Made by the USA

I crossed the snow-covered street with cautious steps. Slick reflective patches of ice tempted my balance, as the wind blustered against me, but the treads of my boots held. I counted three cars and a truck parked in front of the Crossroads Tavern. It seemed like a quiet night for what I assumed was an otherwise busy establishment.

The stench of stale cigarette smoke and heat were the first things I noticed upon entering. I brushed snowflakes out of my hair and stomped my feet on the small aged rubber entry mat. A man turned from the bar and looked my way. He gave me a small nod before he turned back to his drink.

“We’re closin’ in an hour.” The bartender, an average looking woman in her mid-40’s, told me as I took a seat at the bar. I nodded and scanned the room. There were five patrons and her; adding me made seven. With my own ride out of town, this divided the other six amongst four vehicles.

I sat between two men along the counter; it had a polished veneer sticky with a boozy film. Two others played pool together behind us, sipping Bud Light from thick mugs between shots. They carpooled in one of the sedans, a Honda key on a ring lay near one of the mugs. The man to my left had a baseball cap on and a thick orange winter jacket draped under his stool. He drove the truck for sure. Our bartender had the old rundown Acura that was hell to start this time of year. The man to my right drove the minivan riddled with stains and crushed up animal crackers between the seats and along the floor boards. The plain silver wedding band on his left hand spoke for itself. The family man used this time to get away from the chaos at home.

“What can I get for ya?” The woman asked as she brushed some of her dirty blonde bangs behind her ear.

“I’ll have a glass of Stella, please.” I replied in an even tone to hide my excitement. I hadn’t sipped the Belgian lager in months. My mouth started to water.

“Not too common, but we can get that for ya.” She replied with a nod and a soft smile.

“You from around here?” Orange Coat asked. I shook my head.

“No. Just passing through.” I made it a matter of fact.

“I thought so.” He turned toward me. “Locals get the same thing. Someone outta town like ya self gets somethin’ different.”

“Solid observation.” I told him as I smiled and thanked the bartender as she pushed the glass to me. Foam spilled over and down the glass onto my fingers. Taking a sip, a chill ran down my spine as the cold liquid coated my throat. Its familiar bitter taste hit home. I let it soak deep.

“Well I ‘ppreciate that. Now where ya from and where ya goin’?” He asked.

“My uncle and I are from southern Oregon. Heading to Wisconsin to visit some family.” I told Orange Coat. He bought it without a second thought.

“It’s pretty darn cold there about this here time a year. Whereabouts ya goin’?”

“Green Bay.” I answered. He nodded.

“I reckoned ya weren’t from round here.” The bartender stepped in. I shot her a curious look. “Ya have a bit of an accent.”

“Oh yeah. I suppose that does give me away.” I replied.

“It’s okay though. Always nice meetin’ new folk.”

“Yeah, it’s better than others we have here.” The Family Man chimed in for the first time, glass inches from his mouth. The low jukebox rock and occasional sound of pool balls striking one another made a typical but nice atmosphere around us.

“I’m not following.” I lied. The Family Man turned and nodded passed me.

“See that man in the corner?” I turned and glanced over at the loner in the corner. I nodded.

“He’s a rapist.” He whispered.

“Oh? Really?” I asked. The Family Man nodded.

“Yeah and he’s a real pieca work too.” One of the pool players added after he sent the cue ball toward the striped blue six. I spotted the outline of a pistol tucked against the small of his back. His friend hid a fixed blade under his jacket. The last inch or so of the tan leather sheath poked out from under his coat.

“Now boys, don’t be givin’ Gerald a hard time. It’s too late and too cold for all that.”

“Oh come on, Marci. Ya know you’d wanna crack him across the head with this pool stick more than the rest of us.” The other man at the pool table spoke up this time.

“It'll do no good fightin’ and yellin’ at him.” Marci told the two pool players. One grunted and the other shook his head and swigged from his mug.

“Makes me feel good so whatever. Can I get another?” One asked as he raised his mug. Marci nodded and said,

“You betcha, but you better come on over and get it. Gotta start cleanin’ up.” She looked over at Gerald. “You got a half hour, Gerald.”

“Bullshit, Marci! You just told that guy he's got an hour so I got the same!” Gerald finally spoke up. I looked across the bar at him. He was rather thin, cheeks sunken in. Mousey eyes and a hunched posture with uneven stubble; he matched the lurking pedophile depicted on TV.

“Whatchya say to 'er?” The other pool player asked. I had to act. Distract them before they attacked. They’d beat him into a coma, maybe death. I stood and asked Marci,

“Where's your bathroom?”

