Jon…A Desperate Prequel
by
Nicholas Antinozzi
PUBLISHED BY:
Nicholas Antinozzi
Copyright (c) 2010 by Nicholas Antinozzi
Edited by Coleta Wright
Cover Design by Steve Peterson
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Crown, Minnesota, population: fewer by the minute, a sleepy town where nothing much ever happens. These days, For Sale signs stand in front of abandoned homes that are sporadically haunted by ghoulish real estate agents. They seem to be a dying breed and promise that the market is going to rebound, but they tell the lie mostly for themselves. The exodus began during the mortgage crisis and the population had continued to dwindle during the months and weeks that followed. The good people of Crown were now fleeing in droves, taking what they could while they still had the means to escape.
The rumors had been circulating for many months, the dollar was on life support and the prognosis was grim.
Jon had never really felt attached to any one place, but he had been in Crown for a few years now and had seen how it had once been. He lived in his mother’s home, a small bungalow that sat just outside of town on a couple rolling acres of oaks. Jon was luckier than most, his mom had left the place to him free and clear of sticky-fingered bankers and tax collectors. The properties on either side of him were vacant and untended. He didn’t like that. Jon was in his early thirties, fit, handsome, and a few years out of the military. He currently shared his home and his life with Kyle, a flight attendant with a chipped tooth and a small mole on his left cheek. Kyle was of average height, thin, with delicate features and thick black hair. They were nearly past the four season mark.
On the Saturday evening before the world stood still, Jon and Kyle were up at the The City Limits, having a bite to eat and a few beers. The crowd was non-existent and both the bartender and the cook had come right out and told them that if things didn’t pick up, and soon, that they were going to close early. Jon had ordered the Crown-burger while Kyle was having hot wings and fries.
The City Limits had been around for nearly one hundred years, had seen its better days, but still had the best food around for thirty miles. The wooden floors creaked and sagged around the long bar and the room stank of long-banned cigarette smoke. Mounted fish and stuffed deer heads adorned the knotty pine walls. There were two televisions at either end of the bar, neither one worked. The bartender was named Shari, a twenty-something brunette of medium height with a trim figure and a radiant smile. Shari was capable of pouring drinks that brought her five dollar tips, and she sent her patrons to where they wanted to go. The cook was named Gladys and she had a face that went well with her name. Gladys could still remember the original owners and the names of the others who had come and gone over the years. She could also serve up some of the hottest buffalo wings known to man.
“How can you eat those things?” Jon asked with a grimace. “They smell like magma.”
“These are the Fours,” Kyle said after taking a bite of wing; he dabbed his lips with his napkin and reached for his beer. “I’ve never seen anyone eat two of the Tens.” Kyle slugged down half of the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “These bad boys are hot!”
Jon was ready to respond when the front door to the bar opened and three strangers walked in. Jon knew they were trouble the second he laid his eyes upon them. They walked in together, as if they had practiced the entrance a thousand times over. The leader wore a scowl on a shovel-face and unlaced biker boots. He stuck his chest out as he walked. The other two walked behind da boss, one on either side. All three were big guys, but big in a way that made you think of pizza and video games.
Jon watched them arrive and then he closed his eyes for just a few seconds. Take the leader out at the knees and then go for the nearest one of the others. Jon couldn’t escape the training; it followed him everywhere, even to bed where it gave him nightmares. There was going to be a fight, Jon could feel it in his bones.
“What you lookin’ at?” asked the leader, who was looking directly at Jon.
“Nothing,” replied Jon, honestly. He then returned his attention to Kyle and his burger.
The three men looked to be a few years younger than Jon; they also appeared to have been on the road for a while, they looked around with glassy stares that shone with drugs and disapproval. Jon thought they looked like the three guys who stood behind the counter of the local salvage yard, but he knew that they weren’t.
“Come on, sweetheart,” ordered the leader as he swaggered up to the bar. “We ain’t got all night.”
“What’ll you have?” asked Shari without much enthusiasm.
“Three Buds and some menus; is your kitchen still open?”
“Not for much longer,” shouted Gladys from the back in her raspy voice.
“Can we have five minutes?”
There was a long pause before Gladys replied that she’d give them that long to order. Shari brought over three bottles of Bud and took a credit card from one of the cronies. She swiped it and watched the little monitor, satisfied, she set the card next to the register and handed each of the men a menu. She then walked back into the kitchen.
