Last Call

Jackson had no idea of his fate when he strolled into Junior’s Bar just as the sun was setting. The first thing to greet him when he pushed through the salon style doors, was a cloud of smoke and ZZ Hill’s Down Home Blues playing on the juke box. It was a Thursday night and the crowd was sparse. The place was dimly lit and it had a musty odor, like the place hadn’t been aired out in a while. Jackson stood at the entrance and scan the bar with his cold dark eyes. Looking for any familiar faces. He didn’t recognize anyone, so he walked in. Grinning from ear to ear, he strutted his muscular six-two frame over to the bar and plopped down on a stool. The bartender wiped the counter in front of him.

           “What can I get you brother?”

           Jackson slapped the counter and said, “Give me a Jack Daniels on the rocks.”

           The old grey haired bartender who was dark as midnight nodded his head and replied, “Coming right up.”

           Jackson was bubbling with excitement as the bartend set his drink in front of him. Jackson picked up the glass and stared at it with reverence as he swirled it around. He sniffed it and looked at it some more. When he looked up, he noticed the bartender staring at him. He cracked a smile and said, “This is my first drink in ten years.”

           “Really. You were on the wagon?” The bartender asked leaning against the bar.

           “Nah. Nothing like that. I just got out of prison. Ten years I spent inside. And Jack Daniels use to be my favorite drink,” Jackson revealed before taking a sip. He closed his eyes and savored the flavor before saying, “Taste just like I remembered. It’s little things like this I missed the most.”

           The bartender’s eyes glanced at Jackson’s tattooed forearms that looked like they’d been chiseled out of stone, and he lowered his head and slithered away. Jackson loved that response. He reveled in that fact that people feared him. It was almost an aphrodisiac to him. It made him feel respected. It made him feel like a real man. He took another sip of his drink and his eyes found the TV mounted over the bar. A basketball game was on. The Bulls were playing the Lakers. He watched the game while bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

           Then the doors of the bar opened and a stranger came in. He strolled over to the bar, and of the many open barstools that were available, he sat next to Jackson. He ordered a scotch from the bartender and took a sip. Then he turned his head toward Jackson and asked with a smirk, “What you know about ZZ Hill?”

           Jackson’s eyes dropped from the game and focused on the little man sitting next to him with a salt and pepper beard wearing a fedora. He turned toward the stranger and replied, “I was raised on the blues.”

           The stranger squinted and said, “Really, so who’s your favorite?”

           “Mel Waiters,” Jackson responded enthusiastically.

           “Anybody who likes Mel Waiters is alright with me,” the stranger said raising his glass for a toast, “To the blues.”

           “I’ll drink to that,” Jackson said raising his glass for a toast too before taking another sip.

           The stranger took his drink to the head, then he turned toward Jackson and said, “You new around here? I’m just asking cause I come in here all the time and I never seen you here before.”

           Jackson, wanting to feel more of that dopamine from someone else’s fear, flexed as he answered, “I’m from the neighborhood, but I’ve been in prison the last ten years. I just got out.”

           The stranger didn’t flinch. In fact, he was more intrigued. He scooted to the edge of his stool and asked, “What were you in for?”

           Trying to intimidate, he mean-mugged the stranger and said in a slow sinister tone, “Armed robbery.”

           But the stranger was still unmoved. He signaled for the bartender, “Chuck! Get my man…...” The stranger turned toward Jackson to fill in his name.”

           “Jackson,” he added.

           “Get my man, Jackson another round on me. We’re celebrating this brother’s freedom,” the stranger said while patting Jackson on the shoulder with a big smile.

           “Good looking out,” Jackson said as he relaxed. The alcohol and the stranger’s calm demeanor had taken the edge of his aggressive nature. He took another gulp of his Jack Daniels before saying, “I didn’t think you’d be that cool with a man just outta prison. You must’ve been inside before?”

           The stranger shook his head, “Nah. But my son has.”

           “Oh yeah. What was inside for?”

           The stranger stroked his beard as he looked up at the ceiling. He cleared his throat and said, “My son…...was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You see my son was a good kid, straight A student. Played varsity basketball. Anyway, after school one day, my boy and a few of his teammates played ball at this kid’s house named, Benny. Benny’s girlfriend showed up. The boys talked her into having sex with all of them. So they ran a train on this her. My son saw what was about to go down and he left. He was at home having dinner with me and my wife. Never touched her. A couple of days later, the girl’s father found out that his precious snowflake had sex with all these black kids. No way she would consent to something like that,” the stranger said sarcastically, “Must have been rape, right. So they rounded up all the boys who were there that day, and charged them with rape.”

           “Damn! That’s fucked up,” Jackson said, hanging on his every word.

           “What’s even more fucked up, is that the jury ignored the fact that he had an alibi. They gave all five black kids ten years,” he said as he let out a sigh, “You know I never knew there was a such thing as prison high hierarchy. That you get more respect for killing someone than raping them.”

           “Oh yeah. That’s true. Child molesters are the worst. We called them cockroaches,” Jackson joked as he took another sip of his drink.

