Joe Samuelson sat at the end of the bar near
the area where the waiter picked up drinks. The Round-Up was the third bar he visited
on his walk home from work. At each watering hole he had a pint and a shot,
talked for a little bit with whoever would listen before moving on.
There were two more bars along the way that he
would stop at before the little cottage he kept on Powderhorn Lake, which was
the place he called home.
Tonight, with the rain falling from the sky like
Noah’s deluge, Joe decided to stay right where he was, and enjoy the company of
the strangers he counted among his best-friends.
Joe
was not a gambling man, and so as usual he declined to place a bet.
Soon
after the bright-eyed dwarf turned away from him and politely excused himself,
before retreating to a table in the shadows of the beer hall.
There was a group of college boys from the
ROTC in the bar tonight; they were singing loudly, which Joie enjoyed.
From listening to the chatter around him, Joe learned
that one of soldiers, the captain, was
the older brother of Tom the bar back, who had been working at the Round-up since
he was in high school.
They were from the University of St. Thomas,
and the whole group of them were having a lively time drinking with their
captain who sat at the center of it all, encouraging his squad to have a good
time.
It was a welcome change of mood, Joe thought,
compared to the atmosphere of desperation and fear that had fallen over Lake
Street in recent months on account of the fact that some kind of trouble
between various criminal elements in St. Anthony, there had been a lot of
shootings, but Joe didn’t know what it was all about, and no-body he knew had
been gunned down.
He ordered a third pint and a third shot, he
sipped and hummed along with the group of boys, swaying back and forth to a
little ditty they were singing. He had his nose in his pint and his head in his
hand, and for several minutes he did just that.
He was all by himself in the crowded room, his
eyes half closed as he danced alone in some faraway place…up until the moment
that there was a great-commotion at the door.
The sudden excitement was caused by big-balding,
dark-haired giant.
When he came into the room a murmur swept through
the crowd touching everyone except the gang of boys who were too caught up in
their reverie to notice.
The big man went to the bar, got the owners
attention and ordered a round of Aquavit for everyone.
Joe had no idea who he was, but Larry Holmes, and
it was clear to Joe that he didn’t like the gargantuan fellow.
Larry refused to show any deference to the man
as he thanked him for the order, but Joe could see him trembling a little while
Tom prepare the round of shots.
Joe watched closely as Larry spoke to the
hulking figure, they talked in low tones for a minute or more, and it looked to
Joe like they were having some kind of argument.
Larry was shaking his head, clearly telling
the big-man something he did not want to hear, then the giant leaned into Larry’s
space, encroaching on him like he was making a threat.
Larry’s voice grew louder as his face reddened
and his body surged with adrenaline.
Soon they were shouting and everyone could
hear them.
Larry stomped his foot and ordered
the man to leave, pointing at the door with his arm outstretched, and the giant’s
hand shout out with blinding speed, barely tapping Larry on the chest with two
fingers, but with a flick of his wrist he sent the barkeep flying backward into
the wall of liquor bottles.
Then mayhem broke loose.