“Back corner past Gerald there. Follow the hall, it'll be on your right.” She instructed. I nodded, thanked her, and turned. Gerald watched me walk across the room. I felt his glare as I passed by.

“You ain't tough, pal. Ain't afraid of nonaya.” Gerald muttered. I passed him in silence. I followed the hall and stepped into the rundown bathroom. The brass knob locked with a gentle click. I went to the sink and stared into the dirty mirror.

A small smile formed at my mouth when I spotted a sharps container against the nearby wall in the reflection of the mirror. There was a small crack in one of its rounded corners. With enough pressure, it'd break and allow me access. I pressed several gloved fingers against the crack and applied slow but even force. The plastic creaked, groaned, then snapped. I pulled the piece out and tossed it in the trash can behind me. A small syringe fell and sat in the new opening. I removed it with care. There was still fluid inside.

“Insulin...unused too. Odd thing to waste.” I whispered. I popped the cap off, drained the medicine into the sink and ran the water for several moments over the short and thin needle. Satisfied, I drew air into the now-empty syringe.

I replaced the cap and put it in my front right jacket pocket. It fit with a tiny bit of space to spare before it poked out. To continue my cover, I flushed the toilet behind me and waited several moments. I stepped out into the hall again and watched as Gerald collided into one of the pool tables. He bounced off the solid material hard before crashing to the floor.

“Wyatt, I said stop! Nobodies beatin’ him tonight!” Marci exclaimed from behind her bar. Gerald pulled himself to his feet and picked up one of the pool balls.

“Come on, asshole. You wanna fight, we’ll fight.” He snarled. I considered a quick .22LR round to the side of his head. It’d be excessive, but maybe justified. Cops wouldn’t find me either. But I dropped the thought and focused on the scene in front of me.

“Gerald, put the darned ball down and get outta here!” Marci exclaimed. Orange Coat and Family Man were on their feet, backs against the bar’s high top. Wyatt and his buddy had their cues posed and ready. I took a few slow steps closer toward them. The syringe made sure I didn’t forget about it as I drew near.

“Ya want some of this too?” Gerald asked me as he shifted a few feet back toward the wall behind him. I continued to walk to him. He stepped back more. I stopped when I was within arm's length of Wyatt. He shifted his cue away from me

“Why don’t you put down the ball and we’ll take a walk?” I suggested to Gerald in an even calm tone.

“I’m goin’ nowhere with ya, ya hear?”

“Well either we step outside or these guys lay you out with their cues.” I told him. I glanced at the two men. Wyatt smirked and the other held my gaze for a moment before looking back at Gerald. They’d either play fair or I’d run through them too. I needed my target in one piece.

“I can take care of myself.” Gerald insisted with a growl.

“Maybe. But you’re outnumbered and outgunned.” I pointed out. Gerald shot me a curious look. I advanced two steps forward and faced him more. Gerald shifted back again. He lifted the ball higher toward his shoulder. I didn’t move. He could swing, but I’d have his wrist in one hand, throat in the other before it connected.

“Stay back, dammit! I mean it.”

“You’re about 140 pounds and five foot seven. They have to be five eleven to six foot and weigh anywhere between 185 to 210, and that’s being generous.” I paused and looked at the two. Both gave me small nods of approval. Beyond them, Marci folded her arms across her chest. Family Man was interested as he sipped from his glass. Orange Coat stared and didn’t move. Perhaps hunter orange was just a fad and not a lifestyle.

“I don’t give a damn how tall they are or how much they weigh! I can take ‘em.” Gerald declared. I gave him a slight nod and turned to the pool players for a moment before looking back at him.

“So you’ve got a pool ball against a five to six-inch knife and a handgun, which I bet is a 9mm. It holds anywhere between 12 to 18 rounds. Are you sure that’s something you can handle?” I asked. Wyatt adjusted his jacket behind me. I turned to him and said,

“It printed when you were taking a shot at the table. It happens.” I glanced at Marci, who didn’t seem phased at the potential liability for a firearm in her bar.

“Gerald, listen to the nice fella before somethin’ bad happens. Walk this off and come back a different day.”

“Or never, ya creep.” The other pool player spat. It took him a moment to digest the comment, but Gerald lunged toward him. I saw it coming the moment he made the decision. I stuck a hand out and pressed it into his chest and took a fistful of his shirt. I caught his wrist in the other before it arched toward Wyatt. I drove my right knee up into his gut. It was like folding wet cardboard. I should’ve gone lower.

“Puugghh!” Everyone in the bar heard the air leave Gerald’s lungs. He went limp and I let him fall to the floor. I caught the pool ball as it left his grasp. Gerald coughed then vomited up some of his dinner. He groaned and rolled onto his side. I handed the ball back to Wyatt, nodded and said,

“I’ll walk him out.”

