Game Night

Most normal families pick an ordinary weekday, around 7:30pm, and they dust off one of the old Parker Bros. games, and they play together as a way of solidifying their deep bond as a unit.

Well, the Black Flower family had been called many things, by many people (law enforcement, biker gangs, assorted clergy etc.) but “normal” was not one of those adjectives that popped up. For this family, Game Night occurred 4:48am, after the boys cleaned up the bar following all of the festivities of Saturday.

Tonight, was Pictionary.

Tyler stood at the easel, carefully constructing his drawing. He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, and bit his lip in concentration.

“It’s a bird!” Joey yelled.

“It’s a plane!” Zac laughed.

“Penis!” Jamie shouted, throwing his hands in the air. It came as no surprise to anyone, since Jamie had only guessed ‘penis’ for every round, from the time they started playing.

“Time’s up.” Chris announced.

Tyler dropped the marker, frustrated. Yet another of his artistic masterpieces had gone to waste. “Dammit! It’s a lighthouse… a lighthouse!”

Jamie raised his hand. “I was closest!”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “This game is stupid! I vote we play another game. How about Jenga?” he suggested.

Zac shook his head. “Jamie always makes us yell out ‘penis’. What about Scrabble?”

“Nope,” Joey interjected, “He’ll just keep swapping tiles until he can spell the word ‘penis’.”

“We could play Clue,” Chris suggested.

They all thought for a moment about the probability, and in the end, agreed that it was indeed a safe choice. Tyler ran to get the box as Jamie jumped to his feet and disappeared down the hall.

Tyler excitedly unpacked the game on the coffee table. “I call Colonel Mustard!” he said.

“Hell no, I’m Colonel Mustard, everyone knows that. You’re Miss Scarlet, you saucy bitch!” Zac teased.

“I don’t want to be Miss Scarlet!” Tyler argued.

“Ooh you’re hot when you’re angry M’dere,” Jamie said from the doorway. He had changed into black slacks and a crisp, white shirt with amethyst cufflinks. His purple, satin bow tie was a perfect complement to his crushed velvet jacket of the same color. Clearly, Professor Plum was reporting for duty. He puffed on a red and yellow plastic pipe, and thought to himself that he needed to buy more bubble solution when the store opened.

The game began and, despite the slow start. Everyone was having a good time. Zac was looking at the box, deep in thought. “Hey, guys. Do you think I’d look good with a mustache?”

“I think you’d look like a Bee Gee,” Tyler chuckled.

Joey laughed so hard, he nearly choked. “Two words… Freddie Mercury.”

Zac rolled his eyes. “Fuck y’all. I think I’d look good. I’m going to grow one.”

A serious look passed over Jamie’s face. “Okay, moment of truth time.”

They all quieted, and Jamie leaned over to face Chris. In his best Al Pacino voice said, “I know it was you, Bannon.”

All the blood drained from Chris’s face, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Whaa…”

Jamie gave him a solemn nod. “I put it to you,” he turned and addressed them all. “I put it to you all…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, there was a hint of a tear in his gaze. “… that it was… Reverend Green… in the living room… WITH HIS PENIS!”

They all groaned amid Jamie’s loud guffaws. He bounced around the room, drunk with his own accomplishment. “I am the king!” he yelled, “and I declare this Sunday Funday!” He fell back onto the couch. Sunday Funday. It had a nice ring to it. It gave Jamie an idea.

Chris looked at the green marker on the board – his marker. That was close. That was… much too close.

Latter Day Saints

It was an ordinary Mojito Monday, and Chris was feeling better than he had in a long time. December was already under way and soon, they would bid adieu to 2013. It made Chris hopeful for the future. Hell, he considered adding to his offerings in 2014. Visions of mangoes and pomegranates danced in his head. He snickered quietly to himself. Maybe he’d even break out a Sugar Plum Mojito for Christmas.

If everything kept going as well as it had, well, he’d have all the Christmas present he could ask for.