Kyle pretended not to notice the men and he continued to eat. When he took a bite of wing that really put the bite on his tongue, Kyle backed away from the table and fanned his mouth. “Oh man,” he said. “That shit is hot!”
Jon sighed and looked down at his shoes. Before he could lift his head he could hear the snickering. “That shit is hot!” Jon turned his gaze to the three guys at the bar. They went on for a while longer, as if what Kyle had said was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
Kyle drank from his beer, stood, and proudly displayed his plate of nearly completed wings. “I got twenty bucks that says you can’t.”
This brought the men out of their revelry and they quickly composed themselves. They had just been challenged and it appeared to have insulted them. “Yeah?” asked the leader. He had ice blue, red-rimmed eyes and greasy black hair. He had the appearance of someone who had worked very hard on a look, but who wanted everyone to think it came naturally. “I got twenty says that I can.”
“I’ll take that bet,” said Kyle.
The man eyed Kyle and took a pull on his beer, he then turned to Shari. “Three orders of your hottest wings, sweetheart. My new friend here is buying us all dinner.” He picked up his beer and walked over to inspect Jon and Kyle. “That’s gonna cost you sixty bucks. Let’s see the cash.”
Jon gave Kyle a look that said it was his call. Kyle already knew that Jon would prefer not to fight, but that he would if the need presented itself. “What, you don’t think I can cover the bet? Let’s go double or nothing,” Kyle said, with only a slight lisp as he flipped open his wallet and produced six crisp, twenty dollar bills. “Unless you want to back out, I’ll let you do that.”
This must have been the last thing the man had expected to hear and he obviously thought it had been meant as an insult. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared and his lips twisted into a scowl. “You gettin’ smart with me? Listen up, choir boy; I don’t much care for your type. You know what I’m sayin’? You should learn to keep your mouth shut.”
“There’s no need for that,” Jon said, stepping in between Kyle and the man. “He was just saying that you didn’t need to make the bet. Trust me. You don’t want to make that bet.”
“And who the hell are you? Shut your damn mouth, faggot. This is between him and me.”
“Shut my mouth? Maybe you’d like to try and help me do that. Bet you can’t.”
Kyle smiled at this and then he started to giggle. “Trust me,” he said to the stranger. “You don’t want to make that bet.”
There was a momentary pause as the man tried to process all of this new information. He took another look at Jon and saw him as he should have the moment they walked into the bar. Jon was six lean feet of muscle and his posture was unmistakably military.
Jon stared into the man’s eyes and dared him to move without saying a word. Jon thought that he would do just that. Guys like this like to throw sucker punches and pull knives. Jon nodded and turned to face Kyle. This would be the moment and Jon had predicted it to the second. Kyle raised his hands to his chest and shouted something to the man, but Jon never heard it. He dropped like a cat as the punch sailed well over its intended target. Jon was behind his attacker in two moves and he held the man’s head in the crook of his arm. “Let it go, or I can promise you that I’ll go for your eyes next time. You know what I’m sayin’?”
There was another moment of silence and the man’s friends looked like someone had just defeated their super-hero. Do we follow the new King?
The man began to chuckle, wisely choosing to see things for what they were. “Hey guys, can’t you take a joke? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by all that. They call me Rowdy.”
Jon loosened his hold and Rowdy stepped away and rubbed at his neck. Jon could see that he was going to have more trouble, but he let it pass. “I’m Jon and this is Kyle. Do you still want to make that bet?”
“Damn right,” said Rowdy.
“Fair enough! Gladys, make sure those are your hottest wings, I’m buying!”
“We can pay our own way.”
“I insist.”
“Hot damn,” said Kyle. “Hot damn!”
Rowdy laughed like he understood what was really going on, but he didn’t, and he stalked back to join his friends. The swagger was gone and he stood a few inches shorter than when he had walked into the bar. Some words were exchanged, but Jon couldn’t make them out. One of the two goons then got up from his stool and walked up to the jukebox and soon The City Limits was grooving to Twisted Sister. The sharp smell from the wings started slow, but it was soon clearing sinuses and making eyes water. Rowdy and his friends suddenly became very interested in the kitchen.
“How hot did you say those things were?” Jon said to Kyle from the side of his mouth.
“A few thousand degrees, maybe hotter...”
“You lied to them; you know that, right?”
“I may have misrepresented myself, but technically I never lied about eating wings.”
“But those were Fours.”