“Mister, you better take him now before I gotta report this.” Marci warned. I eyed her for a second before I reached down and yanked Gerald off the floor by his jacket.

“Alright. Lesson learned. Now it's time to go.”

“Fuck you.” He managed to say as he gasped for air. He was as light as he looked and put zero effort in getting on his feet. I drug him toward the door. No one protested or offered to help me. Good. I didn’t mind taking the trash out alone.

I pushed the door open and lifted Gerald up to his feet. A blast of icy wind blew into the bar and hit me in the face. He perked up and tried to swing at me. I thrusted an open palm out hard into his boney chest. The force took him off his feet as he tripped over a parking block and crashed backward into the snow.

“You asshole!” He shouted as he recovered and clutched at the impact. I took a few steps toward him and uncapped the syringe in my pocket. I took it in my right hand, needle pointed back to the bar. Gerald got up and swung again. I stepped out of the way, blocked the incoming attack with my left and wrapped my arm around his neck. This put him into a partial headlock, letting him squirm against me. I walked us around the corner of the bar and shoved him into a wall.

“Better let me go!” He exclaimed against the wind. I used my left hand to yank his neck up and pressed his chin up and back toward me. This exposed the whole right side of his neck and throat. I slid the needle into his carotid artery, rounded and thick from his temper. I took my time as I lowered the plunger down. This sent a large air bubble into his bloodstream. It’d either travel up into his brain or would work its way to his heart. Either would be fatal.

Gerald tried to fight against me but all attempts failed. Each time he squirmed, I pressed the corner of my thumb into his temporomandibular joint. It connected the bottom jaw to the skull just in front of the ear. The pressure forced a good cry of pain out of him. When the plunger hit home, I removed the needle and shoved him to the ground. I stepped back and returned the weapon to my pocket.

“What was that? What did ya do to me?” Gerald grasped at his neck and stared up at me.

“You’re tryin’ to cut me, aren’t ya?”

“I’d keep still if I were you.” I suggested. A part of me wanted to smile but focused on my surroundings. This ruffled some feathers as I hoped. He shot up to his feet and swung at me several times. When I saw an opening, I shoved hard at his chest again, which moved him further away from the front door. He regained his balance and tried to swing at me yet again. I parried the attack off and shoved him back to the ground. I imagined a fist crashing into his thin body, bones cracking.

“Come on now! Fight me tough guy.” He stepped toward me after rising to his feet again. But his eyes went wide. He froze in his tracks. His arms fell to his sides.

I took a few more steps toward him and scanned around us. No headlights hit and exposed our drama. No one from the bar came outside to watch. No one cared to see what would become of Gerald.

“Not feeling good, Mr. Starr?” I asked as I knelt down in front of him. His eyes stayed wide, but more surprise painted his face. I read the pain it held, mouth twisted and open. I hoped it hurt like hell.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, Gerald.”

“I don’t feel good...chest hurts. Gotta call 9-1-1.” Gerald wheezed. I nodded.

“That’s because you’re having a heart attack from a pulmonary embolism. I injected you with an air bubble. You’re going to die.”

Gerald’s hand tightened at his chest. His breathing grew shallow. He teetered and fell back in the snow. I scanned around us again; still clear. The anxiety of being caught faded, replaced by the sight before me.

“Clock’s ticking. Anything you want to say? Maybe redeem yourself?” I suggested. The notion was beyond foolish, pointless as the words left my mouth. The wind might as well have taken the idea with it.

“Those kids...had it coming. Now help me.” He replied.

I let a controlled breath out. It took some effort not to crush his trachea and watch him fight for air. A few quick stabs into his throat would coat the ground in crimson red, bright against the snow. But I spoke instead.

“I’d say you’ve got a minute. You sure that’s how you wanna end your life?”

“They were so easy--fresh.”

“Defenseless and innocent.” I corrected as I glanced up at the snowfall that came down. Gerald groaned and tried to reach out to me, but I pushed his hand down. There was almost no fight in him. He let a long breath out, visible in the icy night. His hands went limp and his head shifted a few inches to the left. Blank eyes stared into the black sky. I took off one of my gloves and pressed the top of my index finger against his neck. Nothing.

I stood and removed the phone from my pocket. I snapped a quick picture of his lifeless body for proof. I pocketed the device and knelt down. I gloved my hand and yanked Gerald toward the nearby wall. I set him against it and made sure his hands sat in his lap. Within an hour, all evidence of my footprints or our scuffle would be gone. Fresh powder would hide my presence. I was never here.