Jamie strolled into the bar, a satisfied smirk on his face. He wiggled within his jeans, marveling at the feel of the denim against his cheeks. He thought about adding a little powder into the mix, but that was really more for the professionals.

“What is up with you, today?” Joey asked.

Jamie smiled at him. “Welp, Joe, my dude ranch was a -hankerin’ for a breeze, so I decided to take the rag top off my hot rod.” Jamie was trying out a cowboy/farmhand persona, today. He thought seriously about spitting, but figured that might be tasteless in a bar setting.

“Don’t call me Joe.” Joey arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes, preparing to walk away, then he circled back around. “Wait, are you trying to tell me you’re not wearing any underwear?” he asked. The telltale grin he was greeted with confirmed his suspicions, and Joey wished he’d never asked.

“Its dern liberating Joseph, you should try it,” Jamie replied.

Joey couldn’t think of anything he’d rather deal with less, than a free ballin’ Jamie on Mojito Monday. “Where is Tyler?!” he asked in desperation.

Jamie hooked a thumb into the belt loop of his jeans and leaned back against the bar. “I reckon he’ll be along directly, though I think he’ll be as unencumbered as I on this cool winter’s day.” He laughed in a way that frightened every bartender under his employ.

Just then, Tyler came in, a grumpy scowl on his face. “Jamie, you’re an asshole, and I’m going to murder you!”

Jamie assumed the most innocent of visages, and in his gruff, cowboy, voice uttered “Why, Tyler, whatever do you mean?”

Narrowing his eyes at Jamie, Tyler produced a note, handing it to Chris, who read it aloud, with Joey looking over his shoulder.

Good Morning, Tyler.

I want to play a game.

It’s called Soiled Panties. I’ve worn one pair of your underwear for precisely one hour and forty-five minutes. Can you look into this drawer and guess which one?

Happy Hunting!

Chris and Joey burst into laughter, much to Tyler’s dismay. “It took me twenty minutes to decide if I wanted to wash all of them, or burn them all and just start over,” Tyler lamented.

Still, Chris and Joey chuckled at his misfortune. “So, I guess you and Jamie are restraint rebels today,” Chris joked.

“Kiss…my…ass,” Tyler growled.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing standing in our way,” Joey chuckled.

Yes, today was certainly a good day in Black Flower Land.

Just then, the crowd began to filter in, and things started to get busier. The music was blasting, and the booze was flowing. Before long, solitary faces could not be seen, only a mass of patrons. Vodka, Gin and Rum comprised an endless sea of joy and fulfilment. All around were smiling faces. Laughter tumbled forth as easily as tequilla shots. Hips swayed as loosely as Fireball shots were poured. It was so easy to get lost in the merriment, and lost was Mad Muddles Bannon.

Again the hordes were shouting his name, again he was in demand. They needed him, they wanted him…

They loved him.

He was the best muddler this side of the country, boasting 73 muddle muscles, and counting. He even began to feel the old muddling vein that had catapulted him to fame on the west coast. He was smiling when Joey approached him with an odd request.

“Some guy wants a Mint Julep,” Joey said.

“A Mint Julep? What is he, 60?” Chris replied.

Joey shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought it was weird too. But, ours is not to reason why, our is but to do …”

“… and die, ” Chris finished, already muddling the mint. He smiled at Joey, still curious as to who would order such a dated drink. As Joey took it away, Chris tried to follow his movements into the crowd. He never lost sight of Joey, but could also not see who the drink was given to. With the demand of the customers, the antiquated drink was soon forgotten.

Muddles had hit his stride. This was the day the Muddles had made, and all were rejoicing in it. He was in his element, surrounded by fruit, bringing joy to all who crossed his path. The rest of the night passed with everyone sated and pleased with his performance. As the congregation thinned and swelled throughout the night, Chris began to feel like his old self again. With the dawning of a new year, he felt like he could actually put his past behind him.

