10 Pound Bag Ch. 146-150

**** Chapter 149 -- A Night at the Riverfront ****

By: Emmeran, 19 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 21 May 2021

Published:

Sheriff was upset and I didn't much blame him. Since his time twitch, he'd tasted the lash himself and discovered very quickly how cruel life really was. I'd learned that lesson myself as a young man in the rock and dirt of some far, foreign desert. Veterans of Foreign Wars indeed! That term didn't even begin to embrace what it truly entailed. Perhaps a better name would be the "Innocence Lost beyond Recovery Drinking Club". Once stained the innocent soul can never be pure again, a remnant of that staining always remains and while it might create an appealing design it still remains a stain. Perfection has been ruined.

We were drinking together in silence, with only occasional words shared. It seemed we were both contemplating the same thing; it was comforting to not be alone, while doing so.

An odd pet peeve of mine from the modern world entered my head and I chuckled out loud. That drew an inquisitive look from Sheriff. It was so appropriately inappropriate, I couldn't help but laugh.

Sheriff just had to know, "What the fuck, Zach?"

I was still cracking up and trying to control myself, "I was thinking about arguments we would have as young couples."

I slowly brought myself under control, "Fierce arguments about the idea of, 'baby learning to sleep alone, in its own bed, and in a dark room.'"

He reflected for a moment and said, "Yeah, we had those too. So what?"

I got serious, "I hated the idea that the first lesson a kid learned in its new, strange world, was that the only two people the child recognized and loved, would abandon it to a dark room by itself and not come to rescue it. Those a baby trusted most, left it to face fears it didn't even understand."

"So, congratulations modern world, you have automated disenchantment, along with assembly of the automobile."

Sheriff started giggling also. It only took a moment for him to tie it altogether. He was barely able to hold it in as we exchanged corny cheap shots, "Venture forth, child of mine, with the unshakable faith that we will abandon you in your darkest of times..." "Have you met our good friend, Dr. Suicide?" and so forth. We even devolved to the "Sorry kid, Daddy needs a blowjob" level. We flat out were losing it.

Yeah, we were stressed and tested the limits of the absurd. Amos interrupted us; the boats had arrived.

**** ****

As we neared quayside, I realized that I didn't need to be down there. I would be nothing but a hinderance on a good day, and probably an out-and-out problem this evening. My love of coffee wasn't doing me any favors. I was wide awake and in the mood for hot sex or bloody havoc and I didn't care which, at that moment.

Timmons and the captains met us on the way down. They took control and informed us we were going to Quayside Pub, and that's all there was to it. I wanted available women and they took me to a Captains House, bastards!

We sat at another long table and had coffee while they discussed business and I fumed. Now the itch for a fight overwhelmed logic. Everything said offended me. I was aggravated and spoiling for trouble.

At that point, I was suddenly on the move again. I was told later that Patrick had realized, in an instant, the signs of a man about to lose it. Apparently, he had seen it before. He was fetching one of his mates when he ran across the Jewish tradesmen with their wounded Rabbi. The Rabbi took charge and they decided to save the world from me.

From what I actually remember, I was suddenly plucked off the bench and the Rabbi was talking in my ear. Patrick and his buddy had my hands firmly under control. Immediate action wasn't an option because I was surrounded by a crowd of men.

The Rabbi, bless his heart, loudly deemed that I was to enjoy the spoils of my success. I was promptly toted out the door. At that point, I really expected to be bathing in the Missouri within moments. Instead, I was deposited on a crude stool in a rundown boatsman's pub.

Part of me realized that it was Byrne's beer that I was drinking. That was the part of me that made me slow down a little. My bartender was the same lady that had served me my supper and drinks earlier. Well, she was that or her twin sister. I was hoping for twins. Regardless, she flirted aggressively with me. She was also the waitress, so she moved around constantly. Still, it seemed like I always had a smooth hand running across an innocent part of my body.

Everybody else stayed away from me and there was no one to argue or fight with, so my thoughts turned to other things. I think her name was Sinclaire or maybe it was Sinful Claire or something else entirely.

An hour later, I was in drunken love and, to be totally honest, it was fun. I dug in my pockets for money once and she grabbed my face in both hands and got my attention. "You don't pay here, Zach. What's offered is because I want to and it's fun and you own the place, so the drink is yours."

I was stunned and I was suddenly struck by the frequency of those types of statements in my life lately. What was fun, when it simply seemed to be a lottery splurge in modern times, was beyond significant in this day and age. These were people.

On the plus side, I guess I owned a dive bar. Perhaps we could offer karaoke? I made myself laugh when I thought that and, out of the blue, I started drunkenly singing out loud.

I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can, so I can

Watch you weave then breathe your story lines

And I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can, so I can

Keep track of the visions in my eyes - Cory Hart, 1983

I think that was the point where Sinful Claire led me away to a bed. I don't recall much, but since I woke up alone and fully dressed, it's a pretty good bet a lot of promises, both spoken and unspoken, went unfulfilled.

