Free Getting Higher by Robert T. Jeschonek Page A

buckling, people sniffing around and waving their cups like trophies. Quickly, the bartenders were overwhelmed, finding it impossible to keep up with demand. The fact that they were both hopelessly stoned didn't make the job any easier.
    "Okay, okay, gimme' a minute, man!" Grabbing someone's cup, Crank dipped it full of punch, then practically threw it back to the guy. "All right, who's next?"
    "Hey, fucker!" grated the man whom Crank had tossed the drink to. "You just spilled this shit all over my damn shirt!"
    Crank looked hastily down at the shirt. Sure enough, there was a huge red stain right near the man's stomach...a big vermillion splotch spread through the cloth as if he was bleeding underneath.
    "Aw shit," Crank snagged, reaching for someone else's cup. "I'm sorry, man. I'll get ya' another drink right away. I'm too busy, y'know?"
    "What'd you say, ass-wipe?" hollered the man, stepping closer to his latest victim.
    "I said, I'm busy right now, okay?"
    The big guy snarled like a Doberman at Crank. Seething, he was partying with a lit fuse and just waiting for an excuse like this to blow. The guy was up for a head-cracking, and he was trouble: six feet tall, with heavy clots of muscle gripping upper arms and chest; his hair was a greasy black tangle, and his head was a stubby dull stump. No neck could be seen on the cumbersome grouch....just one gulf of muscle from his chin to his chest.
    "No, not okay, fuckhead!" he blasted. "I just washed this shirt at the fuckin' laundrymat last week! I paid good money to clean it, an' now you fuckin' fucked it up!" Suddenly, he made his opening move, dumping his entire cup of punch of Crank's head. "There, cunt-face," crowed the goon with delight, "how do you like it?"
    Enraged, Crank sprang to his feet, leaping like a jack-in-the-box to stand face-to-face with the ape. Fury built within him like a coil winding tighter, pulling back a chubby arm about to throw a punch. Then, he took a closer look at the beast that was urging him on. Slowly, through the booze blurring his brain, he took in the threatening details: the huge, slabby fists; steel-belted biceps; and perhaps most cowing of all discouraging features, the ultimate dumb, crazy face. He realized, if he took the animal on, that he would receive a bloody beating, that the opponent might even manage to kill him. Still staring into the monster's eyes, Crank took a single step backward.
    "Uh, hey," he said, forcing a smile. "We're even, right? No hard feelings?"
    The simple giant ate up Crank's begging. Nothing would now divert him from attacking, nothing would prevent a satisfying mauling this evening. "Fuck you, shit-face! It's too fuckin' late, now! I wanna' fuckin' take it outta' your fuckin' hide, man!"
    Like a motorboat, the titan's fist plunged into Crank's flabby torso, sending him reeling backward in pain. The man whaled him again, in the face, and Crank toppled against the bathroom wall. Like cough syrup, blood glistened freshly under his nose.
    Laughing, the barbarian thundered forward, pulling back his arm for another swing; then, from behind, someone grabbed him and yanked him away. Actually, there were three someones chipping in--Joe holding one of the guy's arms, Rocky restraining the other, and somebody Crank didn't know clamping him around his battleship chest. As the big man flailed wildly, growling and shouting and swearing like a jailbird, Crank's rescuers dragged him away into the living room. Automatically, a path cleared through the crowd to admit the struggling foursome.
    As Crank stood painfully, wincing as he gripped his pummeled stomach and chin, Joe and the others hauled the trouble-maker across the floor, heading for the apartment exit. A girl opened the door, and the writhing feral gorilla was pitched roughly into the hall outside. He thudded to the floor of the hall, then bounded to his feet and started to charge back in.
    Before he could advance, Rocky stepped forward and kicked him savagely in the