The Honor of the Monster Wrestler by Josh Bugosh
Synopsis: Legends and Myths are born of Men and Monsters; here is a sequel to The Monster Wrestler.
About the Author: Josh Bugosh is a full-time graphic artist with a passion for prose. He writes short stories in a variety of genres, from the thrilling to the comic. So far, Josh has written well over a dozen short stories. He has been previously published in Death Head Grin, Fictitious Magazine, and Liquid Imagination. He also writes short film screenplays for Lobsterdance Productions (www.vimeo.com/lobsterdance). Samples of his writing and his graphics pieces can be seen on his deviantArt page at mondoboss.deviantart.com
In this urban legend, Maynard fights for honour and virtue and defines heroism.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Honor of the Monster Wrestler
by Josh Bugosh
The bar at the Rowdy Raven was filled from end-to-end, not a free stool in sight. Maynard, the famed “Monster Wrestler,” sat hunched, his black and shining forehead catching the colorful neon signs above the bar. His friends drank with him. Frank, small and meek, sat to his right and Bill, athletic and showing off in a tight T-shirt that read “Steinman Manufacturing,” sat to his left. Hands slapped his back as Russ, the burly owner of the bar, hung a large eight-by-ten photograph of Maynard and his crew with the slain Big Mumbo Jr, the giant killer catfish. A skinny busboy collected empty glasses as his boss adjusted the photo.
“There, that rightly belongs there don’ it?” Russ said, propping his fists on his hips. Smoke drifted in the low orange light around the bar as the patrons broke out in applause.
Rednecks, men with wife-beaters and sweat-stained T-shirts, young guys with backwards baseball caps and collared shirts, women dolled up with glittering jewelry and layers of makeup. All of them clapped for Maynard, who looked up from his brow and gave a wry little smile.
Frank slapped him on his back. “That’s our Maynard,” he said. “Toughest mudder in town. That picture’s proof right there.”
“Damn right,” came the old, phlegm-laced voice of Shep. He was sitting in a booth behind them, chatting with two other older men, and he raised his glass. In the next booth down from them were three college kids in polos and khakis. Two of them were white and the third one was dark-skinned. They stood out against the local crowd, and the muscular one of the group rolled his eyes, causing the other two to laugh.
“Hell,” Frank continued. “There ain’t nobody in the whole state that could take him on.”
Maynard only held his smirk and added nothing.
“Yessir,” Russ said, turning away from the photo. “In fact, I’ve thought up a new drink, and I named it after you,” he said, looking at Maynard. “I’m gonna add it to our menu too. A drink as strong as you. The Maynard Wallace!”
Another throng of applause rose and Russ grabbed some bottles from behind him.
“And tell you what, Maynard,” he said. “I’m gonna make you one right now, on the house.”
Maynard smirked a bit more as Russ withdrew a scotch glass from behind the counter and splashed a quarter of whiskey in. All eyes watched as he grabbed a different bottle of straight bourbon and added it. When he popped the top off of some tequila, a few murmurs passed back and forth.
He was searching the shelves for another bottle when Bill whistled.
“Damn,” he said, marveling. “I don’t know if that’s strong enough.”
A few laughs traveled down the bar, and Russ chuckled too, adding a splash of gin to the mix.
“Hey,” one of the baseball-capped guys called from the far left. “I’ll have a Maynard Wallace, too.”
“Same here!” called the woman next to him, her cheeks flush and her eyes wide as a child.
“Aw babe, you can’t handle it,” the man said.
“Like hell I can’t! How would you know? You hadn’t even had it yet.”
“Two more, comin’ up,” Russ said as he finished Maynard’s drink, adding a dash of Tabasco sauce and sliding it over to the cocktail’s namesake.
Amidst the excitement over the birth of a new drink, Bill craned his neck, looking up and down the bar.
“Hey,” he said and nodded at a girl with a scrap of a spaghetti-strap dress. “How would you like a Maynard Wallace?” he asked. She didn’t seem to notice him.
“Hey,” he said again, past the several people in between them. She looked square at Bill and shook her head.
“Say, Maynard,” a thin guy wearing a torn tank-top said, leaning in. “You think you’d be up for some work? I’ve got gator problems at my bungalow. Sure could use a strong hand. I’ll pay ya good.”
“Hell,” someone else added. “Maynard here could make a fortune wranglin’ gators!”
