The Sword of Darkness

5 The storm

In the oddly located building which happened to be a biker bar, was full of grown men. Wearing black leather, scruffy long beards and tattoos that symbolized the dangers they conquered in their lives. They sat in stools drinking their pitchers of beer. Other stood and played a sly game of pool. Clank as the Q ball hit the others. The bartender cleaned the mugs with an unsanitary looking dry rag, while watching the pool game. He was a tall man with broad powerful shoulders and a belly hanging over his pants. His cheeks were rosy but covered by thick brown hair. He stepped over to the man, but in his mind looked like a boy. The boy had only ordered coke and peanuts. Odd but the bartender didn't refuse paying customers. With his burly voice he spoke. "Hey kid, do you want anything else." He placed the mug on the shelf; the boy nodded his head no. "Whatever." He continued on in his business.

Standing outside in the wind chilled breeze was Itazuki; he huddled over the scarce flame. He killed the fire and stepped inside the bar. He read the worn sign. "Shotty's bar." The name was almost generic. The bar was dimly lit, in several places hanging lamps lit it up, the place was nearly packed and poor country music was playing on the jukebox. Apparently, nobody liked that kind of music, but the jukebox had a glitch that day. The twang of the guitar and the dreadful voice of the singer reminded Itazuki of the south. He brushed past several porky bikers; he thought he heard them snarl as he went past. He strutted to the bar and sat on the stool, it spun slightly as he fell on it.

Itazuki eyed the crowd of tough men, no sign of anybody important. Shotty the bartender strolled up to Itazuki while cleaning another glass. "What can I get you?" Itazuki wasn't normally a drinker but the hard liquor on the top shelf would warm him up and ease the pains from his cuts and bruises. He scanned and saw a bottle of Tequila. "Yeah I'll that Tequila up there." He pointed. The squared bartender looked briefly at the full bottle and then back at Itazuki. "You're not from around here are you?" Itazuki's red hair and katana mustn't've given him away. "No, I'm not." The bartender reached up and grabbed the bottle; he twisted the cap and poured in a shot glass. "Most locals here don't drink Tequila. I don't even know why we have it." He placed it on the table, Itazuki reached for it and chugged it down. The liquid burned as it went down his throat, his stomach beginning to warm cause of it. The sting and dry flavor permeated Itazuki's senses. He turned his head back and looked through the crowd once again, nothing. "Another." He chugged the shot again. Each time Itazuki scrunched up his face as he finished the glass. He pulled his bag out and placed it in his lap. Toby had been pretty quiet lately. Itazuki unzipped the bag and whispered. "Toby we are at a bar, do you want something?" Shotty the bartender witnessed the whole thing; he stared, and mumbled to himself. "This man must be drunk already."

Toby whispered something back, Shotty only thought it was Itazuki whispering in another voice, he simply ignored it and poured more tequila in four more shot glasses. Itazuki zipped the bag up and placed it by his feet. He grabbed the shot glass and drunk it down in one gulp. Itazuki then leaned forward, too dramatically; he looked down the long line of men and saw a boy sticking out like a sore thumb. Most of the men in the bar were bearded, rough and dirty and leathered up and slurping down a cool beer. But this boy had white hair, light blue eyes and was clean compared to everyone else. Itazuki grabbed a shot glass in one hand and another in the other hand. Why had Itazuki been drinking so much? Maybe the stress finally reached him and passed his limit and the alcohol was a visible means of escape but he left his last shot glass and stepped away from the stool, he stumbled a foot back pumping into a bear of a man. The man ignored him and continued watching the pool game.

The players of the pool game were in the heat of the moment, one man named Johnny Ringer was the prodigy of pool, at least in his own mind and in Colorado, and no one seemed able to beat him. He struck the Q ball with precision making four other striped balls fall into the holes in the corners. Money was placed on him but some stupid people who didn't know any better always managed to bet on the other guy. Johnny held his arms up and circled around to everyone; feeling what should have been praise but was envy.