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Description
The 39th tale
A Short Story by Justin White

"Bartender! Beer! Ice cold!" I rap my fist on the old warped bar of the Deuce of Clubs.

"You gon' be shoutin' at me Boss, I's gon' ask you t' leave." Franklin ambles over to me and slams down a tall brown bottle budding with droplets of water. "Ain't you heard? I gots a dress code in here, Boss." Franklin is dead right of course, I'm in a t-shirt shorts and running shoes and I'm sweating like pig to top it off.

"I needed a mid-run pick me up. It's hotter than hell out there!" Summer had finally come to Millburgh bringing with it baseball, picnics in the park and the God damn heat. I swear this city is only tolerable three weeks a year. The rest of time it's too hot to move or too cold to live. If I could travel through time like some of those boys in the funny papers, I'd punch Old Colonel Miller in the face for even thinking of founding this dump here.

"You a damn fool, running around in heat like this. Must be a hunnert an' fo' out there."

"102, but who's counting? Not like you have anything better to do." I wave my arm at the empty bar.

"Boss, it ain't even noon yet. Even drunks gotta' sleep sometime."

"Well if it's too early to drink, why are you open?" I say, then take a long pull of the delightfully cold beer.

"Cause I live here and some damn fool honkey comes poundin' on my damn door yelling about beer!" Franklin smiles that broad, infection smile of his and I laugh and he laughs and pretty soon we're back at my booth with a few beers each. The place looks different to me now, it feels different. The pictures on the wall haven't changed, the paint is still peeling, the bar is still slanting towards the door but something is different. It might just be the lack of the usual cloud of smoke, or heat exhaustion. Probably the latter.

"How's the little woman? You all get married yet?"

"Delilah is…..Delilah. Every man that was ever married to that woman is dead; you think I'm that eager to come home to Jesus?" I lean back under the cooling breeze of the ceiling fan, it helps some, but not much.

"Seems like not long ago, you surely was." Franklin reaches under the table to fiddle with his prosthetic leg. Even at rest it seems to bother him.

"That was a lifetime ago, old timer. I'm a new man. I really wish you'd let me buy you a better leg. It's the least I can do for you."

"Lifetime my ass! Wasn't even three months ago. The leg ain't yo' job, Boss. They's gon' give me my due, so help me Jesus!" Franklin pounds the table, and then finishes his beer.

"Good luck Franklin let me know if I can help. I mean that. You and this place got me through the worst hell a man can imagine and you still won't let me repay you."

"You pay fo' the beers, we calls it square." He laughs and his deep baritone is melodic and infectious. "Boss, I ain't never asked fo' nuthin' I didn't earn. You pays yo' tab and you bring folks in when you plays yo' piano. Ain't nuthin' else I needs from you, Boss." Franklin raises a bottle of beer and I return the salute.

"I don't know how you do it Franklin." I say shaking my head. "I've known a lot of men that life has treated a whole lot gentler who don't have your attitude."

"Life ain't real fair, Boss, ain't real fair at all. A man though, a man can be as fair as he means to be. Lookit what I gots in this here bar, I got more than my pa' ever dreamed. This is my place, mine and nobody else's. Pa wasn't nuthin' mo' than a sharecropper, an' not much better off than his pa who wasn't even that. I came from nuthin', Boss, and now I gots all this. My daughter, she gon' have mo' than me, and if she ever gives me a grandbaby they's gon' have mo' too. Life ain't always been easy, Boss, but I knows every day was worth what it cost me."

"Franklin, you might be the smartest man I ever met."

"Ain't no such thing. You best be moving on fo' yo' lady comes lookin' fo' you." He's right, Franklin usually is. McBride's Gym is finally ready for its reopening and I know I have a hell of a lot left to do. It all feels so damn strange, living like a regular person. I still wake up in cold sweats some nights; I still have the dream but not every night. Even the city is starting to change, and finally for the better. Things are growing and moving, new construction, new life. It feels like hope came back with the sun. Even the governments gotten to work around here, they're finally doing whatever it was they were supposed to do with the old army base.

