No1 - The Psycho Surrealist

Chapter 8 - A Momentary Lapse of Reason

The early Spring storm had a bite to it as it blasted the megalopolis, while the claustrophobic confines of that smoke-filled Red Dawn bar were dark, warm, and dry. Doq stood at the pool table with his friend and sergeant, Seth Takerian, for their first friend's night out in almost a year. Takerian had suggested the two of them catch a beer and a game of pool--although, honestly, Takerian could have been better at billiards. The two stood in the claustrophobic insides of the bar, Doq rubbing up his cue stick with chalk as Takerian lined up his sight with the back pocket. The ball Takerian lined up, the fifteen-ball, was across the table. Takerian was stripes; Doq was solids.

Laughing at the man's tenacity, Doq suggested Takerian had a better chance of getting laid than him scoring the back pocket from where he was. But Takerian was brave and tenacious. He lined up his cue like a pro, placing the stick between his fingers and pulling that cue back and forth. He let the ball fly with a loud smash. It careened off the side, hit the back, and missed the back left pocket by millimeters.

"I'm impressed, Takerian. You're getting better at this," Doq said, smirking.

Takerian shrugged. "While you were gone, I learned from my uncle. He said it is related to physics and something he called the golden triangle."

"Getting technical with this, are you?" Doq asked, shaking his head as he set down the chalk cube, assessing the situation. Two of his balls remained on the table, with no straightforward access. Avoid the eight-ball, Doq thought. The two-ball was on the other side of the black ball, teetering on edge. "I never heard about this golden triangle before. Physics, yeah."

"Mathematics, Doq," Takerian said, leaning against the side of the table. Taking a sip of his beer, a Miller High Life with one hand, he tapped on one of the many mother-of-pearl inlay diamonds lining the side of the pool table. "Knowing what angle to put your ball in helps you hit the holes better. And these diamonds here are supposed to help you hit your angles just right."

"And here I was going with balkline, big pocket, and blue ball," Doq said, kneeling at the table. "But, then again, you were a guy who seemed who always knows his stuff, so you probably know what shot is the best," he added flippantly.

Takerian went silent for a moment, sipping at his beer. He took a deep breath and straightened up tall. "Of course, I know about those terms."

"What's a break shot, then?" Doq asked, lining up his sites on the nine ball. First, hit the top side of the ball, shoot it off to the back diamond, cut off towards the right at a thirty-degree angle, and bounce off the back of the two while avoiding the eight-ball. Finally, have that bang off the middle diamond, shoot it to the front right pocket, and score it. In contrast, the two ball shoots the opposite direction and have it hit the middle side pocket. Doq took the shot, breathing deeply, executing it precisely as anticipated.

Takerian was impressed. "My god, Doq, how did you manage that? The two-ball practically touched the eight ball teetering on the pocket, yet barely moved it."

Doq moved around the table, grabbing his beer and taking a long sip. He flashed his brows, smiling his cocky grin. "Physics, my friend. Back left pocket." An easy hit, even from such an old angle. Doq leaned into the side of the table, sitting on the edge of it as he maneuvered his cue stick in place, his entire cue hovering over the table. "You've just gotta know how to use it." No need for a bridge on this one. Tilting his hand at an awkward angle, the corner of the table digging into his right sciatica, he scooched a little bit more on the table, right into place.

And just as Doq took his shot, the wracking coughs hit him again. He botched it, hitting the cue ball just out of reach of the pocket in a far more dangerous spot. Chunks of phlegm hit the green felt top, freaking Takerian out. Sliding off the edge, Doq brought a handkerchief to his lips and hacked a lung into it. He pulled the cloth away, expecting blood, but only found smears of chunky phlegm.