The bar was small. Poorly made tables and chairs were scattered across the worn down, bamboo scattered floor. Stools lined the bar behind which stood the middle aged bartender. He was below average height with balding, thin, grey hair and he stood, perpetually washing a glass with a greasy cloth. Like the rotting wallpaper peeling away from wall he too stank of alcohol. He walked to the far end of the neglected bar, glass in hand, slinging the greasy cloth over his shoulder as he went. He placed the glass up onto a high self on the wall behind the bar, beside a myriad of half empty green and brown home brewed rice wine bottles before he hobbled from behind the bar through a dark swinging door into the storeroom.
Two customers sat at a table and watched the barman as he walked out. Their conversation drunkenly stumbled between laughter and uncontrollable sobbing. While one man rubbed his bald head, squinting with laughter the other used his ragged, white, sleeveless shirt to wipe away tears from his eyes. They grew rowdy in the lack of the bartender’s presence and knocked an empty wine bottle off their table. It smashed on the floor. Both jumped in alarm at the sound of the bottle breaking but then turned to each other and threw their heads back in laughter. The dim candle light from the various lanterns hung around the room glinted off the slime from their yellow teeth. They laughed hysterically forcing themselves on and on as if laughter was as precious as gold. It was however cut short as the bartender reentered through the doorway carrying a basket full of yet more dirty glasses. The men looked awkwardly at each other and resumed sipping their drinks and talking about nothing. The bartender, seeing the broken glass below their table, spat at the men in a foreign language and then continued behind the bar. Taking the damp cloth from his shoulder he began washing the glasses from the basket glaring at the two men and throwing an occasional glance to the man sitting at the bar as he stirred from his dormant position.
He ran a hand through his unkempt, long, knotted, brown hair and swept it to the left. It tumbled down in thick waving strands just covering his ears and obscuring his left eye and brow as he slouched back over the bar. In front of him sat three greasy shot glasses, all empty. On either side of these the man stretched his hands out over the scratched and badly varnished surface of the bar. He breathed heavily and motioned to the bartender to refill his glasses. The Bartender put down the cloth and the glass he was working on cleaning. Taking and uncorking a bottle from the same high shelf he had put a glass earlier he refilled the slim shot glasses with the thick black rice wine. The customer rooted in one of the deep pockets of his long brown coat and pulled a group of coins out. He tossed them on the bars surface in the bartender’s direction and with unsightly speed the bartender scooped them up and tucked them away behind the bar.
On hearing the clang of coin on wood one of the men sitting at the table attempted to stand up. He leaned heavily on the table as he stood, the table creaking under the effort. His legs trembled and as he let go of the table his knees buckled. He fell stumbling and crashing into several chairs and a table, knocking all over, before he hit the ground. He began to see the humor in the situation as he saw his friend slapping his leg and crying with laughter, he still being seated at the table. He began to chuckle. The Bartender however slammed his fist on the bar and began to scream at the man lying chuckling on the floor amidst the mess he had made. The man on the floor began to laugh harder in response to the bartender. The bartender eyes bulged as he shouted at the man. He put his hand below the bar and reached underneath. Returning his hand above the counter he placed a small black revolver on the bar. He man lying on the ground immediately stopped laughing. His friend jumped to his feet putting his hands out and talking to the bartender in a low voice. The bar tender stared at the man on the floor. A vein in his forehead throbbed as his unblinking eyes bored a hole into the man. The man on the floor was crying and sniveling obviously trying to plead with the bar tender. His friend too was trying to make an attempt to communicate with the bartender but his expression was unflinching and steely. The Bartender slowly took the gun up from the bar into his hand. Seeing the bald man standing and moving from around the table his head darted in his direction. His hand to jerked and he pointed the small oily weapon at the bald man now standing in front of the table he had been sitting at. The bald man pleaded with the bartender and eventually as the bartenders resolve did not weaken he withdrew a small satchel out of a pocket of the tattered short he was wearing. The bartender lowered the gun as the man gestured that the bartender could have the satchel of money opening it and showing him the golden and silvery contents. The bartender extended his free hand and the man threw him the money. He jostled the small bag around examining the contents before putting the gun down and away under the bar. The man on the floor slowly stopped sniveling and wiped his nose along his bare forearm. He looked up thankfully to his bald friend and made to get up from the floor while the man in the coat sitting at the bar finished the contents of another shot glass.
Before any of these inhabitants had another chance to move the door into the bar burst open. A swath of the old, stale alcohol caked air rushed out of the open portal as the night’s humid sticky breeze rolled in. Two young women leaped through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind them. Both were panting heavily. Both women were covered in cuts and grazes. Thin streams of crimson trickled from their faces, arms and legs flowing down the contours of their bodies. Their cloths too were shredded and they had the look of fear in their eyes as if they were being chased. The younger of the women, no older then eighteen urgently limped to the bartender her leg bleeding badly. She was hysterical. Tears trickled down her cheeks and cascaded off her chin onto the floor. The bartender was visible taken aback by this abrupt entrance but then shook his head reaffirming his wits about him. He looked the crying woman up and down before shaking his head and waving his hands at them in a gesture to leave. The women at the door having caught her breath now joined her friend at the bar. She began to beg desperately, pleading with the bartender. The bartender’s expression was steely however and he continued to tell them to leave. The women who had just come from the door rummaged through the rags she was wearing and produced a silver and emerald encrusted broach. It was in the shape of a lily and no sooner had the woman produced it then it was in the bartenders hands. His expression changed from unemotional to one of intrigue as he inspected the broach. He nodded his head as he examined it and then turned to the still crying women. He pointed to the storeroom door and gestured for them to go in. Both women were overcome with joy but there was still fear present in their eyes. Still crying but now bowing in thanks they hobbled and limped past the man on the floor over to the storeroom door and through disappearing into the darkness behind them. The drunken man who was still on the floor sat up and scratched his head. He looked quizzically at his friend who was still standing in front of their table as if to say what was that about?
Suddenly the thick and heavy iron taste of blood filled the air of the bar. The door slowly opened and three men, all in uniform, all carrying small automatic weapons, stepped into the room. They looked around. First at the man sitting at the bar, he still hadn’t lifted his head, then at the bartender, the broach had now disappeared and he swallowed heavily looking terrified at the three men, then at the man on the floor and his bald friend who was still standing both like the bartender looking terrified. One of the policemen who had just entered walked over to the man on the floor and while the other two took seats at the bar. They ordered drinks and the bartender served them nervously smiling as he did so. He had begun to sweat. The other third policeman walked over to the man on the floor. He reached for the baton on his belt and began to unstrap it. The bald man, watching the policeman walk by him, towards his friend spoke out and put his hand on the policeman’s shoulder. In a flurry of wooden splinters and broken glass the policeman was holding the bald man in the air by his neck. The bald man squirmed fiercely but the policeman was obviously freakishly strong. The bald man let out a hoarse shout calling for his friends help. His friend, frozen to the spot, looked on terrified at the scene which was unfolding. Again the bald man, struggling for his life, shouted out for his friend. His friend scrambled to his feet and looked up again at his friend. He whimpered and ran out of the building.
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