Maynard swirled his and took a silent sip. Smacking his lips softly, he spoke.
“Well I reckon I’d be up to the task,” he said.
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” the baseball-capped man asked, perking up.
“Why yes it does,” Maynard said.
“Alright! I’m your first gig!” the man shouted, raising his glass.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Maynard said a little lower.
Frank leaned in and whispered the best he could over the ruckus. “Reckon we should mention the National Geographic thing?” he asked.
Maynard smiled “Well I have been handy with a camera lately,” he said.
Frank spoke up, patting Maynard’s shoulder. “It seams the National Geographic is publishing some photos Maynard took while stalking some monsters.”
Russ was cleaning out a glass and raised an eyebrow.
“That true?” he asked.
Maynard nodded. “Yesiree. Should come out next month.”
“Well hell,” Russ said. “I’ll be damned.”
“Ah, that’s bullshit,” the muscular, polo-wearing kid at the booth said. Several glances from the bar shot his way. His biceps crowded the sleeves of his shirt as he rested his arms on the table. The dark-skinned kid was sitting next to him. He looked Middle Eastern, and he was just as muscular. The white kid across from them in the booth had glasses and finely combed brown hair, but they didn’t help him look smart.
The muscular boy spoke up again, now that he had an audience.
“It’s a bunch of urban legend, popularity contest bullshit is what it is.”
His friends each raised a mug of beer and shouted “Cheers!”
Maynard sat with his drink, ignoring them while everybody else turned to look. From the next booth over, Shep tilted his fat body into the aisle so he could look at the kids.
“Now you peckerheads better learn to shut the fuck up when you don’t know what you’re talking about. I had my doubts, but I seen him do his thing. Monsters are real, boy, and this here fucker can show ’em a thing or two!”
The college kids broke into laughter at this, and the muscular one, apparently their leader, spoke up again.
“Keep talkin, old man. I’m sure he needs all the lip service he can get!”
Frank slammed his palm down on the bar. “Now you hold it there! You ain’t seen Maynard here strangle Big Mumbo Jr. like I have!”
This brought forth another laughing fit, and the college kids nearly lost their composure in their hysterics.
“Big Mumbo Jr.?” the leader choked out. “What’s that? Some fast-food combo?”
They all broke down laughing again. Maynard was still silent, swishing his drink in his hands.
Frank was adamant. “The picture’s right up there. Maynard killed that sucker with his hands alone, not but twenty years after he he pulled its daddy’s guts out through his mouth.”
Their eruption of laughter didn’t stop. Fully entertained, the leader slapped the table to contain himself.
“Aw, tell ’em Maynard,” Frank whined.
Sitting with his drink, Maynard leaned his head back to direct his voice upwards.
“I did kill both of them. That’s a fact, alright!”
“Huh?” the leader shouted. “What’s that?”
The kid got up out of his seat and stomped to the bar. Putting his hand up to his ear, he said, “I can’t hear you, old man.”
“Then I suggest you get your hearing checked,” Maynard said without looking back. Russ, Bill, and the other patrons eyed the scene nervously. The leader stepped even closer, a mad ripple in his eyes.
“Now don’t you be actin’ all tough to me when your big dick story is that you wrestled some catfish,” he said. “Til I see you tangle with a real monster, you’re nothing but a fake to me.”
Frank jumped to his friend’s rescue again.
“Oh yeah?” he said, jutting a finger at the college kid. “Hang around here long enough, and you’ll see it.”
“Who asked you, loverboy? I swear, you must be this guy’s biggest fan.”
Maynard sipped his drink and listened.
“In fact, I bet you’re his bitch, more like it,” the kid said.
“Hey!” Frank shouted, and reached forward to grab him. But the jock wheeled him around and flexed his arm over Frank’s neck.
Bill swiveled in his chair and watched. Several other stools turned around as people glanced over at the scene with worry.
“Hey guys! We got a protective boyfriend over here!” the leader shouted, and his friends at the booth hooted.
“Ffleg go!” Frank said, straining under the jock’s sweating forearm. Russ was wiping his hands and preparing to intervene when Maynard’s stool whirled around and his fingers jabbed into the jock’s ribcage.
“Oof!” he blew out, and let Frank go. Maynard was on him then, grasping the scruff of his shirt and holding the young man before him. A few more stools swiveled around.
“Listen here, boy. You’re but a dumb motherfucker if you be stompin’ in here and acting like you ain’t shit.”
