When I got back up from ducking under the counter, I saw the military guys pick up their rifles and run out - typical, while me and everyone left put our eye on the light in the upper corner of the wall closest to my bar. Usually that light shone blue - only when the hull was breached and there was serious danger of depressurization did it go red.
We watched.
We held our breaths.
It held blue.
I hit the button for the jazz mix and the sounds of trumpet filled the air. Breathing returned to the room and my patrons returned to their drinks.
The front door swung open and a man who had some serious interdimensional damage to his headframe stood there, looking in.
He was human from chin down, but the top of his skull had not been exploded or even blackened by any burns, but elongated and twisted up and over like a bagel roll once pointy and now dejected. His own head curled over him. He seemed dazed.
The lady who works at the hotel was feeling the most gives-a-shit among us and hurried up to put her motherly arm around him and lead him in. He was speechless, mouth ajar, staring ahead expressionlessly. She just led him over gently to a table in the corner and sat him down.
She come over to me, eyes worried. I pulled a glass of water and handed it to her.
Her eyebrows raised.
I went to my variety snuffbox and pinched a here and there, mixed it into the drink and stirred.
She brought it to him gingerly, as if cupping magic tea (which in fact, some of it was). She put it under his nose and his head shot back and his eyes got wide. He looked around as if for the first time. He then looked down at himself, possibly searching for blood or other sign of wound. He patted his torso with his hand as if just to make sure.
Patti set the drink down in front of him. He noticed she was looking at him strangely. “Uh . . . “ he said. He didn’t remember how he had got here, or how he had ordered this drink.
She didn’t feel like explaining. “On the house.” she said, smiled, and went back to her seat where she had half a drink left.
The couple businessmen paid their tab and left and soon the motel lady’s lunch hour was over as well, so it was just me and curlicue in the corner. He had taken a couple sips of his drinks and gone back to staring off into the distance - probably the best thing for him at this point.
Then they walked in.
Four suits, all bulging. They moved swiftly and stiffly, heads pivoting as if on feather triggers, inspecting all angles of Berynek’s. Backs to each other, yet forward, they sidled up to the bar.
The one on the right addressed me first.
“Bartender,” he called. I noticed in his right hand he now held a USB connection. “Plug me into your establishment’s infosys, stat.”
He waited there after barking to me what must have seemed like an interminable amount of time, as I squinted my eyes and considered him.
“Hey you,” he said, banging the bar with his free palm. “Get cracking with the connection or we crack you, get it?”
Lucky me, suddenly in backtalk heaven. I started off old school: “You talking to me?”
If only I had a toothpick to remove from my lip before I said it.
“What are you, some kind of star hippie?” he asked. “Do we look like we’re fucking around today?” He jerked his head to his men, who were still all backed up to each other, craning their heads around regularly for flankers.
I stood up from my leaning position, facing him. “This is my bar.” I said. “I am Berynek. Normally at this point I would say, ‘Welcome to Berynek’s’ - but I cannot say this to you and your men today, I am afraid. Because you are most unwelcome. Please leave now before you force me to grimace.”
My peripheral vision told me that curlicue was still motionless, looking off into the distance. I hoped at least his eyelid reflexes were working, otherwise his eyes were gonna get awful dusty.
The guy on the right made a swift motion with his open hand and shot out a badge into my face: UP. Universal Police.
I said: “You have just arrived to Orbital 109 and, I am assuming, have not yet had a powpow with the local military commander, Lt. Johns, I take it?”
He tilted his head at me and curled his lip, “Not that I have to tell you shit, but yes we did just get here, and I don’t need to reconnoiter with no local fuckin’ gruntard to push around the locals when doing our righteous investigatin’.”
“Orbital 109 is under your purview.” I acknowledged to him, nodding my head in assent. “Excepting my building.”
He screwed up his face. “No way.”
The man on his right and on my left who was also facing the bar and had said nothing up until this point, suddenly joined the discussion. “It’s true.” he told his companion. He evidently had some inner uplink. He was looking down to the bar as if reading. “Berynek’s is not under our jurisdiction.”
The man on the right made a hawking sound, then faced his left and spit it out. “Well, usually we have the law on our side.” he said. “But pending that, we act as a gang. Now give us access to your infosys before we beat it out of you.”
I retrieved a towel from under my bar and gave it to him: “Go pick up your loogie you dirty bastard.” I said.
His face went apoplectic and he swung at me. I flicked my thumb on the dial it had been holding and all four men froze.
“Lt. Johns please,” I called out to my infosys. The call was made. Pretty soon Johns head appeared on my vid screen.
“Berynek. What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I’d like you to come retrieve four space pigs, please.”
He chortled and glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, that fist got a little closer than the last one.” he noted.
“I think he would be appreciative of a new mustache when he wakes up, what do you think?” I asked.
Johns guffawed. “We’ll be there shortly.” He signed off.
When I turned around I almost gave a bit of a start because curliecue was standing there at the bar, staring straight at me.