Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 29 - No Immediate Rebuttal

“No Immediate Rebuttal.”

Chapter 29 by Roseyone

    First, there had been a loud drunken overture in the face of reserve. Then, when his aggression had met with inaction and silence, Slim’s accompanying soliloquy escalated from lily-liver, to pansy, then to a very emboldened cocksucker. With a grin, Slim McKee sauntered to the table where my father and John Woodstock sat. There, Slim snatched up a full glass and flung its contents. The whiskey hit Slim’s intended target as close to square as any liquid could have done. He sucked in a breath, then Slim was stricken hard, fast, down.

     John Woodstock stood over and peered down at Slim. A wild whoop and a few delighted cackles rose up in the tavern followed swiftly by a sober hush. It was clear, there would be no immediate rebuttal. Slim McKee lay on the tavern floor, teeth barred. He hissed, clung to his dignity but it was no use, Slim was in a bad way. Buddy moved, then hesitated, the muscles at the sides of his jaws rippled beneath his youthful skin. He gave John a wary glance then advanced. This time it was only slightly easier to see, there were three rapid hits; honker, glass jaw, and breadbasket; in that order. Buddy fell upon his downed cousin face up.

     I covered my mouth. There was a riot in my throat, in my diaphragm. My father stood up and hugged me, he told me it would be all right. I buried my face in his shoulder. I needed to hide because the urge to laugh pinched at me. There was nothing to laugh about, yet I struggled. I was of Assumption. I hated that part of myself.

“For crying out loud, somebody help them up.” My father’s voice rumbled in my ears and shattered the shocked silence. Men began to move. Buddy was rolled off and away from his older cousin, he was left on the tavern floor because McKees were far more vicious than Barcas were. With his legs no better than jelly, Slim’s limp feet surrendered both of his penny loafers as he was dragged from where he’d been dropped to an empty booth. Slim’s attendants stretched him onto the vinyl bench seating as the table was pushed some distance away to make room. Everyone gathered, leaned in to get a good look. Slim McKee’s only escape from such intense scrutiny lay behind his closed eyelids and the visage  of oblivion he must have viewed there.

Oh shit! Did you see that? What kind of cockamamie-? That’s what they teach them nowadays, red Chinese commie fighting!

     My father stepped over Buddy and pulled me away from the spectacle. I’d seen enough. I had to return things to normal, do my job, and tend to customers. After a few minutes, the initial excitement ebbed, and the tavern patrons receded to their seats to discuss what they’d witnessed privately. No one wanted to be nearby once Slim eyes reopened. My father parked me near the bar counter and pointed out the two waiting plates of food that sat there as Ben Crown watched us from the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, I’m hungry,” he said. “What kind of service is this?” my father joked.

“They, did it. They did it to Mary Blodget. They said so, Dad.” I whispered. My father held an index finger vertically in front of his lips. I piped down. The laughter I’d felt had dissipated and I was back to feeling afraid.

     Forgotten, Buddy writhed on the tavern floor, managed to crawl to a crouch and found himself peering from a dog’s eye view at John who had retaken his place at the table. In shame, Buddy turned his reddened face away, spotted Slim then he set about making his way over to his cousin on legs as unsteady as a newborn foal’s. My father also returned to the table. I brought over two plates, one for my father and the other for John. I hovered, listened as my father spoke to John.

“Slim’s not the type to drop it. You should leave right now. I’ll return all your rent money.” My father said. John used a folded napkin to sop up the trails of whiskey that still streaked his face. Inside, I suddenly felt it. My eyes took him in, my body lit up. In the same instant, John glanced up at me as if I’d spoken, then he fixed on my father again.