The Bar

The bar was empty. Other than a murmur from the barman at some
headline, or a short yawn from his dog, nothing disturbed the still
air. Indeed, even the bright, August sunlight didn't intrude on the
dank, lazy atmosphere of the bar.
The door creaked, opened and groaned back closed.
The barman looked up from his paper, the dog looking up at the same
time, mimicking its master.
"Bloody wind, eh boy". He turned back to the black banner nonsense
patting the dog absentmindedly.
The wind circled the bar, so familiar and yet so very, very far away.
It had had so many good times in here. Watching football with the lads,
sharing jokes with the regulars, even just sitting in the quite dusk
that seemed to find sanctuary here in the long, hot summer afternoons.
Discussing the state of the world with strangers, arguing over politics
or money with family and gaining happy alcoholic oblivion with dear
friends.
Well, never again.
The door creaked again, this time a more corporeal entity entered the
bar in the form of a man of about sixty. The newcomer sat on a bar
stool, ran a comb through his white hair and adjusted his glasses. The
barman had been telling him for weeks to get his specs changed, the man
was force to squint constantly to see, even when he had them on.
"Well she's nice out the day" the old man spoke grudgingly, as if he
had been expecting to be caught in a freak hail storm on the way from
his car.
"Yeah, not bad," conceded the barkeep "but that damn wind's getting up
again, just blew the bloody door open. Pint Arthur?"
"Scotch ta."
The barman finished pulling the pint of Scotch he'd started pouring
when Arthur had walked through the door. The same old rituals thought
the wind, some things will never change.
"One-sixty?" asked Arthur.
"Yeah, same as yesterday."
Arthur took a long draft from his pint.
"I was ready for that," he gasped "When are they coming to fix the
doors and stuff"
"Should be here this afternoon, Arthur, they said one o'clock but it's
gone that now. They shouldn't be long"
"Aye, bad business and here's you having to pay to put things
right."
"It's covered by insurance, Arthur. Besides it could have been worse,
look at poor Joe. He's never caused any bother in here in his life and
look at him now."
"True he was a decent young'un" agreed Arthur through the dregs of his
pint. "I'll try another one and I'll sit an' watch the racing I
think."
The barman turned the T.V. on and handed Arthur another pint.
"There you go Arthur."
The bar once again settled back into it's easy rhythm, the racing
commentator seeming to fade into the background and become part of it,
like a priest saying a litany. The wind blew restlessly around the bar.
Why the hell was it here.
"Pint and a half of lager, please, Dave"
"How the bloody hell did you two get in? I never heard ya."
"We came through the side door," the couple were both in their
forties. The woman tall and lithe, the man slightly taller and
stocky.
"There you go. I didn't realise I had left it open," said Dave walking
round the bar to lock the offending door.
"Cheers Frank," Dave handed him his change on his return "By your
quite today, missus."
"I'll have you know I'm always quiet," answered woman lighting her
cigarette at her third attempt.
"Yeah, when she's either eating or sleeping," retorted Frank earning
himself a punch to the arm. He pretended to reel under the force of the
blow and collided with one of the pillars dotted around the room.
"Now there was no call for that, Sue!"
"You'll get a lot worse if you keep taking the Michael."
The front door creaked and everyone turned to see who it was. Two men
walked in. They were dressed in spotless blue overalls and were each
carrying a bag of tools which they placed on the bar.
"The insurance sent us mate," said the taller of the two. He looked
about forty and was wide across the shoulders, his black hair was
starting to grey and his eyes were a cold blue. He looked more like a
wrestler that a repairman.
"Is there just the damage in the passage then, mate."
"Yeah, yeah. The glazier was here this morning so you need to do the
walls. You can see what needs doing. Do you want a pint before you
start?"
"Oh, cheers mate, I could murder a larger."
"Same for me, thanks," said the other repairman. He was about ten
years his partners junior with thick ,unruly blonde hair . He wore a
pair of sunglasses despite the darkness in the bar and when Dave gave
him his pint he downed half in his first gulp.
"This sort of thing happen much round here then does it?" asked the
young man with a nod back towards the door.
"No, can't say I've ever heard of it happening all the time I've been
here," answered Dave as he finished serving the older repairman.
"Someone tried to firebomb the Bull's Head across the road a few years
ago, but nothing like this," added Frank then stroked his moustache in
a thoughtful manner. "Oh, and someone once killed his mate fighting in
the pub up the road. The mate had been knocking off his wife of course,
but that's women for you."
Frank earned himself a hefty kick this time.
"You'll bloody join him if you keep that up," said Sue looking daggers
at her husband.
"Regular was he?" The young repairman asked walking over to the bandit
with his tool bag.
"Joe? Yeah, at least three or four times a week," said Dave. "He was a
good lad. He used to give me a hand with the books and he helped build
the bar extension. Didn't stop the bastards shooting him. All cause he
ratted on the dealer who killed his best mate. Fucking scum like that
don't deserve to live they're worst than bloody animals. Cowardly
bastards." Dave shook his head in disgust. He didn't notice the blonde
repairman reach into his tool bag.
Pain ripped through the wind , it screamed soundlessly and rushed
throughout the bar, rattling the bottles of spirits on the
shelves.
Bloody trains said a voice in a different world.
The whole bar shimmered and glowed to the wind. The glow brightened
until it blinded the wind. It screamed with greater fervour and rushed
through the wall of the bar, into the sunlight and the world beyond.
Something tugged at it, pulling it back towards the bar. The more the
wind tried to escape the more force was exerted on it. Finally,
exhausted, the wind gave up. It rocketed back towards the bar, through
the wall again and into the body of a man who hadn't been there when it
left.

