He spends the day on the lake, bare chest and sandal feet soaking up the UVs, steel pot helmet and Foo Man Chu scaring away the jet-skiers that come too close to the PPB.
The PPB is an old 1960ish boat that he and The DJ have sprayed flat gray and mounted a mock .30 caliber machine-gun to. It looks like a Viet Nam era patrol boat hence the name 'Pussy Patrol Boat 069'. Decals of an open mouth with sharp teeth reminiscent of a World War Two fighter plane adorn the bow, along the port and starboard sides, in eight inch stenciled block is 'PPB 069', and on the aft 'Charlie Don't Surf'.
He cruises close to the No Wake Zone, admiring the million dollar homes nestled close together as if fighting for a spot on the shore of the deep mountain lake. On the left is the summer home of the owners of McDonald's($6.5 million), on the right, the guy who convinced them to sell french fries($4 million).
Big money showing off in the middle of nowhere.
Done with boating he moors at the dock that bobs up and down behind the only bar in town worth drinking at. His friend's band is playing tonight and he plans on returning and tieing on a drunk. He drives back to the storage unit he lives in and gets changed into jeans and a light pink, button up shirt that pisses off the tough guys and makes the panties damp. He slaps on the wide brimmed shit-kicker hat with the braided, gator-hide band and tops the look off with a liberal blast of body spray.
The line to get into the club snakes out of the long hallway entrance and down a block and a half, he squeezes by, tipping his hat at a few of the better looking women, bright smile flashing from underneath the fuzzy caterpillar of a mustache. Pretty Boy, the new bouncer, nods to him as he slips past the other patrons who whine and complain "that guy didn't have to pay to get in", he just smiles and winks at them. He walks towards the bar, slapping a few locals on the shoulder and throwing a wave to the spouses of the band members, the neon lights make his pink shirt orange, then purple, then green. The people that recognize him stop him to ask why he isn't working tonight and he tells them that he resigned his position as the head of security, which isn't completely true but is less time consuming than going into the whole story about why he was fired.
At the bar he orders club soda with lime and and gets an apprehensive look from the brunette bartender with the killer blue baby-doll eyes and a stoic stare from the fat bartender with glasses. Somebody on the other side of the bar motions him to come over, and he does, leaning up against the bar and fishing a Newport out of his shirt pocket.
"You don't work here anymore?" the guy asks, and he is a trouble-maker. Jared is his name, 86ed for fighting- but those were the old rules and since he doesn't work there anymore, it seems that everyone's sins have been forgiven.
"Nah, got let go,"
"Because you were being a dick to everybody,"
"You think I was being a dick to you?" Eyebrows raise in a mixed expression of amazement and disbelief.
"Yeah, you kicked me out for no reason," Jared's buggy eyes narrow down and he turns his shoulders to square off with him, body language for "You and I are about to engage." He smiles at Jared and pops a cigarette between his lips.
"I kicked you out because you're a shit-head when you're drunk and you always want to fight someone, no matter who they are." They stare at each other for a few moments and finally Jared shakes his head, full eye-contact.
"Well, I'm not going to do anything here, but I'm gonna see you on the street and you're gonna be runnin'."
"Is that so?" He just shakes his head and starts to light the cigarette, suddenly, Jared strikes out to snatch the cigarette from his mouth, he jerks back and points a finger at Jared's face, a fistful of Bic lighter ready to be used as a fistload if necessary. "Knock that shit off,"
"Get the fuck out of here, just turn around and walk away," Jared says, testosterone vapors swirling around him like an aura. He finishes lighting his cigarette and turns around to talk to Amber, one elbow still on the bar, a broad smile on his face. Eventually he moves out of Jared's territory and finds himself the recipient of multiple free drinks from the band spouses and Dennis, whose birthday it is.
At one point during the night a tall blonde woman approaches him and asks him if he is a bouncer, he tells her that he resigned and she sticks out a pouty lip.
"That's too bad. I don't know if you remember me but a few months ago we had a bachelorette party here and you stopped me and asked me if I was the ring-leader of the group,"
"Yeah, that sounds like something I would say," he notices the huge rock on her left ring finger, she was 'smuggling diamonds'.
"Well, you told us that we were going to get hit on and messed with and that if any drunk, nasty guys were bothering us that we could come get you, and one of them did and you said that you were my husband,"
"And I just wanted to say thank you so much, we had such a great time and you made us feel safe."
"Well thank you, that makes me feel like I did a good job." It was too bad she was married, she was awfully good looking.
The blonde buys him a shot and they chat for a while before she gets sucked out onto the dance floor. He smokes his cigarettes and buys himself a few beers, the music makes the time fly and he finds himself having quite a good time despite the unpleasantness with Jared.
Around 1:30 AM he sets his hat on his seat and makes his way to the men's room.
"This is where the dicks hang out," he alerts the other guys at the urinals, they laugh, that one always gets a laugh from them. Washing his hands at the sink he sees Jared walk into the restroom and the next thing he knows he is on his back, looking up at his cheap-shot attacker.
Now this is a serious position for him to be in. Jared is not a tiny guy and he has a reputation for having quite a powerful punch. He's knocked four or five guys out cold with one solid hit and when he is drunk there is practically no stopping him. At 1:30 AM Jared is shit-faced.
Ft. Bragg comes back to him with stunning clarity through the alcohol haze and stinging pain in his jaw. Lines training, hand-to-hand, dirty fighting, and violence of action emerge from his subconcious and take over all rational thought.
He lashes out, grabs a handful of Jared's testicles and pulls himself up to his knees, his other hand dealing charlie-horse knuckle-punches to the front of Jared's thigh. Jared forgets about throwing punches and immediately tries to free his balls from the crushing grip. He pulls himself to his feet, releasing his hold on the crotch and receiving two or three devastating blows to his ribs in return before he is able to sink his thumbs into both of Jared's eyes, fingers digging into his temples to gain purchase. Jared screams and claws at the hands of his would be victim but the thumbs sink deeper, up to the second knuckle. He starts to throw his right knee up into Jared's left thigh, two, three, four times and Jared is on his way to his knees desperately trying to get the invading thumbs from his sockets. Taking advantage of his opponent's position, he pulls Jared's shirt up over his face and starts dropping bombs on his head. Left fist, right fist, right, right, right. Jared drops to both knees and tries to wrap his arms around the other man's legs, he succeeds and lifts him an inch or two off of the floor but the blows have started to land against the back of his head and neck. The 4th and 5th vertebrae are his target and he unleashes on them, no sound comes from his curling lips.
Someone grabs him from behind and tells him that what he was doing wasn't fair. He breaks contact and turns around, stepping out of the restroom calmly, The DJ is at the door and they nearly collide.
"What's going on in there?" he asks, trying to look inside.
"There's a fight in the bathroom," he says grinning and steps over to the table to grab his hat.
"FUCKING PUSSY FIGHTER! HE SCRATCHED MY EYES!" Pretty Boy drags a screaming, shirtless Jared from the bathroom. Both of his eyes are bleeding and so is his nose."I'M GONNA KICK HIS FUCKIN' ASS!". Not tonight you're not, the new bouncer tells him, just before he pushes Jared out the door and tells him to go home.
The married blonde comes back up to him, grabs a handful of pink shirt and gives him a kiss full on the mouth as if it was New Year's.
"Happy 4th of July!" she tells him.
"Happy 4th of July." He replies.