The End of the World, Glen Marcus [any book recommendations .txt] 📗

year.”
      Jacky knew this was true as Maria had been living on the streets for some time now. After losing her husband several years ago and her sister kicking her out for the severe drinking binges Maria went on, there wasn’t much left for her in this old world. Some people pull themselves up by their bootstraps when tragedy strikes and some just crumble like overly stale bread, Jacky often thought.
      “I’ll tell you what, you can have one of those presents, but I think I’m going to have to cut the drinks off.”
      “I’m not as think as you drunk I am.”
      With an inward smile, Jacky walked from behind the bar and picked out the biggest box from under the tree. With his back turned, he sliced a small slit in the side of the festively wrapped package with his pocket knife and slipped a twenty dollar bill inside. Turning back to the slightly wobbling woman, he handed her the gift and eased her towards the door.
      “You have a bed down at the mission?”
      “Yeah, Sister Carol always saves me one.”
      As the two made their way outside onto the sidewalk, Jacky said, “Now take this straight back to the mission and don’t open it until you get there.”
      “Oh I won’t,” she said, slurring the words slightly and clinging tightly to the present. “Merry Chrissstmas Hoss. I hope you and your…” Her words became indiscernible as she tried to walk up Hope Street. Jacky noticed the chill in the slight breeze that had begun to blow. It was the first day of winter and with that, colder temperatures were coming. He hoped Maria would make it to her destination.


      By a little after nine o’clock, the place was packed. Kirk was busy shuffling between busboy and waiter duties. Bella had all she could do to keep up with chicken wing and French fry orders. So far, Jacky had only two incidences of fisticuffs to deal with, but they didn’t warrant bringing out the Louisville Slugger from behind the bar. All-in-all it had been a good day. That was until Clyde came strolling in.
      Clyde Stokes was a mean and vicious drunk. His immense size was daunting to most everyone he encountered. Jacky had periodically banned him, but kept reneging on the promise after Clyde’s wife would call and apologize for his actions the following day. Jacky figured she didn’t want him around her as much as she’d rather have him at the Cricket. And as long as he didn’t bust up the place too badly, his money was as good as the next person’s. Clyde walked quickly into the darkened barroom trying not to be noticed and headed for the game room.
      As Kirk walked by the bar with a tub full of dirty plates and glasses, he gave his boss an upturned eyebrow and Jacky responded with a nod and a ‘Yep, I saw him’  kind of look. For a while, everything was fine.
      Tommy, the local dogcatcher eased his way through the crowd and gleefully announced to Jacky that it was his anniversary.
      “Damn Tommy, I swear if my memory was any worse I could plan my own surprise party. This was about the same time last year when you got soused to the brim and ran your dog catching truck into the mayor’s house.”
      “Yep, if he wasn’t my brother, I’d probably been fired.”
      “Wife kick you out again?” asked Jacky.
      “Well it’s just too much for her. We’ve been married fifteen years now and the stress of knowing what she could have had is just too much for her.” Both men laughed at each other's banter and Jacky topped off his brew from the tap.
      In a little while,the doorbell jingled again. A few college kids came in and took an elevated table near the jukebox. After ordering drinks, they pumped a few dollars into the machine and it began to play their selections. Now Jacky thought himself to be a man of the times. Of course, he had many of his favorite country selections to choose from on the old Wurlitzer but for more of a cultured, younger crowd he also had the occasional hip hop tune programmed in. The first couple of raucous numbers were ignored by most of the older clientele, but when Jay-Z’s ‘D.O.A’ began blaring from the machine, an eruption of profanity came boiling out of the game room around the corner.
      With cue stick in hand, the now drunk Clyde Stokes was aiming for a fight as he entered the barroom. He moved quickly over to the kid’s table and said, “Who played that crap?”
      One of the larger students rose from his seated position and said, “It’s RAP you dumb redneck.”
      “Naw…they just forgot to put the “C” at the beginning of the name is all,” replied Clyde as he swung the pool cue, landing it on the kid’s left cheek. Crashing to the floor, the kid’s buddies now joined into the fray, but with Clyde’s size, they didn’t stand a chance.
      The commotion drew Jacky’s attention as he was in the store room at the time getting a new case of scotch. Placing the cardboard box on the bar, he hurried back to the corner of the room. By now, Clyde had dispatched all of the college boys and was standing over them, cue still in hand, waiting for one of them to get up for a further thrashing.
      Slipping up behind Clyde, Jacky grabbed the stick so quickly from his hand, he barely knew it was missing. When Clyde turned around it was just in time to field a smashing blow from Jacky’s right fist. With Clyde’s size, the impact of the shot landed solidly but fazed him little. Raring back to take a swing at the owner, he was cut off in mid-retraction as the elder Marine began to work on his torso. Blazing fast punches to the lower abdomen and solar plexus brought the trouble maker to his knees as he gasped for his next breath. Just to top it off, Jacky balled up his large right hand, grabbed a handful of hair with his left to bring his Clyde’s head back and applied the knockout blow in a downward fashion. His years in the service had trained him well and his years of working in the bar business had showed him when to stop. The fight was over. Too many times the regulars had seen Jacky’s display of self defense. But they still stood there in awe of how the larger man was defeated in a keen display of technique and skill.
      “Kirk, throw this piece of shit outside...and don’t forget his hat.”
      Nonchalantly, Jacky set about his business again, retrieving the case of Johnnie Walker and making his way back to his place behind the bar.


      At the height of the festivities, Jacky needed a breath of fresh air. Even though he hadn’t smoked cigarettes in years, sometimes he just needed a break from the smell. He stepped to the door and walked outside. The biting cold had now set in, so he put on the jacket slung over his shoulder. It was funny, he often thought, that a man who didn’t drink alcohol or smoke anymore would end up running a bar such as the Cross-Eyed Cricket. Looking up at the night-time sky, he also wondered how the Mayans had come up with this particular date as the end of the world. 'Did they just run out of numbers?’ It was just some of the crazy things that went through his head. Turning around, he saw the big green neon cricket sign in the window.
      “Uncle Bruce, I hope I did you proud,” Jacky said as he reached for the door knob.
      About that time, what sounded like a loud thunderclap could be heard in the distance. Well, not by most members of the hammered crew inside the noisy Cricket, but to Jacky it had a familiar ring. It was eerily similar to the cannonade he remembered in his service days. An M102 Howitzer made a distinct sound when you’re only fifty yards downrange of it. The thing was, the echo wasn’t subsiding…the explosive sound was getting stronger and more powerful as it drew closer.
      Glassware on the shelves behind the bar began to shake, causing some patrons to notice their surroundings. The antique doorbell started jingling uncontrollably and suddenly the entire brick building shook with the force of a severe earthquake. Everyone now stopped what they were doing and grabbed onto whatever they could to ride out the shock wave. Then everything went dark, except for the battery operated digital clock on the Coors Light sign above the front door. It had stopped progressing at exactly 12:21:12 a.m. Saturday morning.

It seems the Mayans were off by twenty-one minutes.

Imprint

Text: © GlenMarcus 2012
Images: public domain
Publication Date: 12-13-2012

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