The View From The Bar

He was dressed in the obligatory black with a red bandanna across his forehead and mirrored sunglasses hanging from his teeth, slouched across the bar, thick knuckled and grimy hands clutching a beer.  He gave me a sloppy grin when I ordered a last Coke and leaned toward me.  Take my pitcher, Red, whaddya say.  Buy you a drank or three.  It was two in the morning and I was tired and sweaty, about to pack it in.  The last thing in the world I needed was a drunken biker whispering sweet nothings in my ear in a smoke filled bar.  I turned and tried a friendly smile.  It's late, I said, and I've packed my gear.  Maybe next time.  


Music's still playin', he persisted, How 'bout a dance?


Reeling slightly from the alcohol fumes but trying to maintain my smile as well as my distance, I thanked him but declined and reached for my Coke - without warning, one hand with the texture of old barn wood closed on my wrist.  C'mon, Red, he said a little roughly, One for the road.  


I instinctively jerked back and his grip tightened.  Then from out of nowhere, there was a pool cue between us, resting lightly on his forearm.


You're trashed, Butch, a new and quiet voice said mildly, Now let go the lady.  I ain't gonna tell you twice.


I looked around to see a second biker at the end of the pool stick, a taller and heavier version of the first with more silver chains, gray pony tailed pulled over his jacket collar, and clear eyes.  He tapped the stick on the bar, grinned at his buddy.  Easy, big man, he said with just a shade of warning in his gravely voice, We don't wanna dance, not here.  The first biker hesitated for a fraction of a second then shrugged, let loose my wrist and muttered an apology to me.


 Reckon I sometimes forget my manners when I drink, ma'am, he said gruffly, No offense.


None taken, I replied and resisted the urge to give him a genuine smile.


He reluctantly allowed himself to be led away in the direction of the pool tables but still managed an over the shoulder backward glance.


Reckon you don't play pool either, do you?  he called.  The second biker gave him a friendly cuff on the back of the head and I just shook my head and laughed.  


Know when to give up and you'll save yourself a heap of trouble.