By Bob A.
Remmy materialized in the swamp next to the small building. The tracking device he had planted in Jorden�s guitar case led to here, and after a little fast-talking, managed to use the old bird�s transporter net to get here. He didn�t want to have to explain about the disagreement they had had, but it was necessary. His nuts still ached slightly, even after 45 minutes. �Definitely strong-willed, she is. Like her mother, yet definitely her own person� he thought ruefully as he walked around the building to the entrance.
�The Sippin� Hole� was written on the sign over the door. Looking at the patch of dirt that served as a parking lot, Remmy counted 18 motorcycles, six pickup trucks, and a battered jeep. �What does she see in such places? A little girl like her!� he thought as he entered.
Inside, it was crowded with men, the smoke from various substances thick enough to cut and serve in pieces. Across the room, a light fought its way through the gloom, trying to illuminate a tiny stage. On the stage was a girl, about 18 or so, slim but athletic, with shoulder-length brown hair. She was playing an old acoustic guitar and singing. The men closest to the stage were paying close attention to the music. The others in the room were busy drinking, shouting and arguing, so that the music could not be heard more than 10� from the stage. The girl was Jorden Somers, his latest music student, and the old bird�s youngest daughter. Her talent for music rivaled both his own and Marty DuQuesne�s, in Remmy�s humble opinion.
Remmy found a place at the bar and looked toward the stage. When the bartender came over, Remmy asked, �Who�s that?�, pointing to the stage.
�Don�t know. She just walked in here half-hour ago, took out that guitar, and started playing. So long as she don�t cause no trouble, I don�t care. Whatcha want?�
�Beer.� When it was served, Remmy bent his enhanced senses toward listening to Jorden�s music. The argument they had was about her cutting a chip of old bluegrass and country music, while Remmy wanted her to help him on a classical score he was working on. She could play any instrument, extracting the most from it. Remmy had come across an old Stradivarius violin, and he wanted her to play it in a piece he had written for it and her. She didn�t want to. They argued. He became patronizing. She kicked him. Problem was, she knows how and where to kick. Remmy couldn�t stand unaided for ten minutes.
From his vantage point, Remmy could see that Jorden was lost in her music, quietly singing into the microphone, playing songs that were gentle, but very pleasant to listen to. Five minutes later, she looked toward a man at a nearby table. �What would you like to hear next?� she asked.
�Do you know �Friends in Low Places?��
�Sure do! Want to join in?� At his eager nod, Jorden struck up the tune. Soon, most of the bar had joined in, Remmy included. The way she played, and got the crowd involved, was downright infectious!
When the song was over, she decided to play another song for the crowd, �Barroom Buddies�. During that song, some of the men, having consumed a load of alcohol and other stuff, got rowdy. Very rowdy. A fight broke out, with fists and mugs flying every which way.
This one particular man, who stood a good 7�4� and 350 pounds of solid beef, was having a grand old time, punching people and throwing mugs. Throughout this, Jorden just sat on her stool, watching the fracas, holding her guitar. Then, the big bruiser threw a mug her way, sending it through her guitar.
From where he was, Remmy saw Jorden�s face get very determined. [He had been getting licks in to people stupid enough to bother him, but didn�t wade in to the fight himself. �Uh oh. He�s gone done something stupid. Hope she doesn�t.� he thought.
Jorden calmly got up and walked over to the bruiser. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Before he could react, she started slamming her head into his repeatedly. After the fifth whack, he slowly crumpled to the floor. She nimbly got off him before he fell.
Complete silence fell throughout the bar. People stood frozen in mid-strike when the big man hit the floor. They all stared at this young girl, 5�8� and barely 120 pounds, take a guy out three times her weight. She looked around and calmly said, �Who�s next?�
Remmy quickly made his way outside, just before the stampede. As he exited, he reached back and jumped up, pulling himself up onto the roof. The men inside thundered out like frightened cattle, firing up their trucks and bikes, making tracks out and away. Far, far away.
Remmy chuckled at their flight as he watched them run. As the dust began to settle, he felt a tapping at his shoulder. �Spying on me, Uncle?� Jorden said quietly, but with more menace than a pit full of vipers.
Remmy jumped with surprise and alarm- once again, she had sneaked up on him without his noticing! He spun in the air, then landed, looking at her with eyes wide in alarm, like Wile E. Coyote. She smiled sweetly, then pointed down. He looked, to find that he was not on the roof, but in midair, over the doorway. Still maintaining the shocked expression, since he still could not figure how she could sneak up on him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He wrote something on the palm of his hand, then put the pen back in his pocket. He held his hand up to her. In true Looney Tunes fashion, the word �Yikes!� was written there. Then, she released her telekinetic hold, and he fell to the ground.
He looked up to see her looking over the edge of the roof. �I�ll be over tomorrow night to see about getting the guitar fixed, Uncle. Go home, and don�t try to hound and badger me. Next time, use your charm and persuasion- I�m your friend, not your student. I will listen to requests, not orders, okay?� With a smile and a wave, she vanished.
Remmy picked himself up off the ground. The short fall had left him unhurt, just mussed. �Yeah, just like her mother. How does she DO that?� he said to himself as he began placing a request through his wristcomp for a transport home.