* * * * *

The man pressed his hands to his eyes. Slowly he lowered them and
looked around the bar. It was brightly, even garishly lit. A Disco
played at the far end. People shouted to be heard by others standing
next to them. The bar was packed.
I know this!
"Pint Joe?" The man looked round. Dave was standing behind the bar,
pint glass in hand, looking straight at him.
I know this!
This is me!
Was me!
Is me!
I'm Joe! What's happening here? Is this real or not. What's going
on?
"Joe. Joe! You alright mate?" Dave looked concerned.
"Mmnnh" said the wind.
"You've been sitting with your head in your hand for the last five
minutes. You pissed or what?"
"What day is it?" The wind was confused no longer sure if it was wind
or if it was the noise disorientating its, Joe's, thoughts.
"Pissed, thought so," said Dave "It's Friday. You want a pint or
not?"
"JD. Double." Joe/The wind pushed himself unsteadily to his feet,
threw some cash on the bar and staggered to the toilets. Inside he
headed for the cubicle and locked the door behind him. He stood over
the bowl and retched a few times. Nothing came up but he felt a little
better.
"What the fuck was that all about?" muttered Joe to himself. He opened
the door and managed to make it to the sink. He ran the cold tap and
splashed the cool water on his face and neck. It felt good, he stuck
his head under the tap soaking his black hair. Using a wad of paper
towels he attempted to dry his hair. He slicked his hair back as best
he could with his fingers and the half broken mirror on the wall. Ready
to face the world again he turned to open the door. Someone opened it
from the other side and Joe, his feet still not very reliable, fell
straight through it. More by luck than by good management Joe steadied
himself by grabbing the man on his way in to the toilets.
"Sorry mate," said Joe using the momentum to propel himself back to
his seat.
"You look a bit better," Dave's voice was grating on Joe's rebellious
system.
"Mmhmm."
"I wouldn't have too many more if I was you. You really look terrible.
If I wasn't standing in front of you I'd say you look like you'd just
seen a ghost." With that Dave wandered down the bar.
Joe picked up his change and stared at his reflection in the bar
mirror. His hazel eyes where hidden in deep, dark rimmed sockets. His
hair hung in ringlets occasionally dripping water he had failed to dry.
His skin was even whiter than usual and he'd never had a tan in his
life. Hard to pick up a tan when your in bar's, clubs or bed while the
sun's out. Now he came to look at it his skin seemed iridescent. God he
must be pissed. He necked his Jack Daniel's in one smooth, practised
swallow, stood and headed for the door.
The cold night air hit him like a sledge hammer and he felt his stomach
flip. Joe leant against the wall, shut his eyes and took a couple of
deep breaths. A car door opened, Joe ignored it.
"Hello Joe"
Joe opened his eyes he didn't recognise either of the two men, their
faces were in darkness anyway.
"Waddayawant?" Joe managed.
"Mr Jacques is not a happy man." The bigger man had a voice made for
villains. "You cost him an entire shipment when the pigs raided us. It
also looks like he may be going to jail because of you." The men
stepped forward into the half-light shining from the bar
Joe finally realised what had happened.
"Oh shit. Oh shit! It was real I'm Dead."
The men pulled pump action shotguns from their long leather
coats.
"Great last words," laughed the man who hadn't spoken. "Very poetic,
and of course true."
He was younger than the man with the cold grey-blue eyes. He had blonde
hair.
The pair emptied their weapons into Joe knocking him back into the
doorway destroying most of that as well.

* * * * *

A police spokesman today said that two men found dead after a road
accident could be involved in the murder of up to five people. Four
people, three men and one women, whose names have not been released,
were shot at close range while they enjoyed a drink in their local
bar.
This attack has been linked with the murder of Joseph Dickenson on
Friday night in the same bar.
Dickenson is believed to have been killed in retaliation for his part
in the arrest of notorious drug dealer Richard Jacques.
Detective Inspector Phillips of Northumbria Police CID said "The two
men, who both died as a result of the accident, are known to have
operated as gangland assassins in the North London area. The discovery
of several shotgun type weapons in the car that the two men were
driving leads us to believe that these men may have been involved in
the two shootings at the weekend. We are still piecing together what
has happened and the motive for the second attack is still unclear. We
believe the men may have thought that they had been recognised and
returned to the bar to see if this was, in fact, the case. They then
callously, and in cold blood, gunned down the customers of the bar when
they were questioned."
The two men whose have not been officially identified were killed when
a freak cross wind blew the Mercedes sports car that they were driving
from a by-pass and onto a busy motorway carriage below. Police are
appealing for anyone with information about any of the three cases to
come forward.
In other news a black labrador . . .