The boy trembled like a wind-up toy, helpless in the lock of Maynard’s wrathful eyes. He began to form words, but they came out as gibberish. That is, until Maynard twisted the boy’s collar, making him choke and sputter.
His friends were on their feet by the time Russ put his hand on Maynard’s shoulder.
“Let him go, Maynard. I can settle this.”
Maynard shot Russ an angry glance He did not want to be interrupted in his vengeance.
“Hey man, let him go!” the dark-skinned kid said, approaching and rolling up his sleeve. Russ put his hands up. “Hold it, hold it,” he said, and the two boys stopped, though they seemed ready to jump into action.
Behind them, Shep sat with his hand grasped around his bottle of beer, ready to smash it if need-be.
“Maynard,” Russ said. The anger in his eyes subsided a bit, and Maynard let the coughing and sputtering kid go.
Already the silence in the bar terminated and the ebb of conversation picked back up. The show was over. Bill and Frank still kept their attention towards the situation.
“Now fellas,” Russ addressed them. “I don’t permit fightin here. And I certainly don’t permit people trying to rustle up the crowd.”
He looked at the leader, who averted his gaze to the floor.
“Now as far as I can tell, y’all wanna see what Maynard here is all about. We’s can show ya.”
Maynard’s face went taut and he looked at Russ. Even Bill and Frank showed surprise. The college kid only grunted.
“I don’t care now.”
“Oh, you will,” Russ said. “Y’all… y’all come with me. I got somethin’ out back I wanna show you.”
He nodded over to the bar, where the busboy was stocking glasses.
“Hey Tom!” Russ called. “Man the bar for a little bit, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.”
The young boy’s eyes widened and after a pause, he nodded his head in agreement.
“C’mon fellas, follow me,” Russ commanded. The muscular kid remained still, even as his friends began to move. Stopping, Russ pointed at him.
“C’mon… you. Whatever your name is.”
“Lib,” the kid muttered.
Lib’s friends spoke up, sensing their cue.
“Ron,” the blond one said.
“Heshan,” said the dark-skinned kid.
Russ looked them both over, as if judging them based on their names.
“Alrighty then, three stooges, wait’ll you see this.”
There was a groan of a protesting seat cushion and Shep heaved out into the aisle.
“Gotta see this,” he told his drinking mates. Bill fell in line as well, and nary a person averted an eye, probably figuring Russ was taking everybody out for a talking-to.
As Russ pulled open the heavy oak door, Maynard grabbed his arm.
“Watcha got goin’ on, Russ? Sounds like somethin’ I should be knowin’ about.”
There was a stern slant in Maynard’s eyes, his friendly demeanor quickly fading.
“I was gonna tell ya soon enough,” Russ said, wearing his diplomat’s face. “But you’ll see for yourself in a sec. Somethin’ big I got planned. I know you’ll want a cut.”
“I ain’t fond of shady deals,” Maynard said.
“Nothin’ shady. You’ll see,” Russ said, and he turned and walked out. With hesitation, Maynard followed him, and Frank and Bill filed through behind him.
Ron and Heshan stopped at the door and looked back at their friend.
“You comin’?” Ron asked, but Lib stood brooding. Behind him, Shep waddled up and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I was gonna stab you back there had things gone South,” Shep said, and chuckled like a perverted uncle as he shuffled past the bewildered young men and out the door.
& & &
They walked around the outside of the Rowdy Raven with its weather-stained brick walls and flashing neon bar logos and stepped into the parking lot. Russ led the way, with Maynard following closely, studying him. Bill and Frank were right on their heels, eager to see something, while Shep waddled as fast as he could to catch up. The college kids brought up the rear, meandering along.
The blacktop glistened from a recent drizzle and the lamppost lights glowed on its surface. A thin mist hung in the air. Through it, on the other end of the lot, was an outbuilding, a ramshackle hodgepodge of lumber and tin sheeting.
Russ reached in his pocket and brought out a jangling set of rusty keys as he approached the shed. The building was about half the size of the bar, which was still pretty good for a shed. A garage door and a smaller portal made up the front, and Russ put his keys in the small one and casually unlocked it.
He reached in and flicked on a light as everyone entered. A dim bulb hung above the earthen-toned room with a dirty floor and a massive iron cage in the center. Inside the cage, a large mound of hairy flesh slept in the corner.