           The stranger scrunched his face until lines appeared in the middle of his forehead. “Right. So, he’s in prison for something he didn’t do. At the bottom of your food chain. But one guy in particular gave him the roughest time. He took everything from my son. His shoes. His food. Any personal belongings of value. Even his manhood. He treated him, like a cockroach.”

           “Really,” Jackson said as he remembered treating people that way when he was behind bars.

           “Yeah. My boy was a nice kid. A sensitive kid. Kind hearted. Not one who was built for a life behind bars. We tried to encourage him and support him anyway we could. We filled an appeal, and we visited him as often as possible. But he couldn’t take it,” the stranger said as he was getting choked up. A tear slid down his light brown cheek. A moment went by before he continued, “He went to his cell, tied a bed sheet to the bars, and hung himself.”

           Jackson cut his eyes at the stranger. This story was sounding way too familiar to him. His cellmate committed suicide in that same way. Something was up. Jackson slammed his drink down on the counter and blurted out, “Who the hell are you?”

           The music had stopped, and Jackson’s voice carried across the room. This caught the attention of the few people sitting around drinking. The casual chatter stopped, and all eyes were on Jackson and the stranger.

The stranger gulped down the last of his drink. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he released it, he turned his head and locked eyes with Jackson. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone you love in trouble, in pain, and you’re powerless to do anything about it.”

           “I’m only going to ask you this one more time old man. Who the hell are you?” Jackson snapped as he rose to his feet.

           “My name is Reggie Wright. My son’s name was Jamie.”

           Jackson recognized the name the moment he heard it. Jamie’s face instantly appeared in his mind. He remembered treating Jamie like his jailhouse bitch. He remembered Jamie laying on his bunk, crying after he sodomized him for the first time. And the picture that never left his mind. He remembered getting up that morning and seeing Jamie hanging from the bars. Jackson shook his head trying to get those awful images out of his mind.

           “You remember Jamie, don’t you?” Reggie asked as he tried to fight back the tears. Stepping back slowly, he reached into the small of his back and pulled out a snub nosed revolver. “My son told me everything about you. Jackson Fisher from eight street. Your mother’s name is Earlene. You got a younger sister name, Tyra. You never knew your father. You went to Central High School. Dropped out in the tenth grade. You needed my son to help you read your fucking letters. And you really got arrested for burglary, not arm robbery like you brag about.”

           Jackson’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he threw up his hands and slowly retreated backward. “Look man. You gotta understand how things are prison. I didn’t make the rules. I just lived by them.”

           “Oh! So, raping a man is just living by the rules?” Reggie snapped. He shook his head in disgust as he pointed the gun at Jackson. Even though he was emotional, his hand was steady and his aim accurate.  

           “You got it all wrong. I protected Jamie. There’s motherfuckers far worse than me behind those walls,” Jackson explained pointing in the direction of the prison. “There’s motherfuckers in there that would have put a shank in his ass the first chance they got. I kept those animals away from him.”

            “Allow me to thank you,” Reggie replied sarcastically as he cocked the hammer on the gun. 

           “Wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry about what happened! But you don’t wanna do anything crazy!”

           “The only thing that’s crazy to me, is living in a world where my son is dead and you get to live.”

           Reggie pulled the trigger and shot him in the side. The sound echoed throughout the bar, causing the nosey patrons to run for the door. Jackson fell backwards holding his left side. He grimaced in pain as he spilled blood on the concrete floors.

           “Hurts like hell don’t it. I shot you in the liver, that’s why your blood is so dark. It’s the best place to shoot someone for maximum pain without killing them quickly. One of things I learn in the eight years, two months, six hours, and,” Reggie said as he glanced at his watch, “Thirty-three minutes since my son died. I’ve had plenty of time to study these things. I even became a marksman in my spare time.”

           Jackson breathes became shorter and shorter as he tried to scoot away from Reggie while pleading, “Why come after me? I’m not the one that put your son in jail. I’m a victim of the system just like he was.”

           “Oh I took care of the others. I put the barrel of this gun,” Reggie said brandishing the revolver, “Right in the mouth of that lying ass bitch, and I blew her fucking brains out. Then I put a bullet right between the eyes of her racist ass father. And the lawyer who railroaded my son, I put two in the back of his head. They’re all fish food at the bottom of the ocean. My son is so insignificant, that nobody in the sheriff’s office has put two and two together.”

           In agony, and bleeding out, Jackson made one last desperate plea, “Please! Please! I’m sorry. Don’t kill me. I don’t wanna die.”

           “I’m going to give you as much sympathy as you gave my son when he begged you to stop,” Reggie stated coldly as he took small deliberate footsteps toward Jackson. The little man that walked into the bar stood like a conquering giant over Jackson. Reggie looked down on him with bloodshot eyes. Watching Jackson squirm like a fish out of water. He savored every moment. He wanted him to suffer. Suffer like his son suffered. He waited until he heard the sound of police sirens outside. Then he pointed the gun and fired until he ran out of bullets. Reggie walked over to the bar. He poured himself the last drink he’ll ever have. He placed the gun on the bar. And he exhaled like god had lifted the burdens of the world off his shoulders. And he took a drink.

                                                           The End