“Holy shit, baby, I’m stinky Pete!” Griz wobbled, rising from his barstool, arm-in-arm with Karlene. Griz couldn’t make out much, the blues and greens from the bottles behind the bar meshing together. He tried focusing, tried fixing his jet black hair in the mirror above the mesh, but red-eyed Karlene yanked him on, past the billiards tables and into the men’s room. Griz stumbled in and slammed into a urinal dividing wall, his boots losing grip on the tile. “Oh, shit, baby.” Griz heaved, hunched over, leaning, and dry heaving against a urinal wall.
“Oh shit.” He tried to look up, but Karlene was a blur, her white tank, jeans, and red makeup all Griz could see. “Just gimme a minute here. Lemme get my shit together.” Griz squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force sobriety. “Well I’m chargin’ by the minute, honey, so take your time.” Karlene was no stranger to guys upchucking in front of her. If he got too much, Karlene would leave Griz fucked up and alone, acting like he’s something he ain’t, talking a sweet talk in-between chunks. Karlene wouldn’t mind, she’d head back to the bar, sip from her drink, and wait for the next loser to approach her. Karlene had been coming to Walter’s long before Griz and his motley crew of lowlife scum, but when they came—they took over.
Karlene used to work the streets, made a good living from area Johns until a particular pimp, Supafly Flamboyant, pushed her out with threats and a Walther PPK, sending her back to alcohol and working the bar scene—working idiots like Griz.
“Ah, shit baby. I don’t think I got what it takes tonight. You wanna come here and help a guy out?” His eyes were closed, his hair wet and dangling in front of his face. Griz’s zipper was half down, his junk half-hanging out, still leaning against the wall. “I’m tryin’ baby, god damn it I’m tryin’.” He stopped, looked at Karlene like a child who’s just discovered his dad’s porn collection, and proceeded to vomit all over himself, the wall, the urinal, his shoes, and floor tiles.
“Fuck this.” Karlene said with a huff. “You owe me $50, motherfucker.” She made her way past Griz’s filth and reached into his back pocket. “Now just wait a god damn minute here. I didn’t get no fuckin’ play.” Griz said, his breath reeking of bile. “There’s a stall right next to you, you dumb shit. Go on and have yourself a ball.” Karlene rifled through his wallet, but only found a fistful of gas station receipts. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, you dumb asshole.” Griz smiled, orange and red bits clinging to his teeth. “You fucking asshole.” She shoved him hard, his vomit-stained black leather jacket slamming hard into a wall. “The fuck you think you are?” Griz growled, still struggling to look up without looking like a rabid dog. “I want my money, you dumb motherfucker. Gimme my fuckin’ money!” Karlene wailed on him, her long brown hair floating around her head as she began throwing fists without aim, a flurry of ringed swings landing on Griz’s chest, cutting up his face, his arms, wherever.
Griz was mostly helpless. He tried putting his arms up to defend himself, but wound up sliding farther down the wall. He finally caught one of her fists mid-flight, grabbed her fist in his. “Knock it off, baby. Just gimme what I want.” He pulled her hand down to his half-hearted cock, forcing Karlene to touch his failed manhood. She pulled hard on it, “Ahh, shit!” Griz doubled-over, raising his right fist and slugging Karlene in the cheek. Starry-eyed and backing up, Karlene reached for her purse in the sink, pulled out a Taser, and dug it into Griz’s side, slinking him down into a puddle of piss, blood, and his own vomit. A tool she’d picked up for fear of Supafly and ambitious Johns. From Griz’s wallet, Karlene tossed every card and piece of paper on top of him, around him, soaking up some of the shit he was laying in, “Stupid motherfucker! You better have money next time you pull some stupid shit like this.”
In the mirror, Karlene fixed her hair and examined her cheek. She applied blush, washed her running mascara and reapplied, fixed her top, and exited the bathroom to hoots and howls.
“Ayy! How’s Griz? Hope you didn’t give it to ’em too rough, Kar!” Nelson slurred from the bar. She tossed him a hard look, threw money on the bar, and left before anybody thought to check up on Griz. Walking out of Walter’s, Karlene could hear two men yell “What the fuck? We need some help in here!” His band of idiots would be helping him off the floor by now. In less than five minutes, they’d be after Karlene—all of them. She could hear them rev their motorcycles in synchronicity, taking off in pursuit of Griz’s assailant. “I need a fuckin’ gun.” Karlene thought to herself, running back to her place to throw some clothes into a duffel bag before getting the hell out of Dodge.