The whole place smelled like manure, and Lib and his crew pinched their noses as they stepped through the door.
“Jesus,” Lib said as Russ locked up behind them. But then he saw the cage that the older gentlemen were now transfixed with.
“What the fuck is that?” Lib shouted.
“Shhh,” Russ said, walking past the boys and towards the edge of the cage. “Don’t be so shrill.”
The pile of hairy flesh rustled, jiggling a little like a fur-covered balloon, and coughed.
“Mother of Mercy,” Maynard said, gazing at the beast as it snorted and moved again, becoming restless. The animal uncurled itself and got on its feet, nearly doubling its height. It was as big as a grizzly bear, but it was not a bear. An uneven number of tusks jutted out of its mouth, pointing this way and that, an irregular jumble of bone flanking a glistening and stubbled snout. Russ came up beside him and clapped his shoulder.
“I knew you’d be impressed.”
“Impressed ain’t the right word,” Maynard said.
Bill, Frank, and Shep gathered close and then Lib, Ron, and Heshan poked in between the men to see.
The giant boar pawed at the dirt with its rear hoof and then ignited, charging towards the bars.
“Shit!” Lib screamed. Tusks crashed against the metal and the entire cage shook. Lib, Ron, and Heshan took a step back while the others only flinched. Except for Maynard. His composure was stoic, like he was made of granite.
The animal glared at his visitors under a furry, furrowing brow.
“Russ,” Maynard growled. “What in the fuck are you doing with this thing?”
The bartender’s eyes softened with hurt.
“Well I’ve been inspired, you might say. What with all them creatures running around in the night, and you steppin’ up to the plate to confront ’em.”
He took an admirable look at the monster hog, which was pacing circles and staring down all of them.
“I thought he’d be a good attraction. I named him Burt.”
Maynard’s face was hardening with each word Russ spoke.
“How’d you get him?” he seethed. It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
“Well I had this team of guys go into the swamp. Heard there was this monster boar there, and I just had to nab him. They got their nets and funny tracking devices. It was a cinch.”
“Pay ’em good?” Maynard asked.
“I trust you paid them well?” he explained.
“Well of course!” Russ declared. “I paid top dollar for them to come from out of State and catch ol’ Burt.”
Frank and Bill looked at each other conspiratorially.
“He coulda got Maynard here to wrangle him for cheaper,” Frank whispered.
“I’d do no such thing,” Maynard said, hearing them. “I don’t work for no fame, and I don’t support no carnival freak shows, either.”
Russ chucked at this, and the college kids approached the cage to get a closer look. The boar slowed its circling and eyed them.
“Oh Maynard,” Russ said, hitching up his belt. “I didn’t approach you about this ’cause I had a better gig for you. I figure I charge a good entry fee and folks can come and watch you wrassle Burt on Friday nights!”
Everybody exchanged surprised looks, even Lib pulled his attention away from the boar.
“Like Pay-Per-View?” he asked. “Hell, that’d be tight.”
“No,” Maynard said.
Russ dropped his arms and eyed Maynard.
“Oh, why not? You know I’d pay you good.”
“I just stated my reason,” Maynard said, his eye on the boar. The animal took a few steps back, keeping its watch on Lib, who returned to staring at it.
“It’d be a mean fight,” Lib said. “Like back in the gladiator days or something.”
Ron and Heshan stepped closer and Heshan got brave enough to lean in and spit a loogie into the cage. The boar flinched, then charged for a few yards, stopping just short of the bars, filled with sneering hatred.
“Goddamn,” Lib said. “This is tight.” He crouched and put his face closer to the bars.
Hands shoved him from behind and Lib pitched forward to Burt’s angry face rushing towards him.
“Shit!” Lib cried, pushing away as the boar slammed against the cage.
Shep stood laughing behind him, holding himself and letting his belly heave under his shirt.
“Gotcha,” he said.
Lib glared up at him.
“You son of a bitch.”
Burt the Boar circled his pen again, and Shep turned for the door.
“Well, I seen enough for now. Maynard ain’t gonna do this. I got a beer gettin’ warm.”
Ron looked disappointed.
“Oh, you mean you’re not gonna fight it? C’mon, what was the point of buttering us up then? Shit!”
Maynard remained still, watching Burt spend his fury. His jaw clenched a little, and Frank studied him with concern.
Shep stopped to see what would happen.
“Yeah man, c’mon!” Lib said. “He’s right there. Show us something, man!”
