on between the home team and a fiesty opposing team. He had been watching the scores between the two go back and forth like an intense game of ping pong.
A few stools down was a young lady who was still a freshman in college. She had an orange vape pen against her lips, taking a drag of it before exhaling a cloud that smelt of syrupy pancakes. You can tell things weren't going well for her. Her eyes were puffy and red from just crying. She sniffled and brushed her short blonde hair back with her free hand. She had about 6 empty shot glasses in front of her.
The bartender walked up and started to collect some of the glasses. He was the tallest person in regards to height in the bar. He wore a pair of red frames glasses on his face and through the lenses, you could see the look of concern for the young lady in his eyes.
"Marcy. Sweetie. I think you've had too much." The bartender's voice was deep, but gentle. He continued to move the glasses away from the girl, Marcy, who shot him an annoyed look in response.
She started to reply, leaning forward on the counter and resting her elbows on them. "Listen, Terry. I'm gooood. Okayyy?" She slurred as she spoke, having a hard time keeping her elbows balanced in the surface in front of her.
The man smoking his cigarette chuckled as he heard Marcy. His eyes went from the TV to her. "Marcy, girl. No offense- but you lookin like shit right now." He had a southern accent, that complimented the thick mustache that was neatly groomed on him. "Why you here again anyways? Ain't you got better place to be?"
Marcy spun on her stool to face the man. "OH, my God, Booker! Are you going to treat me like a baby too?! I'm a grown ass woman!" Her arms flailed after yelling at him.
"You crying cause of that stupid boyfriend of yours? What he do? Sleep with another one of your lady friends by accident? Blamed it on the alcohol again this time too?" Booker took a drag of his cigarette, blowing some smoke toward Marcy before tapping it over a red ashtray on his table.
"Screw you, Booker! You don't know anything about love. You're probably here every damn day, drinking your ass off before you go home and jerk off into a sock!" Marcy made an obscene gesture of wanking off and throwing her imaginary jizz into the air toward Booker.
Terry groaned and held his hands up, a palm facing both of the customers. "Calm down, you two. If you keep this up, I'm going to have to kick you both out." Terry wasn't just a regular guy. He had a build that showed he worked out at the gym. He could probably strong arm most people out of the bar with no issue. He was hoping it wouldn't come to that. Marcy wouldn't be a problem to deal with but Booker was someone he didn't want to attempt that with. Booker was pretty well built too and Terry knew about his past. He was not one someone one should try to tussel with.
"You're both established customers here. I like you both, so for all our sakes, let's keep it civil." Terry glanced in Booker's direction. With a smirk, Booker inhaled the cigarette sharply through the corner of his lips.
"Yeah, Terry. You got it." He said while smoke escaped his lips. "And Marcy, girl- you know it ain't nothing but love for you. Just hate seeing you this way is all."
Tears were streaming down Marcy's face again. She was choking back sobs, trying not to have a complete breakdown in front of these two men. Terry sighed heavily, grabbed a napkin and walked it over to the lady. She snatched it up and rubbed her face with it before facing Booker. "I'm fine. Okay? Just... Just mind your own busine-" Marcy suddenly started to sway before falling off of her barstool and hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
"Well, shit." Booker ran out of his seat and dashed toward her while Terry jumped over the counter like an action hero, landing carefully beside Marcy. He leaned down and placed his fingers on her neck. There was a pulse. Booker stopped about a foot away from them. "She alright then? Guessing she's just drunk as hell."
Terry glanced over and nodded. "Poor girl. That boy's been nothing but terrible to her. She's going to throw her life away for such a scumbag."
Booker, as worried as he was for Marcy, still held the cigarette in his hand and had to take another hit to calm his nerves. "All I heard about that prick is bad news."
Terry rubbed his forehead as he looked down at Marcy and then back at Booker. He wasn't sure what to do. "Should I call an ambulance?"
Booker shook his head. "She's fine right? Just drunk."
Marcy's voice suddenly erupted from her throat. "I'm not drunk, you're drunk, you douche bags..."
"See." Booker snickered and then shrugged. He put his cigarette out on empty ashtray nearby and then moved closer to Marcy to pick her up in his arms. "Can you walk or do I gotta carry you like the damsal you are?"
Marcy's eyes were half opened as she stared at Booker. She barely had the energy to say, "You're not my dad..." Before passing out.
Terry sighed again. "Book, you good to take her home again? I hate asking you to do this but I know you're trust worthy. Not the first time."
Booker nodded toward Marcy's vape pen that was on the floor. Terry picked it up and slipped it into one of the pockets on Booker's black jacket. "Yeah. I don't know why she came in here drinking alone again. I know she trust us but I could be a bad guy, right? Look at me."
"She knows you're not. That's why she drank the way she did. She trusts us, I suppose." Terry shook his head. He knew Booker for years and always understood he was a good guy. Besides his rugged look and his passion for stirring up trouble, Booker wasn't a scumbag in his eyes.
"Right. Put my drinks on her tab. She's got money for it." Booker snickered before walking toward the bar's exit with the blacked out Marcy in his arms. Terry moved to hold the door open for them to walk through. "You sure you're good to drive?"
"I didn't have more than a swig of the beer. Sides', she's not too far from my place." Booker nodded.
"Call the bar when you get her home safe, please?" Terry asked politely, but eyed Booker as if they were directions to follow.
"Of course, Terry. Of course. She's in my safe hands. Literally."