I'm running down the street already wishing I was back in the Deuce when I hear the wail of sirens and the sound of hard charging engines getting closer, then a more familiar sound, gunfire. I duck into the nearest alley and take what cover I can as a black sedan come tearing down the street, two black and white patrol cars in hot pursuit. The back window of the sedan is shot out and I can clearly see a man leaning out to fire at the police. Nothing too out of the ordinary, even if crime has been down lately, there are still car chases and shootouts in Millburgh. What comes next though, I am not prepared for in the slightest.

As the sedan tears through the next intersection it is rammed by what looks to be a Sherman tank. Before you ask, no I'm not drunk and yes I'm sure it's a tank, though someone painted the whole thing black. The tank plows into the front of the sedan destroying it utterly and spinning the ruined car of the road. It's only then that I realized, I hadn't heard it coming. The cars were loud and there was gunfire, but not nearly enough to cover THAT rolling up. The two patrol cars screech to a halt, stopping well short of the tank. The cops look just as confused as I must because they hadn't even thought to get out of their cars. Before any of them react the cupola on the turret of the Sherman pops open and out leaps a man who could not be more poorly dressed for the occasion. He's wearing a helmet and goggles of some kind, a bulky vest and heavy gloves. He's down onto the stunned and injured criminals, disarming them and hauling them out of the wreck of their sedan.

By the time the stunned police are out of their cars he has the four criminals cuffed and face down on the hot road. I move out of my cover and close the distance some when I get a decent look at the weirdo's face. The goggles are tinted and cover his eyes but I know that face, know it for damn certain.

"Jerry?" I ask, barely loud enough to be heard. He turns and gives me the shush sign as he hustles over while the cops check out the four criminals.

"Hey buddy! You tome me I didn't want to be you, so I did you one better!" He raises his goggles and sure as hell it's Jeremiah Randall.

"What?"

"We need to talk, you would not believe what's going on in the world."

"Hey! You in the mask!" The cops had corralled the four crooks into the backs of their cars and were on their way over.

"Shit! Gotta go! I'll be by tonight!" Jerry pulled his goggles down and sprinted back to the tank, as soon as he was inside it took off backward down the street it had come up. The engine didn't sound right at all, it made less noise than any car I have ever heard. The cops surround me, but I just watch the tank go.

"What the hell was that? Do you know him?" One asks.

"No, sir. Not in the slightest." Which turns out, was far too true.

Description
The 39th tale
A Short Story by Justin White

"Bartender! Beer! Ice cold!" I rap my fist on the old warped bar of the Deuce of Clubs.

"You gon' be shoutin' at me Boss, I's gon' ask you t' leave." Franklin ambles over to me and slams down a tall brown bottle budding with droplets of water. "Ain't you heard? I gots a dress code in here, Boss." Franklin is dead right of course, I'm in a t-shirt shorts and running shoes and I'm sweating like pig to top it off.

"I needed a mid-run pick me up. It's hotter than hell out there!" Summer had finally come to Millburgh bringing with it baseball, picnics in the park and the God damn heat. I swear this city is only tolerable three weeks a year. The rest of time it's too hot to move or too cold to live. If I could travel through time like some of those boys in the funny papers, I'd punch Old Colonel Miller in the face for even thinking of founding this dump here.

"You a damn fool, running around in heat like this. Must be a hunnert an' fo' out there."

"102, but who's counting? Not like you have anything better to do." I wave my arm at the empty bar.

"Boss, it ain't even noon yet. Even drunks gotta' sleep sometime."

"Well if it's too early to drink, why are you open?" I say, then take a long pull of the delightfully cold beer.

"Cause I live here and some damn fool honkey comes poundin' on my damn door yelling about beer!" Franklin smiles that broad, infection smile of his and I laugh and he laughs and pretty soon we're back at my booth with a few beers each. The place looks different to me now, it feels different. The pictures on the wall haven't changed, the paint is still peeling, the bar is still slanting towards the door but something is different. It might just be the lack of the usual cloud of smoke, or heat exhaustion. Probably the latter.

"How's the little woman? You all get married yet?"

"Delilah is…..Delilah. Every man that was ever married to that woman is dead; you think I'm that eager to come home to Jesus?" I lean back under the cooling breeze of the ceiling fan, it helps some, but not much.

"Seems like not long ago, you surely was." Franklin reaches under the table to fiddle with his prosthetic leg. Even at rest it seems to bother him.

"That was a lifetime ago, old timer. I'm a new man. I really wish you'd let me buy you a better leg. It's the least I can do for you."