Heshan joined in. “If he don’t wanna do it, he don’t wanna do it.”
“Oh, he’ll do it,” Russ said, pacing like a showman now. “It’s in his blood. He was born to fight and face monsters. Ever since he stepped out of his house for the first time as a kid. He’s always been doin’ it.”
Maynard’s jaw clenched, and the three college kids continued to urge and beg until he finally turned his muscled neck and looked Russ in the eye.
“Suppose I do it,” he said, idealism sharpening his voice. “But I do it my way.”
Russ gave a half-bow.
“You’re the star, Maynard,” he said.
“I ain’t no circus freak.”
“Hell no you ain’t. I ain’t spinnin’ that.”
They locked eyes for a minute, and everybody was silent. Even Shep was stepping away from the door.
“C’mon, man!” Lib urged.
Maynard remained still. Burt snorted and went back to his corner, circling on the dirt.
“You ain’t gotta do this,” Frank whispered, appearing beside Maynard. “Don’t listen to ’em.”
Russ folded his arms and waited. Without a word, Maynard turned from him and rolled up his sleeves.
“Maynard!” Frank said, following him. But he didn’t seem to hear.
“You don’t have to cave. Keep your honor!” he continued.
Maynard pulled out his wallet and keys from his pants and sat them in the corner while Frank stayed behind him.
“It’s alright, buddy,” Maynard said in a cool voice. “I’m not doing what you think I am.”
The college trio cheered as Maynard stepped up to the cage, and Shep and the others crowded around.
“Give ‘im hell, Maynard!” Bill shouted. “Just don’t kill ‘im!”
Russ stepped up and put his hand on the latch.
“You ready?” he asked, but Maynard stared stone-faced into the cage of Burt, who perked up and dug his heels into the ground.
“Well, I wanna thank ya anyway,” Russ said, and opened the gate just wide enough for Maynard to slip in and square up with the waiting monster. The man bent forward, leaned on his thighs, and waited. Burt grew more agitated, pacing back and forth and never taking his eyes off his opponent.
Maynard took one step, and Burt jumped back and then froze.
“C’mon Maynard,” Frank shouted. The college kids were silent as a congregation, paying their respects at the Church of the Monster Wrestler.
Maynard moved once more, and the boar ignited. It dashed straight for him, its hooves pounding the dirt and echoing like a stampede, and then the huge mass was on Maynard, almost twice the size of the man, and heavier than that.
Maynard sidestepped in a flash to avoid being gored by the tangle of tusks, and Burt crashed into the bars. Everybody jumped a foot back as the cage rattled. With a shake of his rippling flesh, Burt collected his senses, and then Maynard was on top of him, riding him like a horse. The beast spun into a rage and kicked into the air, working his way into the center of the arena. But Maynard held on tight.
Laying down on his belly, he reached out and grasped one of the twisted horns, and his other arm stretched as far as it could around the animal’s bristly neck. Burt squealed. It was shrill, like the rusty gates of Hell opening. Everybody plugged their ears, even Russ, who must have never heard his captive’s voice quite this loud.
“Damn, he’s really don’ it!” Lib hollered above the noise. “He’s holdin’ his own!”
Ron and Heshan were transfixed, and Frank noted their undivided attention with a proud grin. “Yeah Maynard!” he yelled. “You got it!”
“Shit,” Bill said. “I guess I haven’t really seen Maynard do his thing up close.”
“Don’t kill the legend none, does it?” Shep said.
Maynard twisted his body, all of his muscles tensing like a binding strap, and with the animal’s head still in his grip, he rolled off its back and took Burt down with him.
“Nope,” Bill said. “It sure don’t.”
The combatants tumbled onto the dirt, and Maynard took the offensive, grabbing a front and rear leg and rolling back, stretching the animal’s limbs out in a mercy hold. Squeals of protest flooded the room.
But Burt was not prone to being tapped out, and he swung his legs up and threw Maynard into the air. The Monster Wrestler let go and tumbled against the bars like a dead sack of bones.
“Damn!” Lib shouted. Maynard slowly got to his feet, rubbing his arms and neck while Burt righted himself.
Russ, apparently seeing enough, stood by the gate, his hand perched on the latch, but Maynard was a good ten yards away, and Burt was now standing.
“Christ Almighty,” Shep said. “What a monster.”
