I walked into O'Shaunesee's (pronounced like the Irish say it) Bar and Grill with nothing more on my mind than a cold pint and maybe some darts with a chum or two. As I sidled up to the clear space at the bar for ordering drinks, I said, "give me a Jamison," and dropped a $20 on the counter. As my drink was laid in front of me, I added, "keep the change." This had always worked as a way for bartenders to remember me and keep my drinks coming. As I raised the slightly headed beer to my lips, I noticed a wee lass over to one side. She appeared to be crying.
Being older, past 60, and the father of two daughters myself, I started over her way. There was an empty stool next to her. "May I," I asked gently, not wantint to startle her or make her feel uncomfortable? She barely glanced up at me but she nodded slightly. As I pulled my old bones up on the stool, I noticed that all the napkins in front of her were soaked so I pulled out my hankie and handed it to her. "Here, little lady, maybe this will help."
She looked at me again, then her eyes dropped to the cloth I held in my hand. She gave me a wee smile as she took it from my hands. "Shirley," she said, as matter of frankly as if I had asked. "George," I replied. As I sat looking at her in silence, wondering in my own head what could be distressing her, I noticed the makeup around one of her eyes was smudged. I reached over, placing my hand on her chin, and turned her face full toward me. It was obvious that someone had been using her face as a punching bag. "Who did this to you," I asked, my voice rough with emotion.
"I did," a loud and venomous voice replied from behind me. "What you gonna do about it, old man?" I felt Shirley cringe at the sound of the voice and her chin pulled away from my hand. I slowly turned on the stool until I faced the bastard to whom the voice belonged. I had to look up to get a full view for the man stood at least 6 foot 2 inches and looked like he weighed a good 250 lbs. He was built like a football player, broad shoulders, barrel chest, a slightly protuding pot belly though it was obvious it had at one time been solid muscle. His arms and legs looked like the branches and trunk of a mature oak tree. I started to get up off the stool but he planted a beefy paw on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "I asked you a question, old man. You chose to step in the shit, now you can grovel in it."
"Please take your hand off my shoulder," I said softly. The room had quieted around me but as I glanced around, more looking for who might be with this gentleman than who might be my ally. "What did you say," he asked?
"I asked you to take your hand off my shoulder," I repeated. Now you could hear a pin drop in the room.
"Or ...," he said, the word itself sounding like a threat to my safety. It was time to do or die I told myself, praying it wouldn't be die, at least not yet. I looked up into his face, his eyes slightly dimmed by the amount of alcohol he had probably consummed during the night. Without another word, my right hand shot across my chest, crossed his hand, and my fingers closed on the outside of his palm. A hard twist back toward my chest and his hand popped off my shoulder, clasped in my fingers. My left hand came up and joined my right, my thumbs next to each other, making the hold look like a butterfly. I gave a hard twist toward his chest and his demeanor immediately changed as he sank toward his knees. I could feel his strength and power beginning to gather in response. "You little bastard," he spoke outloud. "You're dead."
I applied fast and hard pressure and felt the ligaments in his wrist let go. His eyes, dense before, became crystal clear until pain caused them to cloud once again. His left hand came up in a swooping hook. I twisted his right arm to the left and felt his elbow snap. It doesn't take much pressure on such a vital joint. This move also dropped him completely to his knees, his left fist slamming into the bar instead of my head. His mouth was moving but there weren't any words coming out.
"We can be done here, young man, or ..."
"Fuck you," he bellowed, interrupting me. He tried to rise from his knees. I twisted to the left and down and felt his shoulder pop out of place as he went down to the floor, his face resting in the residue of other peoples shoes. I placed my knee just behind his shoulder and twisted his arm up behind his back like a chicken wing. He was starting to hyperventilate from the pain. I took his other arm and brought it up behind his back as well, both now held in place with my knee. "Anybody got some cloth or something I can tie him with?"
A pretty scarf drifted down across my view. I glanced up because I had seen that material wrapped around Shirley's neck. She was holding it out with one hand. "It was a gift from him, but I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."
I smiled at her and took the offering, tying his wrists tight behind his back, looping it around one foot as well. As I stood up, the crowd broke into a loud cheer, several hands clapping me on the back, voices offering me drinks.
"Call the police, will you," I said to the bartender who had received my tip.
"Already done, partner," he replied, "and drinks on us for the rest of the night." The room burst in a loud cheer that nearly raised the roof. "Not for all you idiots, just him." The cheers changed into boos immediately.
"Thank you, George," Shirley said from her stool, while pointing at the one I had vacated. "Please join me again, won't you." I smiled at her as I sat down, just as two policemen came through the door.
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Watch for Chapter two soon
Mutz (0)
6/12/2014 10:35 AMGood story, sounds like you been practicing Aikaido. Lots of excellent ways to disable a bully without breaking the furniture.
