JULY
Cimarron, New Mexico
Night
Damn nightmares, Chainsaw thought as he headed down the stairs and out of the
St. James hotel. He stopped just outside the door and lit an unfiltered
ciggarette and blew a smoke ring up toward the moon. Chainsaw walked behind
the hotel to the older hotel behind it. Dr. No had said it was a historical
landmark or some such. Chainsaw headed inside the old hotel to the bar.
The bar was quite old and seemed to have been restored some time ago and was
again starting to show the signs of age. There were tables thoughout the
room most of which were empty except for the one in the corner where a biker
sat with some sort of cowboy. At the bar a pair of grim bikers wearing worn
black leather, faded blue jeans, and black engineer's boots sat on stools
swilling beer. Burn marks covered the bartop and a squinty old man with
specticals whiped away spilt beer the biker's spilt bear. A gaudy old mirror
stood behind the bar behind a long row of glass bottles. On the bar itself
were a row of monagrammed shot glasses stacked upsidedown.
Bartender: "Wha-kan-I-get-tcha," he wheezed out.
Chainsaw: "Whiskey, and make it a double."
Chainsaw slapped the cash down on the bar as the bartender poored the harsh
liquor into an almost clean glass from the row.
The worst thing about being a hunter is all the damn nightmares.
Chainsaw lifted his glass up to his lips as he noticed a young ugly kid
enter the bar. Something was strangely familiar about him.
As sooon as the ugly kid saw that he had been noticed, he turned and ran as
he faded away.
Chainsaw: "Shit." Chainsaw reflexifly backed up, hackles raised, and spilled
most of his whiskey on himself while he bumped into the grim biker behind
him.
Grim Biker#1: "Why you little shit. You spilled muy fukin' bear!."
Chainsaw: Chainsaw startled to say this least replied,
Grim Biker#1: "Ah, don't talk to me with your back tuned you piece of..,"
Chainsaw: He settled into his gaze, the dead zone, where he saw everything
Grim Biker#1: "Shit," replied the biker with the rank odour of stale beer.
Grim Biker#2: "What the furk does super-imposed mean?," he mouthed to himself
Now Chainsaw, having just seen the kid from his dream dissapear, was highly
not in the mood to have beer breath blown in his direction, and seemed to
himself as a bit justified in taking the first swing.
The biker's chin however, protested as Chainsaws's fist turned it everso
slightly to the side, having little effect.
Chainsaw: "Damn, these old floors are hard."
The second biker droped an elbow that cracked floor boards as easily as it
would have crushed ribs had Chainsaw not rolled to the side at the last
second. Then Chainsaw took a solid blow to the crotch from the beer breathed
biker. Chainsaw wheezed sharply with an intake of air.
Corner Cowboy: "Enough!"
The two bikers stopped their fight, and uncerimoniously
pitched chainsaw out the front door, face first into the street.
Dr. No disturbed by the sound of the scuffle, came around from the pattio,
beer in hand.
Dr. No: "Do you need any help?"
Chainsaw: "No, I'm fine. Their were like, six of them, and I was whipping
Chainsaw: "You could say that. Fuck, doc, watch out for ghosts around here."
Dr. No: "I haven't seen any. What are you going to do?"
Chainsaw: "Those bastards fight dirty. I need to get some air."
Defeated and spooked, Chainsaw wandered out into the cool night air, down the
street, past the hotel, and headed southwest towards Downtown. A large
statue loomed in the darkness, of what, Chainsaw couldn't make out.
He entered the small park near the storefronts of Downtown area and looked up
into the sky and watched the stars. He rubbed his sore jaw and sat on a park
bench. The flow of blood from his nose stopped as the sun rose.
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