Once we were both dressed, Vanessa in one of her favorite new dresses and me in a ratty standby shirt and jeans, we called a cab to drive us over to a local bar. Now that we had the money to take taxis we made sure to do so whenever taking a short trip. A simple traffic stop might land us in jail with just enough time for a murder arrest. We tipped generously, took a short ride to the bar, and made sure to get the driver's personal number for the return trip. If you pay well, they will always be on time.
Vanessa immediately wanted to leave for precisely the reasons that I wanted to stay. The place was filled with professional drinkers and lowlifes, with a restroom door that was hanging on by one hinge, a couple that appeared to be fucking in the back booth, a man with swollen eyes and a broken nose backwashing blood into his beer, and a bartender that swayed like a man that measured his tips in one ounce increments. My kind of place. I sat at the bar and put my jacket down on the stool next to me for Vanessa since she wore a short dress that would make her big ass peek out when she sat, and I didn't want her getting pregnant off of whatever cocktail of filth might be growing on the faux leather beneath her. She always kept the money, but it didn't bother me as she ordered herself a gin and tonic, and me a bottle of irish whiskey and a dry glass.
I poured slightly faster than I drank it, and shared some with the bartender who confided in me that I "had the prettiest girl that had ever walked into this bar, I shit you not!" Once Vanessa started catching up on drinks she began to get a little more comfortable and started absorbing the compliments from the barkeep, as women always do. I got sick of listening to them so I went and stared into the jukebox list, finally deciding on a James Brown song that I don't think I ever heard before. The music was good and loud, enough to drown out the voices in the bar. So I listened and decided on a few more tunes, queued them up and pushed my way through the broken bathroom door to awkwardly piss one-handed while balancing a glass of booze.
When I walked back out Vanessa was waiting outside the door. "I wanna leave. Let's go" she said abruptly. I explained that I wasn't even halfway through the bottle she bought me, and still had two songs left on the box to play, but I could tell there was something wrong.
"The bartender" I said. The pleading look in her eyes told me everything. She had the same look when I shot her father, the one that begged me not to do anything but secretly wished I would. "Alright, alright..." I said "There's a payphone out front, call the cabbie to take us back to the hotel. But I'm NOT leaving without the whiskey." She took a few quick steps to the door, averting her eyes from the bar. I grabbed the bottle off the bar and leaned over to the barkeep and asked "What do I owe you, guy?" He must have not heard me well over the music and said "Hey listen, buddy... she's a fucking liar. If I wanted a piece I wouldn't just grab for it, I would talk to her pimp first" and poked his finger at me. I didn't have time to think. I just swung the bottle through the air and contacted his temple with an audible "ping" like a homerun off an aluminum bat. It wasn't like in the movies, a bottle has a lot more strength than that. It bounced off his head and nearly out of my hand, but didn't break, and he went crashing to the floor behind the bar in a motionless heap.
I thought about jumping the bar and giving him some more, but I quickly became aware that everyone had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at me. So I marched out the front door to Vanessa hanging up the phone. "You didn't say anything, did you?" she asked. "About what?" I was playing stupid. "Let's go for a walk and find another bar. It's a nice night and you look too good to keep to myself." I said. "But the cab is coming!" Vanessa protested. "Fuck the cab. Come on." And down the street we went.