“I know; that’s what makes this so perfect. Teach him to come to our town and gay bash.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Charlie Daniels followed Twisted Sister and the Doobie Brothers followed them. The air was noticeably warmer and the zesty smell infected the bar like a nasty virus. Shari brought Jon and Kyle out another round of beers. “These are on Gladys,” she said with a wink. “She lives for this, you know that.”
“I do,” said Kyle. “Thank her for us and you two can split this.” Kyle then handed her a twenty. “It’s from our new friend, Rowdy.”
“Thanks Kyle. I just wanted you to know how much we’re going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
Jon looked away.
The order bell rang out of time with the jukebox, with Gladys ringing it like they were having some kind of medical emergency. Shari smiled and walked back to the kitchen.
“There’s no changing your mind?” Jon asked.
Kyle shook his head and smiled sadly. “Come on, we don’t want to miss the show.”
Jon picked up his beer and followed Kyle down the bar to where Shari had already set out two orders of the offensive wings. Rowdy’s friends sat at the bar and stared at their plates as if they were about to melt onto the bar. Shari returned with Rowdy’s plate and she set it down in front of him with a wide smile. Then, without being asked, she pulled three Buds from the cooler and uncapped them. Rowdy nodded bravely.
Introductions were made as Rowdy obviously stalled for time. The guy with the longish brown hair and the nose ring was named Stash, and the redhead with the Asian tattoo on his neck was called Mongo. Jon had nearly laughed when Rowdy had said the name. Gladys had come out from the kitchen. She was wearing a stained white apron over an old flowered dress. She was still a large woman at her advanced age, with hands the size of a man’s and a nose to match. She also looked as proud as a peacock. Nobody made wings like Gladys, and she knew it. She stared at the men through her thick glasses and the anticipation on her face was clear.
“Well?” asked Kyle.
“Don’t rush me, man,” said Rowdy. “I’m just letting them chill out for a minute. Mongo, go on ahead and show them what you think of their hot wings. Mongo eats his cereal with jalapenos.”
Everyone knew this was a total line of bullshit, but it didn’t matter. Mongo had suddenly been thrust on to center-stage and his freckled face flushed. He was painfully shy of handsome and his forehead was prematurely creased. With all eyes on him, Mongo picked up one of the drummies and he devoured it in three quick bites. He then smiled, licked his fingers and dabbed at his lips with his napkin.
“You gettin’ scared yet?” asked Rowdy. “Mongo can eat anything.”
Mongo had suddenly gone for his beer and Gladys gave him a knowing smile.
Marshall Tucker began to play on the jukebox as all eyes were on Mongo. He wore a worried expression as he downed the bottle of Budweiser. When he had sucked the last drop of liquid from the bottle, he motioned for Shari to bring him another. When Shari didn’t move fast enough, Mongo reached for Stash’s beer and he drank half of that.
“That shit is hot, huh?” asked Kyle.
Mongo nodded, but didn’t say anything. He sat with his mouth open and huffed in and out, like he was blowing up an air mattress. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes. Gladys was beaming with pride.
“You didn’t eat those wings,” said Rowdy, pointing to Kyle. “Faggot like you? Like hell you did.”
“Don’t you use that language in here, young man,” retorted Gladys. “He orders the same thing every time he walks in here, the same wings that I made for you. Are you going to call me a liar?”
Kyle stepped back and nodded his head. Cocky in the lie, thankful to have friends in the right places, thought Jon. Rowdy looked like he had been slapped, but he also looked like he’d had some direction in his young life and that he knew better than to argue with his elders. He slunk back onto his stool and looked at his food. “Come on guys, we’ve got a hundred and twenty bucks on this. That’ll buy us a lot of beers.”
“Ice,” said Mongo. “Bring us three glasses of ice.”
Shari nodded and went about filling three bar glasses with the little ice cubes from down in the cooler. Kyle gave Jon a sideways glance.
“Don’t think about it,” said Mongo to his friends in a husky voice. “Just put a couple cubes in your mouth before each wing. Chew it all together and don’t stop until your plate is clean. It’s the only way.”
Stash nodded his melon-head and he looked to Rowdy for approval. Gladys gave Shari a look of disappointment, as if Mongo had just stumbled upon the kryptonite to her super-wings. Rowdy caught the look and he was suddenly nodding his head. “We can do this,” he said with a toothy smile. “One hundred and twenty bucks, here we come!”
