A Guy Walks Into A Bar...

Hardheaded

The man was bound and screaming so loudly I wasn't sure if I could take it. He wasn't even being hurt at the moment. My father slowly approaches the man, a menacing snarl plastered to his face. The second he comes into the man's view, the man draws in a breath and shuts up. My father smirks, maybe because of his own power over people, possibly because he was just basking in the man's fear.

My father taps his lip a few times with his index finger. "I'm a forgetful man, I admit that," he nods, "but usually I can jog my brain a little. Sometimes I can depend on others to fill in the blanks for me. But for the life of me and my head henchman, I simply don't remember planning out any dawn robbery at some shitty convenient store in the Narrows. Which pretty much indicates that I didn't. But obviously you did. Why ever would you do that?" He flamboyantly shrugs.

"I-it was supposed t-t-to be a quick i-in and out. N-n-no shots. No c-cops. Wasn't s-supposed to make th-th-the news," the man struggles to get his words out. His teeth were literally chattering.

My father leans down into the man's face. "Oh, so I was supposed to be none the wiser, hum?" He gives the man's cheek a little pinch. "Well guess what, I found out. I must say I'm very disappointed in you. And I don't handle disappointment very well."

My father steps away and pulls off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. Just like in gangster movies before they beat the hell out of someone. Damn it's been one crazy day. And it's not even noon yet. My father cracks his neck to the left, then he cracks it to the right. He rolls it out and approached the man again.

"I give the orders around here!" He says and takes a swing at the man. He was so fast, despite being twice my age. His fist crashed into the man's jaw hard enough that bruises show up almost instantly. I can't help but wince. My father packed more of a punch than you'd ever guess by looking at him.

"Wow," I can't help but say. More to myself, but my father hears and turns to look at me.

"You look surprised Junior," he says.

"Oh...um yes sir...I just mean...to look at you...um..." I don't want to insult him or cross any lines.

"Yes yes," he rolls his eyes, "I see where you're headed with that. But you see, when you've sparred with the bat for twenty years, you pick up a thing or two," he swings at the man again. His fist makes contact with the man's nose. I can hear it crunch as it breaks and starts pouring blood. I can't help but look away.

"Jun-ior," I hear my father say, "this is no time to be turning away. This is what you wanted, remember?" I turn to look as he pulls out a straight razor. "Come here." I swallow and cross over to my father. He takes my hand and puts the razor in it. "Moment of truth kid," he stares deeply into my eyes. It was like he was trying to give me yet another chance to back out. It was like he wanted me to choose to leave all this.

I look at the razor in my hand. Of course it was purple. There was a big smile etched into the blade. I close my fist around it and look to the bloodied man. I step up to him and look at the tears mingling with the pouring blood. My mind went into some sort of autopilot as my brain left the situation all together. It was like watching a movie of myself.

I know slicing through his throat with this razor will kill the man. And I know that's what my father wants me to do. Because a part of him doesn't think I'm capable of something like that. Am I? Can I take this man's life? Can I live with being a murderer? Can I be like my father? What would my mom think?

My left hand grabs the man by the back of the hair. Just like my father had done to me. With my right hand I bring the razor to the man's throat. My hand doesn't even quiver. Am I really going to do this? I have no choice. I start pressing the blade into the man's throat. I can see his flesh start to slice open. I'm about to start moving the blade when a pale hand firmly goes around my wrist.