He could finally move on.

The Mojitos were in such high demand, he needed more supplies. “Hey, Not-Chandler! I need more limes!”

A nearby patron furrowed her brow, leaning across the bar. “Hey, why do you call him Not-Chandler?” she asked.

“Because, he’s not Chandler,” Chris simply replied.

She briefly admired his lime cutting technique, shying away when he looked at her. With a cheeky wink, Not-Chandler said “It’s all in the slit.” causing the young lady to blush profusely.

The night was slowly coming to a close, with Chris shouting loudly for “last call.” He sent Tyler home, confident he could handle the rest of the evening by himself. Tyler took the opportunity offered to exact retribution. He left Jamie a note on the back of a napkin, in the care of Joey.

Dear Jamie,

I want to play a game too. It’s called, Loofah Scavenger. I’ve lost a curly brown hair in a certain purple loofah… Exfoliate that, bitch!

Love and Kisses

Deez Nutz

Jamie took one look at the note, bellowing out his amusement. “Touche, Tyler. Touche,” he said.

Chris provided Joey with the appropriate tabs for the tables around the bar. He found it odd that the person who had ordered the Mint Julep, was not only still present, but had not ordered another drink. He followed Joey’s movements, noticing that he stopped by the table close to the t.v.

Unfortunately, the glare from the abandoned Mario Kart game left a shadow over the stranger’s face. Chris watched Joey’s progression around the bar, until returning to the register. He was not overly concerned, but there was the slightest nagging at him, and a sense of foreboding.

Joey returned everyone’s cards to them, requiring only a signature to settle their bills for the night. As Not-Chandler saw their wards safely to their vehicles for the night, Chris waited to get a glimpse of the stranger who had ordered one drink, yet stayed all night. The gentleman was hooded, sleight of frame and build, but there was something ominous about him.

Joey collected the signed receipts, bringing them back to Chris for the nightly accounting. Chris gathered them, tearing through each one, disregarding names he knew as regular customers. He flipped through the receipts until one stopped his blood cold. He went deaf to all around him, and his fingers held no sensation. Though only three letters were scrawled boldly on the receipt, a lifetime of words sprang to mind.

The very devil was in their midst. The one person who could bring all to ruin in Chris’s life. The one person who knew, unequivocally what had truly happened in Tucson. Chris had thought him dead, but he had returned, no doubt to expose his every secret. In a trembling voice, Chris found he could only utter two words.

“Saint, Peter!”

Sex Flower, Black Panther

Chris tended the bar distractedly. It was once again Mojito Monday, and a week since his world was rocked to its core by an unexpected visitor to the bar. Though he never saw his face, Chris had reason to believe it was someone that he hadn’t laid eyes on since Tucson.

JSP.

Chris hadn’t been sure he had survived the fallout of that fateful day, but now, it appeared as though he was not as safe as once imagined. Chris waited for a message, a sign, anything! By now, he was beginning to doubt himself. Perhaps his guilty mind was playing tricks on him. He was so frazzled, he couldn’t even enjoy Fruit Day. Deciding that this constant worrying was getting him nowhere, Chris immersed himself in the work he loved. He looked over to the corner of the bar to see Zac pouring small amounts of liquids into a glass. As he filled the glass, the contents began to emit a thick fog that poured over the top of the glass in a rolling cloud.

Joey, who had been watching Zac the whole time, grew increasingly alarmed. “Duffy… what the hell… are you doing?”

Zac sniffed his concoction, his singed nose hairs making his eyes water. “I’m trying something new… it’s like a cider…” he said.

Joey looked at the sputtering fluid in the glass and backed away a few steps. “The fuck it is!” he replied. Joey recognized a hint of madness in Zac’s eyes and tapped Chris rapidly on the shoulder.

Taken away from his dark thoughts, Chris took in the scene before him, wonder just what was transpiring. “Hey… Zac… don’t drink that, man.”