Jon caught Kyle’s eye and Kyle looked as confident as ever. He shook his head with a smirk and nodded to the three men at the bar. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “This should be like taking candy from a baby.”
“Shut up, faggot,” said Rowdy.
“What did I tell you about using that language in my bar?” asked Gladys, who charged a few steps closer to the men. “Don’t you dare do that again, this is a family establishment.”
Rowdy ignored her; instead of replying he dumped a few cubes of ice into his mouth, picked up a wing between his fingers and hoisted it to his friends. “Let’s do it!”
There were a dozen wings on each of the plates, but soon that number had been cut in half. They ate as a team; drank the same way. Jon watched as they mechanically went about chomping their ice cubes before grabbing a new wing. It didn’t seem fair. One look to Kyle and Jon knew that he felt the same way. The jukebox was now silent and the only sounds were coming from the three men at the bar.
Gladys looked at the men with obvious amazement.
There seemed to be a wall at wing seven. Rowdy gave himself away as he dumped the remaining ice from his glass into his mouth. The tears streamed down from his pinched eyelids. Jon was suddenly confident, even as Shari refilled all three of the glasses with ice.
“Guys,” Rowdy said, raising his hands. “Time out, let’s take five.”
“Yeah,” said Stash, thickly. “Five.”
“No,” said Mongo. “We’ve got to finish it, now. You don’t understand…”
If Stash and Rowdy heard him, they never responded. Mongo continued to eat.
This was actually Mongo’s eighth wing and he stripped it clean in two bites. “Ice water,” he hissed to Shari.
Shari brought him a large glass and he took two big gulps and dabbed his lips. Mongo then took hold of another wing and began to attack it. His eyes suddenly doubled in size and he stopped moving. He swallowed hard and then began to guzzle the glass of water. Mongo looked like he was dying, and he very well could have been, but nobody asked him how he was. Nobody said so much as a word.
Mongo closed his eyes and called upon whatever it was that gave him the courage to look in the mirror each day, and other bad things, such as situations like this. He never looked back. And although he would never know: Mongo became the first person to ever finish a plate of Gladys’ hottest wings. It didn’t come without a price. After eating the last bit of the twelfth wing, smiling, Mongo swung around on his barstool, took a long slug of beer and belched. The belch was worthy of the wings.
Suddenly, Mongo pitched forward onto the wooden floor with a crash. He remained in the same position on the floor as he had in the chair, face down, as if he had been set in cement.
For a moment nobody moved, not even Mongo. Jon and Kyle responded simultaneously. They carefully rolled the man onto his back and Jon put his ear next to Mongo’s open mouth. Mongo’s tongue was lolling out. “He’s not breathing,” said Jon.
“Sweep,” replied Kyle.
Jon hooked his finger and he suddenly jammed it into Mongo’s open mouth. He dug around and found no obstruction.
“Get him breathing,” ordered Kyle.
Jon never paused for a second. He moved to Mongo’s side and pinched Mongo’s nostrils between his thumb and finger. A moment later, he was blowing into Mongo. Jon pulled away as Kyle pressed on Mongo’s diaphragm with steady pressure. Jon’s breath wheezed out of the big man, but there was no change in his condition. They repeated the process five agonizing times before Mongo suddenly began to cough.
“Holy crap,” said Rowdy.
Gladys and Shari gave each other a look and they walked around from behind the bar. Shari stood over Jon, who was still keeping an eye on Mongo. “Is this guy gonna live?” she asked. “Should we call an ambulance?”
“No!” Rowdy shouted. “I mean… Look at him; he’s going to be fine. We can’t afford no doctors.” Shari, Kyle, Gladys, and Jon exchanged a look and Rowdy was just sharp enough to catch them. “Stash, let’s do it!”
From out of nowhere, Stash produced a snub-nosed Saturday night special and he was now covering the room with it. He looked uncomfortable with the gun and he twisted it awkwardly to show everyone that he was in charge.
“These guys… just saved my life,” wheezed Mongo. “And you’re going to rob them?”
“Put the gun away,” Kyle said, pointing to Stash. “Do it now.”
Jon got to his feet; he and Shari stood between Rowdy and Stash. Stash looked completely confused now and he looked to Rowdy for support.
“Shoot him if he makes another sound!” Rowdy bellowed in anger. “You two,” he said, pointing at Jon and Shari. “Hit the floor, now!”
