That Glass of Water (A tragedy)

(My junior-high-writing-project-like post for the day. Guess from where?)

Vic sidled up to the bar, inconspicuous in his leather jacket and bandana. The barman was about his size, that is to say large, and had a fuzz of gray hair around his perpetually unfriendly jaw line.

There was a glass of water sitting just at the bar man's as he wiped down shot glasses.

"Hey," Vic said, "Slide me that glass of water."

The barman looked up in surprise for a moment. "No."

"No?" asked Vic, raising his voice a little. "Just slide it down here."

The barman shook his head, so Vic stood, and went down the bar himself, reaching for the glass.

A hand caught Vic's hand, and he turned. A hulking figure of a man stood there, his grip as tight as steel. "He said no, man."

Vic frowned, clenching his teeth together. "It's just a f***ing glass of water, man."

"I think you need to leave," the bigger man said.

Vic twisted out of his grasp, and stepped back, like he was heading for the door but instead he lunged back at the man.

The guy was so huge that it was like throwing himself onto a bag of wet cement. The force behind his fist just dissipated, and *BAM*, out of nowhere a fist drove him back into one of the bar tables, right into the place where Vic had chipped a rib when he was a reckless teenager.

Pain lanced through Vic's back, but he rolled up to his feet just as another man joined the hulk, both looking down on him.

"You messed with the wrong guy," Vic said, and rushed them both.

He didn't go with the subtle. He ducked past a punch thrown by the hulk's friend and then jerked his knee up into the hulk's groin.

The big guy made a really funny sound that made Vic think of him as a plushy rabbit doll, and then went down. Vic grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table and smashed the end, leaving him with a jagged little slashing weapon. He threated the friend who raised his hands and backed off slowly, only to turn to find the bartender with a shotgun.

"Get the hell out of my bar," the bartender said.

Vic just eyed the glass of water. "Just--"

"Out," the bartender said, and his eyes narrowed. He cocked the gun, just like in the movies, and pointed it right at Vic's face.

There was a brief pause as Vic considered what to do, but hulk suddenly groaned and pulled on a tablecloth, trying to get up. Granted, all that was on the table was a bottle of ketchup and tin salt and pepper shakers, but they made a racket as they fell.

The bartender looked away.

Vic threw himself forward. The bartender tried to bring the shotgun around into Vic's direction, but Vic was going for the gun, knocking it back out of the way, and then falling heavily on the bar and the bartender.

They went down behind the bar. Vic was wrenching the gun back and forth, and suddenly it went off in his hands, blowing a hole in the wooden wall next to him. Everyone in the bar, even those trying not to involve themselves, jumped and the smart ones ran for the door.

BAM, went the gun again, and as it did Vic pressed it back. Suddenly deprived of a counterbalance to the recoil, the shotgun jerked back and hit the bartender in the face, knocking him completely unconscious.

Vic stood up, the shotgun now in his hands. His eyes went directly to the glass of water, which had been knocked down the bar and was now precariously on the edge of the polished bar.

Slowly he stepped across the barkeeper's unconscious body and barely breathing he reached for it.

It started to lean just before he touched it but he hadn't expected how slippery it was. His fingers convulsed, but it wasn't enough to hold onto the glass. He watched as it fell through his hands and shattered on the cold brick floor.

Vic swore, and then threw the shotgun into the bar trash, and stalked out of the bar. Next door was a laundromat with a vending machine. It had bottled water in it. Vic checked his wallet. All he had was a twenty.

He frowned, and looked around for someone who could lend him a dollar.