**** Chapter 150 -- Hiccups ****

By: Emmeran, 20 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 23 May 2021

Published: 27 May 2021

The bright sunshine of a June morning, some coffee, and a cigarette. For entertainment, I was watching the chickens out in the yard and trying to rock a rocking chair that resented its designated profession. That chair resented its profession with a skill I couldn't quite figure out, you almost had to admire the damned thing.

The big old rooster in charge of the flock had apparently gotten himself a case of the hiccups. Now, I'd never seen a rooster with hiccups before, but it was pretty damned amusing. It went well with a halfway decent cup of coffee and a rebellious chair.

Perhaps it all was a sign from the heavens? "The rooster needs a rest. Take a breather, everyone." They do say that God speaks in mysterious ways.

To be honest, I don't believe for a second that God ever spoke to me. Heck, if that dude ever got a moment to himself, I'd bet he'd go golfing or bowling or some such. Anything but Lording it up over excessively needy mortals. Well, hell, if God was saying take a day off, then I would take a complete and full day off.

I cast the question to the wind, "How the hell do I manage a day off with everything that's going on?" Oddly enough Sincere Claire arrived with more coffee and the oddly perfect offhand answer, "Just have Auntie take care of it for you."

Suddenly Resentful Rocker was my ally. The limping roll I had managed stopped easily on its own and I looked up to see Auntie's time-worn finger pointing at me.

"You, Sir, will take this day as a day of rest!"

"Yes'm," was the best I could croak in response.

"Your good men will care for things. It might two days or even a week if you don't behave, young man!!" That wasn't said in a low or gentle voice; in my head, 'Granny,' all eight feet tall of her, had just scolded a very young Zachariah.

Auntie had raised her voice at me and I felt like I was trying to hide in my shoes. I simply looked at the ground in shame and tried to wish myself invisible.

"Come eat, child!" cut through my little wall of self-pity.

I rose to my feet, stood properly, and followed Auntie to the kitchen table.

It was a breakfast to write home about. Hell, write to the papers and post it on whatever social media you can find.

Auntie was gone when I pulled my face up from the plate, but holy shit-fuck, my day had just changed. Yes, I needed almost forty-five minutes in the reluctant rocking chair to digest my food and, yup, I did spend a bit of time in a smelly early summer outhouse to balance the inner inventory. But holy fuck, that was good food! I can't remember the last time I had good liver, but that meat was still like a wonder drug. Auntie cooked it just right, so tender and tasty that I would assuredly dream about it for weeks.

**** ****

Just as suddenly, I was alone again with a mostly attractive woman and a day off. I could only watch the chickens forage for so long without going mad.

I didn't have my gear so I couldn't work on that and I didn't have a newspaper or a novel to read. I did have S-Claire or whatever her name was, but she was suddenly busy elsewhere. So I went and made coffee.

**** ****

Watching coffee brew wasn't hugely entertaining but the sudden noise from the next room was. So out into the ramshackle bar area I went. Kegs were being delivered and Patrick was there overseeing the operation. I simply watched as Sinful Claire sashayed around, directing the men during the installation and then seductively explaining to the youngest of the group how to fit the tap...in very slow and precise terms. Let me assure you that those would not have been the words I used to describe tapping a keg.

The young boatman was shell-shocked by the end of it and when she pulled a pint and instructed him to drink it down, he did so without pause. He was a young one and barely aware of his shaving kit; the poor kid didn't stand a chance. When his trousers grew a small wet spot up front, his fellas laughed him out of the pub. I felt sorry for the boy and yet, was quite sure he would dream of that performance for decades to come.

SinfulClaire simply smiled a naughty smile and started handing out beers and shots to our work crew. These fellas might have complained of the extra duty before, but they weren't complaining now. Patrick and I joined them for a bit. I got to stand on the serving side of the cheap bar, very close to the suddenly hyper-attractive lady.

After the first beer went down, Patrick explained that the Commodore had designated this as "our" St. Charles bar. This was the place for our crew to drink, gamble, and womanize. SClaire simply grinned. The 'boss' in me re-emerged for a second and stated that NOBODY drank in here without eating first. I wasn't going to have this place trashed by unfed drunkards.

Sincere Claire was suddenly by my side, letting me know that, yup, there was food on the cook right now. Fresh beef, beans, and bread. BTW, you're an idiot Narrator. Let the people in charge take care of it. Fuck it, I poured myself another beer and continued my day off.

I wasn't sure who was cooking, but the food wasn't half bad for short-notice fare. The beans were still crunchy, though; they needed to cook longer. The beef cuts were cheap, but the bread and gravy made up for it. Oh, and the beer, sometimes beer simply hit the spot, particularly when you were on a day off.

Our pub was still just a cheap affair and would need help, but it would be a good spot for our fellas when away from St. Louis. I called a spot on a bar that didn't exist yet, then took a stool over there, regardless. I'd find a craftsman to set up a decent bar for us and make me a proper spot.

St. Louis was far too much of a hassle for me; I needed a spot here in St. Charles.