Shari dove to the floor and slid under a table. Jon didn’t move. Kyle got to his feet and stood next to Jon.
“I’ll have him shoot you both, don’t kid yourselves,” growled Rowdy.
“He isn’t going to shoot anyone,” said Jon. “Not tonight he isn’t.”
“You got that right,” added Mongo, who was still holding his throat. “Those dudes just saved my life. Stash, put the gun away.”
“I’ll kill you if you do that,” said Rowdy, but his voice wasn’t half as strong as it once was.
“I don’t know… I don’t know… I don’t know,” said Stash.
“You know,” said Gladys.
“You’re right,” said Stash. “I do.”
Rowdy smiled confidently at Jon and Kyle, but the smile suddenly vanished as Stash tucked the handgun back into his belt.
“Remember what I said about going for your eyes?” Jon asked Rowdy in a voice just above a whisper.
“Go ahead, I don’t give a shit,” said Stash.
“Asshole,” muttered Mongo.
“Hey guys,” Rowdy said, diving into his good guy act. “You didn’t think we were serious, did you? We’re just having a little fun, isn’t that right, Stash?”
Jon began to move toward Rowdy and the air became very still.
“Stash, man, help a brother out,” Rowdy said, backing away.
“Kiss my ass,” replied Stash.
Jon was on him in less than a second and Rowdy experienced a series of great pains. Jon never went after his eyes, but he paid close attention to Rowdy’s right hand and fingers; he never wanted him to have the opportunity to do to someone else what he had planned on doing to them. Kyle grimaced as Rowdy screamed in agony. One by one, Jon snapped each digit all the way back on Rowdy’s poor hand. Jon calmly stepped away from him and left Rowdy curled up on the wooden floor. “You’re going to need to get him to the hospital,” he said to Stash. “He’ll lose that hand if you don’t.”
“Shit…” said Stash, looking at the trembling man on the floor.
Mongo got to his feet and walked back to the bar and grabbed half a bottle of Bud. He finished it and set it back on the bar. “Check please?” he asked Gladys.
“On the house,” hissed Gladys. “As long as you never come back.”
Mongo nodded and finally smiled. He looked at Stash and nodded to Rowdy. “Let’s roll; we can drop him in Saint Cloud. I say we leave him there.”
“I can dig that,” said Stash.
“But… I’ve got Warrants,” moaned Rowdy. “They’ll send me back to the joint.”
“You know what, bro?” asked Mongo. “You should go back to the joint. You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you got out. Mom even thinks so.”
“She said the same thing to me,” echoed Stash, who was already helping Rowdy to his feet.
Shari gave Jon the, I’m about to die laughing, look. Jon returned it. They watched Gladys hand Mongo back his credit card, which he tucked away in his wallet. “My compliments to the chef,” Mongo said.
And with that, the new King of Wings walked over to the front door and he held it open for his dysfunctional family. There was a sudden flash of headlights in the windows and then they were gone. The party was moving to Saint Cloud, which was just fine with the people at the City Limits.
“I’ve had enough,” said Gladys. “Hit the lights, Shari.”
Five minutes later Jon and Kyle were driving the quiet mile back home. It was just after ten and the night was as black as coal. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” said Jon.
“Just let it go,” replied Kyle, who was driving his Mazda slowly, scanning the ditches for deer. “My folks want me home, what with the failing economy, you know that. I can’t let them down, they need me. I’m sorry that they don’t understand about us, they never would.”
“They would if you came out of the closet.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
“When are you going to quit living the lie? You don’t have to live like this. Trust me; you’ll feel so much better after you’ve come out.”
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Kyle said, flipping on his blinker on the deserted stretch of road, one hundred yards from Jon’s driveway. “But you have never met my family. You have never met their friends. No, I wouldn’t feel better after coming out. I would be all alone in the world.”
“You’d still have me.”
“I’m sorry Jon, but that just isn’t enough.”
The words hurt Jon in a way that no punch ever had. Kyle was leaving him to move back into his parents’ home in Chicago. If what was being predicted came to pass, Jon doubted he’d ever see Kyle again.
And Jon was right.
If you found this prequel enticing, discover three more tantalizing quick reads: Bill Huggins, Julie Hartman, Julie Hartman and Ken’s Tale & the Peterson Dilemma; follow these up with the most incredible journey into what could be…Desperate Times by Nicholas Antinozzi at Smashwords.com