- Nov 6, 2016
Come members, post your poetry here, original ones or some others have written. Lets bring this thread to life and show us your talents.....
This won't be poetry, but it will be a story and it likely will go further than one post.
And there will be nothing romantic, endearing or joyful to it
Just a short story I'll add to every so often.
Essentially, Johnny b's imagination run wild.
The Pencil Trick
Friday nights were among the busiest and most profitable nights at Mickey's. Whatever you wanted at Mickey's, legal or illegal, it was always available at a price. Cheap beer brought in the newbies, liquor and dope made the profits.
Dayton only had a minor reputation for violence in the night season, but Mickey ran a tight ship anyway. Mickey had come in from California, an ex-member of an outlaw biker gang with enough proceeds from drug dealing to start up a small men's nightclub in Dayton Ohio. Mickey kept the peace with an old Colt 45 Automatic. But he was fair. All you had to do was pay your bill and hold your temper until you got out the door.
The place wasn't much bigger than a hole-in-the wall setup
Naturally, the clientele was on the rough side.
There was a small 10 x 10 stage next to the bar with a shiny chrome pole for the dancers. This night, only two girls showed up to perform so Mickey told them to tease the audience slowly and stretch out their sets.
Behind the bar was a 6 foot one-way mirror. And behind that was Mickey's office where he kept an eye on the action but seldom came out unless there were problems because Mickey didn't like to socialize very much. Mickey was there to make money not friends.
It was a small office, but comfortable. The suitable desk and a decent office chair.
It was 10:30. Mickey had just brought the books up to date, so all he had to do was keep an eye on the crowd, read the Dayton Daily News and light up a cigar. Mickey learned from observation it wasn't wise to run a bar and drink the profits.
It was mostly regulars that night. Some old bikers. Several guys that worked construction. Even a couple guys in suits with their white collars open and their ties hanging loose.
For entertainment there were pole dancers and often several hookers that frequented the bar as long as Mickey got a percentage.
As sedate as things appeared this Friday night, things were about to get strange at Mickey's.
A slender white guy, in his early 30s, about 6 foot tall, full head of black hair in what can only be called a flattop walks into the bar. Nothing too far out of the ordinary. Blue jeans, slightly dingy white shirt open at the collar and a light gray sports jacket also open. No hat but a pair of what looked like almost new cowboy boots.
Slender guy approaches the end of the bar opposite the small stage and orders a beer. Rolling Rock to be specific.
There he spends the next hour nursing one beer and listening to conversations throughout Mickey's establishment.
Mickey started to notice this new customer after the first half hour suspecting that the guy's waiting for somebody. Thinking, this guy is not going to be a moneymaker tonight.
So, slender guy has been standing at the end of the bar for an hour sipping on what has become a warm beer, all the while facing that large mirror.
Slender guy turns his back to the bar and slowly leans back resting his elbows on it. Looking through the noisy din he finds his target. An old biker. About the biggest guy in the room. Wearing a well worn and faded cut with "Lone Wolf" across the back. He had the deepest and loudest voice in the crowd, so he stood out.
Mr. Lone Wolf hadn't come into the bar looking for trouble, but at the same time he never avoided it. Mr. lone Wolf sat at a table, facing the bar with his buddies.
Slender guy stood staring at the biker for almost 10 minutes before the biker realized he'd become the target of attention. So the biker started staring back.
Slender guy smiled slightly but never broke his stare.
"Anybody up for a wager?"
The biker stayed silent with a slight frown and squinty eyes.
Slender guy, "Yeah, you sport. Would you like to look impressive to your buddies? Are you a betting man, or just a blowhard?"
This riled the biker, but he knew if things get out of control Mickey was going to come in with his 45.
Biker, "What do you have in mind?"
Slender guy, "I'll bet I can do something you can't."
Biker, "And what would that be?"
Slender guy, "I can take a typical lead pencil with an eraser, throw it so that it hits the wall on the other side of the room, bouncing back into my empty beer mug sitting right here on the bar."