With my pocket mirror still in use I saw Hammond bring his arm up, and a quick flash of silver gleamed from his hand. Instinctively from my seat, I pushed myself against the counter, making the stool slide back into him. When my back collided with his massive stomach I grabbed into the edge of my seat and brought my legs up, flipping up and wrapping my legs around Hammond’s head. I mustered as much strength as I could and sent it to my legs, managing to pick him up and flip him over, sending him flying into the collection of alcohol behind the bar counter. Glass exploded and shattered, littering the floor. The mirror that was behind the alcohol cracked and started falling apart, a small crater left behind from when Hammond’s back crashed into it. I slowly brought my legs back down, standing on the floor behind my stool. I put my pocket mirror away and walked over to the counter, looking at the bartender.
I pointed to my lips and asked, “Is my makeup okay? The mirror can play tricks on me sometimes.”
The bartender gave me a simple nod, followed by a thumbs up, “Looks good, Miss Suzie.”
“Alright, good.” Curious if Hammond was conscious, I stood up on the foot rest of my bar stool and leaned over the counter. The walkway behind the counter was narrow, only able to allow two people to walk pass each other, three if they were all skinny and lengthy enough. With Hammond’s bulging gut popping out, he practically took up the entire width of the walkway, squeezing in as much as he physically could. His arms were raised over his head and his legs somehow managed to twist and fold under themselves, as if he fell back while on his knees. He landed on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Though, I was sure he wasn’t even aware about how he was positioned. His dead eye had rolled into the back of his head, only the pure whites of his eye now being visible. His mouth hung open just a bit, allowing the tip of his tongue to hang out from the corner, drool oozing out and pooling on the floor.
“Damn,” I said, surprised, “I didn’t think I’d be able to knock out a fat-ass like that. Hell, I was lucky that I could have even flipped him over the counter with my legs—he was heavy.”
“You always did take great pride in your leg strength,” the bartender responded. “Would you like a new drink?”
“Huh?” Why would I need a new drink? I didn’t even finish my last one.
I dropped myself back into my seat and ran my hand across the bar counter, feeling the slick, freshly-waxed wood. After my hand went all the way across as far as it could, I noticed something was missing. Just to be sure, I made my hand do another sweep back, still lacking something. I eyed the counter in front of me and instantly knew what was wrong. I took a quick glance behind the counter again and sighed, seeing the mistake I made.
Next to Hammond’s head was a small pile of green-colored glass, surrounded by a dark yellow, fizzing liquid—I knocked my beer off of the counter when I flipped Hammond.
Fuck, I mumbled to myself. As much as I hated wasting good alcohol, this was one thing I couldn’t allow to pass, even though it wasn’t entirely my fault to begin with. I looked at the bartender and told him to double my drinks this round. He promptly fulfilled my request, opening two beers bottles right in front of me. He asked if I would like a shot of whiskey to follow, but I politely refused.
Time for me to make up for my mistake.
Grabbing one of the beers by the neck, I quickly downed it in easily seven seconds. Finished, I slammed it on the counter, the bottom of it cracking.
“First one to fix the mistake, next to balance me out.”
From the corner of my eye I saw a small, metal container come sliding across the bar counter, stopping right in front of me. The bartender’s voice followed, “They’re ‘winterfield’ flavored mints.”