Free Bad Games by Jeff Menapace Page A

blurted, kicking back his stool. “You know what? We will buy you some drinks. In fact we’ll buy you lots of drinks. You know why? Because the way I see it, you’re gonna need some thick fucking beer goggles in order to fuck those two pigs you got over there.”
    The leader didn’t hesitate. He pummeled his right fist deep into Arty’s cheekbone, the sound like a mallet cracking meat. The silver ring cut deep into Arty’s flesh and sent him reeling backwards into his brother. Jim caught Arty and quickly tried standing him upright, but Arty’s legs were gone from the punch, buckling in all directions every time his feet touched the floor.
    Jim opted to drag Arty backward to place him into one of the booths so he could free up his hands for an attack. Arty, however, proved coherent enough to sense what his brother was attempting to do and turned into him.
    “ No! Jim, no! ” Arty yelled, gripping his brother’s shoulders, stopping his momentum.
    “Yeah, Jim,” the leader laughed, “listen to your girl.”
    “ Fuck you, you fucking inbred hick! ” Jim spat over Arty’s shoulder.
    The leader stepped forward and Arty pushed Jim back towards the door. “We’re leaving,” Arty said.
    The three men were all laughing in unison now. And as Arty gave Jim one final push out the door, he turned over his shoulder and locked eyes with the big man with the silver skull ring. Arty smirked, winked, and was gone. And the big man with the silver skull ring instantly stopped laughing.
     
    * * *
     
    3:00 a.m. A battered Ford pickup pulled into an unpaved driveway five miles from the watering hole at which it was recently parked. Loose pebbles crunched beneath the heavy tires before the truck eventually grinded to a stop.
    A large man wearing a big silver ring nearly fell out of the driver’s side. He righted himself, belched loud, then slammed the car door shut before stumbling around the rear of his truck towards the passenger side. The passenger door flung open and a hefty woman reeking of booze and cigarettes fell into his arms, letting out an obnoxious giggle that culminated with a snort. The two instantly locked lips and exchanged a sloppy kiss that missed more than it connected.
    The large man wrapped his arm around the staggering girl and guided her along the short, broken path to the front door of his one-story home—a dwelling that would be aptly described by any passerby as a weather-stained box with a few windows.
    Before entering, the drunken couple paused for a second attempt at a kiss, nearly falling over one another in the effort. The alcohol-induced detriment to their equilibrium succeeded in bringing out another sloppy giggle from the female. The big man leered at his drunken catch then turned back towards the front door. He closed one eye (there were now two doorknobs for some reason) and fumbled and scraped his key along the lock’s plate until it eventually clicked home. A quick turn of the key, a forceful nudge with his shoulder, and the front door swung open allowing the big man to guide his catch inside. That was the last thing the big man remembered for almost thirty minutes.
     
    * * *
     
    The big man felt the headache before his eyes fluttered open. When his vision settled, he made out two men standing in front of him. It took him a few seconds, but he soon remembered who these two men were. One of the men was sporting an impressive wound on his cheek—a wound that he himself had given him.
    The large man sprang to attention, but instant resistance seized his entire body, the confines of the ropes that bound him to the chair biting into his skin. He struggled briefly against the binds, but soon quit when he could not detect even the slightest bit of slack in their coiled grip.
    “Careless fool,” the man with the wound on his cheek said. “You left your wallet open for damn near five minutes when you bought a round for that pig you brought home with you.”
    The big man blinked several times;