Zac waved away their protests and quickly guzzled the drink. “Whoo! That’s a tasty bitch!” He smacked his lips repeatedly, feeling the warmth spread through his chest.

Joey and Chris looked at him skeptically for a minute, shaking their head at his dumb luck. Their attention was short-lived when Tyler burst through the doors, a ball of rage. “Where… is he?” he asked.

Chris took in his disheveled appearance, noticing several threads hanging from around his neck and arms. “What is wrong with your clothes?” he asked.

“Jamie sewed up all of my clothes!” Tyler shouted.

Chris failed to stifle his chuckles. “W-what?”

Tyler enunciated carefully. “He sewed up the neck holes of my shirts, and the sleeves, and the bottoms. He sewed up the top and bottom of all my jeans… He even sewed up the legs of my boxers!”

Joey fell against the bar, laughing.

“It’s not funny, Joey! When does he find the time to do these things?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Joey repeated with tears in his eyes.

“Ugh, I need a drink!” Tyler said.

They all noticed Zac beginning to cough and choke behind the bar.

“Hey, Duffy. You okay?” Tyler asked.

Zac’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor, feeling the burn spread throughout his body, wracking him with pain. The guys rushed over to him, concerned, when suddenly he went completely motionless.

“Shit! Zac! Hey!” Chris started shaking him, automatically fearing the worst.

Tyler helped roll him over and the three of them were taken aback. Zac’s eyes popped open, and he jumped to his feet. His mustache was magically jet black, and pencil thin. Where there was once a full beard, a tiny goatee stood proudly in a slick triangle below his bottom lip. He seemed somehow tanner, his eyebrows permanently arched in suave flirtation. His comrades were silent for a moment, not quite sure how to react.

“Zac… buddy? How ya feelin?” Tyler asked.

“Como…un pantera negra…” he said. “Mmm. I AM zee black panth-errrr.” he purred.

“Wait… what?” Tyler replied.

Chris and Joey looked at each other in confusion. “Why are you a black panther?” Chris asked.

“Why are you Spanish and French?” Joey queried.

“Enough!” Zac commanded. “Zee night, she is full of the beautiful mujeres waiting to be served by…” He snapped, stomping is feet. “Zee Black Pantherrrr.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Well, Ole then.”

Joey continued to stare at Zac. “Just don’t serve them that shit you just drank,” he replied.

Three ladies walked up to the bar, and Tyler looked on with rapt attention.

“Ju! My little ménage a trois, I make something especial for ju!” Zac announced.

“Pick a language, dude!” Joey called as he walked through the bar.

Zac began to create another elixir, as Chris watched on with equal measure of awe and relief – in awe of how much liquor was going into the drink, and relief that Zac had remained true to his word and had not duplicated the smoking potion of before. As Zac poured the mix into three glasses, Chris stuck a straw into one of them to taste the new offerings.

“Here you are, my little sex flowers!” Zac offered the drinks to the young ladies, who were automatically enthralled and impressed with the new drink.

“Sex Flower… si!”

Chris nodded. “Not bad, Duf… I mean Black Panther. We’ll work on the name though.” Sex Flower simply would not do.

Joey returned with a few empty glasses that had be left on abandoned tables around the bar. “Hey Chris, I need a mint julep.”

Chris’s stomach lurched, and panic gripped his heart. The scar on his wrist began to itch. “Who ordered this, Joey?!” Chris demanded.

“Some guy in a hoodie,” Joey replied.

Chris grabbed Joey by the shirt, desperate for answers. “What did he look like?!”

Eyebrows raised, Joey looked at Chris as if he had sprouted another head. “He looked like a guy… in a hoodie.”

Chris released him and apologized. “Where is he?”

Joey looked around, but did not see the man who was sitting alone in the far, corner booth. “Huh. I guess I no mint julep after all…”

Before he finished speaking, Chris ran from the bar, out the back door. He spun around in the parking lot, looking for any signs of life, but found only the crisp December air and the bustle of the busy streets.