Burt the boar shook himself off and leveled his eyes on Maynard. The animal wasted no time and burst toward him, screaming a war-pig cry. Maynard bolted, but not for the gate. He shot straight towards Burt, silent and fast as a comet.
They impacted on each other and were struck still. Maynard’s hands gripped Burt’s tusks, and—impossibly—he pushed against the bulk of the beast, his heels digging ruts into the dirt.
Everybody let out an “oooh” as Maynard and the boar compared each others’ strength. Burt’s rear hooves stomped into the ground, one at a time, making deep ruts, and Maynard’s arms trembled like the supports of a failing bridge.
A cheer rose up, first from Frank, then from Bill. Then Lib, Ron, and Heshan joined in.
“Maynard! Maynard! Maynard!” they chanted. Shep clapped to the tune as the struggle ensued.
With a twist of his great arms, Maynard turned Burt over. The beast’s legs gave away and it dropped to the ground. The chants broke into a percussion of hoots and hollers, and Maynard rose above his foe triumphant. Russ, still stationed by the latch, hollered out.
“Arlighty son, now finish ‘im! Teach ‘im who’s boss!”
But Maynard turned and made for the exit with deliberation as Burt stirred and readied himself to fight back.
“Or you’re done. Either way,” Russ shrugged, and he opened the gate a crack.
Maynard stopped and looked at Burt. He was on his feet now, shaking himself off, and his eyes were on fire. He found Maynard.
“Hurry up, Maynard!” Russ said, but the man stood still as a statue.
“Come on, Maynard.”
Burt stomped, then charged.
“Jesus, come on!” Russ screamed.
Everybody backed up and Maynard turned and bolted out of the cage, pushed Russ aside, and held the gate open.
“Dear Christ! Close it!” Russ shouted, falling to his knees.
The boar tore out of its pen in a fury, stomped past Maynard, past his terrified audience as they ran for cover, and crashed through the door. It splintered apart and Burt hurled himself into the night.
“No no no no no no!” Russ hollered, scampering to the obliterated door. In the haze of the parking lot, Burt’s figure could at first be mistaken for a car. If not for his furry outline and for his bounding steps. A couple walking to their vehicle sobered instantly and ran for safety as Burt slammed into a sedan—probably theirs—and lifted it onto its side.
Its theft alarm blared and underneath the noise, screams of terror rose into the night as Burt veered away from the bar, got smaller as he fled, and then faded away into the mist.
“GOD DAMN IT!” Russ shouted, his voice echoing with the other peoples’ screams. He turned, fuming, and found Maynard and everybody else crowded behind him. Maynard’s face was hard, his brow a rigid cliff, but his mouth had a faint smile of satisfaction.
“You son of a bitch!” Russ spat. “You cost me big time, mister. You—”
“Let that be a lesson,” Maynard said, his voice cool, the most confident it had been the whole night.
“A lesson? A- a LESSON?”
Russ’s face was red now, the blood rushing into his head and fury storming his brain.
“Next time you need a wrangler, you got me,” Maynard said, pointing at Russ with the finger of God. “And you better not be doing this carnival crap ever again.”
“None of that showman, ‘come one, come all’ sideshow Jerry Springer bullshit,” he added.
Russ was humbled. His shoulders sagged, and he looked at Maynard earnestly.
“What am I gonna do now?” he asked. “How am I gonna explain all of this?”
“You got me,” Maynard said. “Now, excuse me.”
Maynard stepped forward and brushed Russ aside. He was more than cooperative in getting out of his way, and Maynard walked proudly back toward the Rowdy Raven. Frank and the college kids spilled out of the shed like grade-school students leaving school.
“Maynard!” Frank called. “Maynard! That was great!”
He bounded ahead to catch up with his hero, slapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him. Bill walked slowly with Shep, who limped along.
“Shit,” the older man said. “I think I twisted my ankle getting the way out of that damn pig.”
“Don’t be a puss,” Bill said, helping him along.
“Watch it, son.”
“Sorry. We’ll get you a drink here in a sec.”
“Hell, if anything, ol’ Russ here owes me a drink!” Shep yelled, stopping and turning back towards the shed. Russ remained by the shattered door, sagging with shame and staring at Maynard marching home with his admirers. Lib, Ron, and Heshan walked side by side, and their excited voices carried in the air.
Their re-cap of the fight continued over a few beers, and was perfected into legend when they went back home.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Josh Bugosh 2013
Image Courtesy: Google Images