Guysmiley (40 )
5/18/2012 11:52 PMI walked into O'Shaunesee's (pronounced like the Irish say it) Bar and Grill with nothing more on my mind than a cold pint and maybe some darts with a chum or two. As I sidled up to the clear space at the bar for ordering drinks, I said, "give me a Jamison," and dropped a $20 on the counter. As my drink was laid in front of me, I added, "keep the change." This had always worked as a way for bartenders to remember me and keep my drinks coming. As I raised the slightly headed beer to my lips, I noticed a wee lass over to one side. She appeared to be crying.
Being older, past 60, and the father of two daughters myself, I started over her way. There was an empty stool next to her. "May I," I asked gently, not wantint to startle her or make her feel uncomfortable? She barely glanced up at me but she nodded slightly. As I pulled my old bones up on the stool, I noticed that all the napkins in front of her were soaked so I pulled out my hankie and handed it to her. "Here, little lady, maybe this will help."
She looked at me again, then her eyes dropped to the cloth I held in my hand. She gave me a wee smile as she took it from my hands. "Shirley," she said, as matter of frankly as if I had asked. "George," I replied. As I sat looking at her in silence, wondering in my own head what could be distressing her, I noticed the makeup around one of her eyes was smudged. I reached over, placing my hand on her chin, and turned her face full toward me. It was obvious that someone had been using her face as a punching bag. "Who did this to you," I asked, my voice rough with emotion.
"I did," a loud and venomous voice replied from behind me. "What you gonna do about it, old man?" I felt Shirley cringe at the sound of the voice and her chin pulled away from my hand. I slowly turned on the stool until I faced the bastard to whom the voice belonged. I had to look up to get a full view for the man stood at least 6 foot 2 inches and looked like he weighed a good 250 lbs. He was built like a football player, broad shoulders, barrel chest, a slightly protuding pot belly though it was obvious it had at one time been solid muscle. His arms and legs looked like the branches and trunk of a mature oak tree. I started to get up off the stool but he planted a beefy paw on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "I asked you a question, old man. You chose to step in the shit, now you can grovel in it."
"Please take your hand off my shoulder," I said softly. The room had quieted around me but as I glanced around, more looking for who might be with this gentleman than who might be my ally. "What did you say," he asked?
"I asked you to take your hand off my shoulder," I repeated. Now you could hear a pin drop in the room.
"Or ...," he said, the word itself sounding like a threat to my safety. It was time to do or die I told myself, praying it wouldn't be die, at least not yet. I looked up into his face, his eyes slightly dimmed by the amount of alcohol he had probably consummed during the night. Without another word, my right hand shot across my chest, crossed his hand, and my fingers closed on the outside of his palm. A hard twist back toward my chest and his hand popped off my shoulder, clasped in my fingers. My left hand came up and joined my right, my thumbs next to each other, making the hold look like a butterfly. I gave a hard twist toward his chest and his demeanor immediately changed as he sank toward his knees. I could feel his strength and power beginning to gather in response. "You little bastard," he spoke outloud. "You're dead."
I applied fast and hard pressure and felt the ligaments in his wrist let go. His eyes, dense before, became crystal clear until pain caused them to cloud once again. His left hand came up in a swooping hook. I twisted his right arm to the left and felt his elbow snap. It doesn't take much pressure on such a vital joint. This move also dropped him completely to his knees, his left fist slamming into the bar instead of my head. His mouth was moving but there weren't any words coming out.
"We can be done here, young man, or ..."
"Fuck you," he bellowed, interrupting me. He tried to rise from his knees. I twisted to the left and down and felt his shoulder pop out of place as he went down to the floor, his face resting in the residue of other peoples shoes. I placed my knee just behind his shoulder and twisted his arm up behind his back like a chicken wing. He was starting to hyperventilate from the pain. I took his other arm and brought it up behind his back as well, both now held in place with my knee. "Anybody got some cloth or something I can tie him with?"
A pretty scarf drifted down across my view. I glanced up because I had seen that material wrapped around Shirley's neck. She was holding it out with one hand. "It was a gift from him, but I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."
I smiled at her and took the offering, tying his wrists tight behind his back, looping it around one foot as well. As I stood up, the crowd broke into a loud cheer, several hands clapping me on the back, voices offering me drinks.
"Call the police, will you," I said to the bartender who had received my tip.
"Already done, partner," he replied, "and drinks on us for the rest of the night." The room burst in a loud cheer that nearly raised the roof. "Not for all you idiots, just him." The cheers changed into boos immediately.
"Thank you, George," Shirley said from her stool, while pointing at the one I had vacated. "Please join me again, won't you." I smiled at her as I sat down, just as two policemen came through the door.
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Watch for Chapter two soon