Bobby and the bartender walk out the rear exit of the bar. Immediately, Bobby notices his truck parked next to the dumpster. He pats his pockets and realizes his keys are gone. As they approach his truck, each step becomes more difficult, fear comes in sickening waves, the air feels thick, it’s difficult to breathe.
The bartender stops about five feet from the back of Bobby’s truck. He makes a sudden turn to Bobby, gets real close, presses his lips to Bobby’s ear . . .
“Be cool son, be cool.” He whispers.
Bobby continues to walk, closer and closer to his truck. He grabs the tailgate, barely catching himself as the sight of two blood soaked bodies knocks the wind out of him.
The bartender lights a cigarette as Bobby turns to him, his pale lips trying to form a word, any word.
The bartender lifts his hands in front of him, shrugging his shoulders.
“What? I told you I took care of it. She would have turned on you boy, in a heart beat . . . and her husband, shit, ain’t nobody gonna miss him. They both had to go. Just the way it is. You can thank me later.”
The bartender flicks his cigarette and takes a drag, looking Bobby up and down. “Now I thought you were better than this. Look at you boy, all trembling and shit, breathing heavy. Looks like you’re about to piss yourself. Well god damn, if this bothers you then I recommend you DO NOT look in the dumpster. Know what I’m sayin’?” The bartender winks at Bobby and gives him a big ol’ shit eatin’ grin.
The blood rushes back to Bobby’s cheeks. His expression turns from pale to black. The color gone from his eyes, he is on top of the bartender. His hands squeeze tighter and tighter around the bartender’s neck. Spit flies from Bobby’s mouth- “YOU STUPID . . . FUCK . . . WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO . . . WHAT THE FUCK . . . WHAT . . . DID YOU . . .”
Bobby beats the bartender’s head against the ground, over and over. Gasping for air and flailing his arms, the bartender is suddenly still. Everything is still. Bobby lets go of the bartender, stands straight and wipes the sweat from his face. Staring at the lifeless body, he remembers the gun he keeps in the glove compartment of his truck.
Bobby takes a deep swig from the bottle of Rolling Rock and tosses it to the ground. He stands beneath the soft glow of a neon sign and looks up at the words- Sue’s Place. His eyes close and head shakes at the sight of Earl’s truck still parked in the otherwise empty front lot.
With one last look at the sunrise, Bobby opens his mouth, slides in the barrel of the gun, lets out a long exhale and pulls the trigger.