I spent four wonderful days at the Alamo Plaza Courts. Sleeping long and hard was good for me. When I was awake, I would read my music book and listen to the radio. Didn't hear a single Polka song, which stands to reason, I guess. I found a great little restaurant called Cattleman's and ate huge steaks with good sides. Ordering is an ordeal. When a cute waitress comes up to you and asks what you want, it's hard not to tell her, "You on my lap with those long legs wrapped around me." I only did that once, and she just smiled and brought me a sweet tea. Probably not the worst thing she had heard working there. Waiting tables is a hard job.
Anyway, I'm getting better at controlling my truthful outbursts. I feel a little more like myself every day. I picked up my guitar and played around with it. I remember all the old chords I knew. I remember things I saw on TV once years ago. I remember things about music people mentioned in passing when I was 12. A Bard's Musical Talent is no joke.
I went back to the library and permanently borrowed all the music learning and theory books I could find. Took me a few trips, and the Librarian is starting to give me hard looks. Might need to lay low for a while. I tore through the music books way too fast to be normal. It all made sense. The knowledge settles in unnaturally, but once it is done it just feels simple and effortless. My voice doesn't croak like an abused frog. It ranges from a smooth tenor to a rolling baritone. Whatever I need. When I finish singing Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight", I hear the *Ding* of my system.
I'm vaguely excited, but when I reach up to touch my face I'm crying. Something about the song. I know it was always one of my favorites, but I suspect that I've forgotten someone who made me feel like the guy in the song. What could make me give up knowing someone like that? What the fuck did I do? I'm furious. The edges of my view bleed to red and I'm starting to get tunnel vision when I realize I'm already in Clementine and breaking the speed limit. I hate myself for causing the memory of the woman who could inspire that kind of simple love to disappear. She's gone forever and it's all my fault!
I know I fucked up and I know I deserve to be punished for it. I know it as surely as I know my name is Sam, but I'm not a self-punishment kind of guy. As I slide Clementine into the Honest Pawn parking lot I say, "System."
*
Name: Sam Jones
Race: Human
Body: 1 / Mind: 1 / Spirit: 1
Available Stat Points: 2
Level: 2
Class: Wandering Bard
Class Features: Musical Talent, Free Movement
Professions: Musician, Fisherman, Detective, Soldier, Hunter, Automotive Repair, Gambler
Talents: Hyper-Perception / Beloved by Machines / Spatial Storage
Detriments: Inexorable Truth / Strange Luck
*
"Put both Available Stat Points into Body." I feel an inexplicable rush of power slam through me. My bones creak and muscles and tendons seem to crackle like tinfoil being compressed. I knock the three motorcycles over and kick the front door open hard enough that it warps the metal safety bars on it.
As I stalk in the door, the two front of the house bikers are already reaching for their iron. Not bad. Minimal hesitation. They have done this before. I fucking hate biker gangers. So smug just because they all have the same type of vehicle. Ridiculous vest wearing, drug slinging bitches. They are ready to rumble, but I walked in with my 38 out and already knowing what was happening.
I plug the one with the stupider beard right in the heart. As a thank you for lending me his gun, I shoot the other one in the guts. Maybe he will live, but that's between him and fate. I slide over a glass display case and grab Counter Man by his face. His feet come off the ground as I carry him towards the entrance to the back room. His mouth is covered, but he has very expressive eyes. He seems pretty nervous, but that's probably because I'm still crying.
I jump into the back room human shield first. As deduced, there is a third biker waiting for us. I rush him and Counter Man takes a few slugs in the back. When I'm close enough, I knock the gun out of biker #3's hand and tackle him to the floor. We roll around trading punches, and I notice a few amateur chemists watching us with wide eyes. One of them is eyeballing the gun that slid in that direction.
I'm taking it easy on the biker. "Hit me! Hit me you son of a bitch.", I scream at him. I feel like he is doing his best, and at some point, he has slipped on a set of knuckle dusters. He cracks them directly onto my left eye and I see stars and blood. It knocks me off of him and on to my back. Now we're talking! The pain I feel eclipses what the song made me feel. My heart stops pounding and the adrenaline dumps out of my system.
He scrambles to his feet and pulls a hunting knife off of his waist. "You're gonna die mother fucker. Noone rolls in here and fucks with the M.." I'm done with him. My pistol is already back in my hand, and I put one in his neck to quiet him down.
Stumbling to my feet is harder than expected. I grab a shop towel off a table and wipe the tears, blood, and snot off my face. "Everyone fuck off." I see a few jerry cans of kerosene sitting in the corner. I grab one and splash it around a bit. The amateur chemists are running at this point. I help myself to Biker #3s wallet. He is holding his neck and grabbing at me while I do it. Probably trying to remind me to take that nice hunting knife too. There is a zippo on the table. I light it and leave it on the floor where the kerosene might reach eventually as it glugs out of the can.
I'm out the front and over the counter before I remember those polished coins. Smash the glass, grab the coins and a t-shirt off a rack. I'm driving and holding the shirt to my head wound. I don't want to bleed on Clementine. "I'm not doing very well old girl. I don't think I was a very good person before this, and I don't know what to do about myself now. Any suggestions?"
Clementine is a mysterious girl and keeps her own council. "Sorry about peeling out and sliding in the gravel parking lot. I know you aren't that kind of girl. I just got carried away." I'll get her cleaned up and checked out at a good mechanic in the next town. She'll forgive me.
*Ding*
I glance in the rearview mirror. I guess the kerosene made it all the way to the zippo.