"Lifetime my ass! Wasn't even three months ago. The leg ain't yo' job, Boss. They's gon' give me my due, so help me Jesus!" Franklin pounds the table, and then finishes his beer.

"Good luck Franklin let me know if I can help. I mean that. You and this place got me through the worst hell a man can imagine and you still won't let me repay you."

"You pay fo' the beers, we calls it square." He laughs and his deep baritone is melodic and infectious. "Boss, I ain't never asked fo' nuthin' I didn't earn. You pays yo' tab and you bring folks in when you plays yo' piano. Ain't nuthin' else I needs from you, Boss." Franklin raises a bottle of beer and I return the salute.

"I don't know how you do it Franklin." I say shaking my head. "I've known a lot of men that life has treated a whole lot gentler who don't have your attitude."

"Life ain't real fair, Boss, ain't real fair at all. A man though, a man can be as fair as he means to be. Lookit what I gots in this here bar, I got more than my pa' ever dreamed. This is my place, mine and nobody else's. Pa wasn't nuthin' mo' than a sharecropper, an' not much better off than his pa who wasn't even that. I came from nuthin', Boss, and now I gots all this. My daughter, she gon' have mo' than me, and if she ever gives me a grandbaby they's gon' have mo' too. Life ain't always been easy, Boss, but I knows every day was worth what it cost me."

"Franklin, you might be the smartest man I ever met."

"Ain't no such thing. You best be moving on fo' yo' lady comes lookin' fo' you." He's right, Franklin usually is. McBride's Gym is finally ready for its reopening and I know I have a hell of a lot left to do. It all feels so damn strange, living like a regular person. I still wake up in cold sweats some nights; I still have the dream but not every night. Even the city is starting to change, and finally for the better. Things are growing and moving, new construction, new life. It feels like hope came back with the sun. Even the governments gotten to work around here, they're finally doing whatever it was they were supposed to do with the old army base.

I'm running down the street already wishing I was back in the Deuce when I hear the wail of sirens and the sound of hard charging engines getting closer, then a more familiar sound, gunfire. I duck into the nearest alley and take what cover I can as a black sedan come tearing down the street, two black and white patrol cars in hot pursuit. The back window of the sedan is shot out and I can clearly see a man leaning out to fire at the police. Nothing too out of the ordinary, even if crime has been down lately, there are still car chases and shootouts in Millburgh. What comes next though, I am not prepared for in the slightest.

As the sedan tears through the next intersection it is rammed by what looks to be a Sherman tank. Before you ask, no I'm not drunk and yes I'm sure it's a tank, though someone painted the whole thing black. The tank plows into the front of the sedan destroying it utterly and spinning the ruined car of the road. It's only then that I realized, I hadn't heard it coming. The cars were loud and there was gunfire, but not nearly enough to cover THAT rolling up. The two patrol cars screech to a halt, stopping well short of the tank. The cops look just as confused as I must because they hadn't even thought to get out of their cars. Before any of them react the cupola on the turret of the Sherman pops open and out leaps a man who could not be more poorly dressed for the occasion. He's wearing a helmet and goggles of some kind, a bulky vest and heavy gloves. He's down onto the stunned and injured criminals, disarming them and hauling them out of the wreck of their sedan.

By the time the stunned police are out of their cars he has the four criminals cuffed and face down on the hot road. I move out of my cover and close the distance some when I get a decent look at the weirdo's face. The goggles are tinted and cover his eyes but I know that face, know it for damn certain.

"Jerry?" I ask, barely loud enough to be heard. He turns and gives me the shush sign as he hustles over while the cops check out the four criminals.

"Hey buddy! You tome me I didn't want to be you, so I did you one better!" He raises his goggles and sure as hell it's Jeremiah Randall.

"What?"

"We need to talk, you would not believe what's going on in the world."

"Hey! You in the mask!" The cops had corralled the four crooks into the backs of their cars and were on their way over.

"Shit! Gotta go! I'll be by tonight!" Jerry pulled his goggles down and sprinted back to the tank, as soon as he was inside it took off backward down the street it had come up. The engine didn't sound right at all, it made less noise than any car I have ever heard. The cops surround me, but I just watch the tank go.

"What the hell was that? Do you know him?" One asks.

"No, sir. Not in the slightest." Which turns out, was far too true.