“You seem to have done well for yourself… Mad. Muddles. Bannon.”

The deep voice froze his blood, but Chris had no choice but to slowly turn and come face to face with past. “Saint Peter,” he replied.

“How’ve you been, Christopherson?” Jake asked.

“It’s Chris… and I’ve been just fine.”

“More than fine, I would say.” He grinned evilly. “They’re starting to call your name again, just like the old days.”

Chris hated that he couldn’t resist scratching the scar on his wrist.

“Aww, yes. How is the old war wound? Still bothering you?”

Chris shook his head. “No, it’s much better.”

“Well that’s good. Pretty soon, you’ll be as famous here as you were in Tucson,” Jake baited.

“Tucson was a long time ago. I’m just a simple bartender now,” Chris reasoned.

“I wanted so much to believe that. But, then, you had to go and start muddling again.” Jake circled him slowly, like a shark. “Do they know; your new found friends?” He laughed. “How about your boss? Does Jamie know of the past?”

One look at Chris’s aghast expression and Jake knew he had hit his mark. “Of course I know who he is. I’ve known all along! What is this, Bannon, some desperate attempt at penance?”

“Sainthood is your thing, Jake, not mine,” Chris shot back.

“Ooh, kitten has claws. How brave do you think you’ll be when your new family finds out you’ve been lying to them?”

Chris felt his throat close. He looked around him at the see of bright lights – Christmas lights. This was the season of joy and giving. It was heartbreaking to think of so much regret, on the backdrop of what should be the most wonderful time of the year.

“Hey, Bannon!”

Jamie’s voice was most unwelcome. Chris could already see the mischievous glint in Jake’s eye. He felt like his entire world could end tonight. “H-hey, Jamie.” Chris wished on every star in the sky that it didn’t end this way.

Joey burst through the back door. “Chris, Zac is trying to bullfight Tyler!” he yelled.

Jamie’s trilling giggle echoed through the parking lot. “This, I’ve gotta see! Wheeeeeee!” He ran past Chris and Jake without a second glance. Only Joey noticed that there was something not quite right between the two.

“Chris, is everything alright?” he asked.

Was everything alright? Such an innocuous question to have such a complicated answer.

Jake smiled charmingly. “I was just apologizing for running out after ordering my drink. Family emergency, you know how that can be.” He sent a pointed look at Chris. “Still, allow me to give you a tip, for your trouble.” He placed something in Chris’s hand, then walked away, smiling. He didn’t get into a vehicle, nor make any moves to call a cab. He simply walked off into the night.

Chris didn’t know if he trusted himself enough to move, let alone to speak. When he looked up at Joey, and attempted a smile, he hoped the depth of his concern didn’t show all over his face. From inside the bar, sounds of joy and laughter and the occasional shouts of TORO! momentarily distracted Joey. Chris took the opportunity to slip past him into the bar. Joey watched him retreat, but wasn’t fooled for a minute. Joey always thought there was something going on with him, and this interrupted confrontation with the hooded stranger only confirmed it. Joey decided then and there that he would get to the bottom of it. Above everything else, no one and no thing was allowed to break the family up.

Nearby shuffling caught his attention as Not-Chandler walked through the parking lot, bared from ankle to thigh. Confused for the millionth time that night, Joey looked at him incredulously. “Not-Chandler…” The blank expression he got in return, as if nothing was amiss completely dumbfounded him. Joey had no idea where he’d come from, he was completely alone, and it was twenty degrees outside. “…where are your pants?”

Not-Chandler scratched his head with a cheeky smile. “…long story.”

Joey decided that was a better reply than ‘I’m not sure’, so they must be doing something right. “Get inside before you die,” Joey said, shaking his head. It was going to be that kind of night.

Behind the bar, while everyone’s attention was on the pantless Not-Chandler, Chris unfolded the paper Jake had slipped into his palm.