Jesus Christ! That's a lot of smiling for a stranger, don't you think?

Figures.

The men's room of Anthony's bar and grill was large with a few framed newspaper pages that had yellowed over time. The wallpaper was plaid and made up of colors of green, brown and black. Ron walked over to the first urinal and unzipped his fly. He could see that someone, the stranger maybe was in the stall behind him. He thought about waiting and maybe catching the stranger on the way out. He was just about to put this idea into motion when he heard a cough from the next stall over. "Damn!" he thought. "Fuck, I can't do them both, someone will surely catch me." He placed the knife in the pocket of his sport jacket and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

Keeping an eye on both stalls and one on what he was doing, he counted to himself the steps needed to attack this stranger of men. The stall to the right opened and out came an older man with a balding head. He was short, about 5 foot 3 and looked to be having trouble zipping up his own pants. He looked up at Ron and nodded, showing a worn grin. Ron watched as he walked over to the sink, washed his hands and after hitching his pants up, opened the door and walked out. "Now's my chance," he said to himself, "I must move quickly".

Reaching back inside the pocket of his sport jacket, Ron removed the steak knife and walked towards the stall to his left. He could see that the stranger was still sitting and figured he could kill him and leave him sitting until closing. After all, how many people would bother a man sitting in a stall taking a shit? He walked closer now, hand gripped tightly around the knife, when out of nowhere came a whistle. He stopped for a second and listen. The stranger, the evil man who had come in Anthony's Bar and Grill and walked over to Mary smiling his youthful smile and warm greeting, was whistling a beatles song in the stall, while taking a shit.

Hey Jude, came out clearly and in that instant between the tapping of seconds, Ron Pearson returned to the here and now. He tilted his head much like a dog does when it doesn't understand, and decided at that exact moment that the young man, who had walked in the Anthony's smiling at Mary, ordering food, taking a shit and whistling "Hey Jude" was a stranger that had to be okay.

Ron smiled to himself, returning the knife to his pocket and for the third time, washed his hands and walked out of the men's' room of Anthony's and back over to his table where most of his deep fried breaded lobster remained. Gail, the chubby waitress had returned with another one of those Samuel Adams beers he was beginning to like so much

Oh my God. What the fuck was that?

What? What's wrong with that?

Nothing, if you like shit. Man that whole section sucked. All that time Ron sweating and heart beating and going in to kill this fucker only let him go because he's whistling some fucking song? man is that for shit. Why don't you let me write this story? Anything would be better then this shit.

It's not about that, I was trying to show that the man has some serious problems and that somewhere inside his dead, he's fucked. The song bit, only reminds him of a time from the past.

Don't play me for a fool pal. I can see what you were trying to do. I'm just saying that you fucked it up is all. I mean damn, all that wasted writing for nothing.

It's not wasted writing, it's a plan I have to keep the story going and add a little depth is all.

If you wanted depth, you should have got up this morning fixed us something to eat and went back to bed, that would have been more depth then this ass of a story your writing.

It's always something with you isn't it? I mean you never let up do you? never do you ever give me something to hold on to? Once, just once I'd like to see you break down and show me some support, I'm trying to do something here.

Oh man, I'm glad you stopped talking. I was just about to start crying over that. Cry me a river, why don't you. Sing us a Shire song why don't you. Get it? A Shire song?

Yea, I got it. I'm not stupid you know.

Could have fooled me.

Glancing at his watch, he realized that the evening had moved forward at a fast pace. Mary had been wiping down the counter and had waved good bye to a couple wearing the same color coats and matching hats. They waved back and although Ron's seat and table had been a great deal away, he could still hear them thanking Mary for her hospitality and great company. Mary had now turned from the couple heading out and looked up a the clock which hung above the counter, behind the bar. It must have been close to quitting time because, Ron could see her checking and matching her watch to the time above. A gentle smile appeared around the rim of her warm face and Ron knew it was getting close.

Gentle smile and warm face, oh please........give us a break with this candy coated shit.

Who the fuck asked you? I'm writing this and I'm about tired of your remarks and asshole like statements, go to sleep why don't you. Go anywhere as long as it's away from me.

Now, just think about what you just said. Think about how stupid of a statement, that was. I'll go for now, but rest assured, I'll drop in and back any god damn time I feel like it.

Gail the waitress with the tubby figure and white sneakers, had returned to Ron's table asking if there had been anything else, he'd like this evening. She still had the smile of hers, but it seem to be wearing down a bit. He guessed the day had been a long one. "A cup of coffee please." he said and smiled as she picked up the platter of lobster shells and remaining side dishes. Ron had left some of the wine, but had finished the beer. He slid the wine glass off to the side suggesting that he wasn't finished with it yet. He looked up just in time to see that the young stranger who had unknowingly come close to death this evening, was getting up from the table and after having left a tip, picked up the dark green coat that Ron thought now look like those worn by faggots, and headed out the front door. "He just left, just picked up and left he did, never once did he even look her way, he just walked out the door and he was gone," Ron thought.

9:36 pm according to his watch, and all was not well. He had finished his first and second cup of coffee and now knew it was showtime. He had watched couples come and go throughout the evening and had decided that it was now or never.

Oh boy, here we go.

Shut up!

I believe the phrase is....."make me"

Ron Pearson backed from his chair and stood up. He had been siting for quite awhile and found that his legs had cramped up a little. Reaching around, he pulled his coat from the chair behind him and waved Gail over. Now that he was standing he could see that Gail was not only chubby, but shorter then he thought. He smiled and asked that she total and bring him his check. "Sure Mr. Pearson, I'll be right back," she said. As she walked away Ron could see that the famous bar and grill had began emptying out as the locals and some touring guest, headed out.

By the time Gail returned, Ron had put on his coat and had removed his wallet, he held it now opened and waiting. "Here you go Mr. Pearson," she said. "I'll take that whenever your ready."

Without looking at the total, Ron placed two one hundred dollar bills and Gail's hand and after thanking her for a fine job and great service, smiled and even worked up a wink for her. She looked down and back up to him smiling and thanking him, asking that he come back soon. "I will," he said. "Sooner then you think," he thought.

As he walked towards the door leading out into the street, he turned once more to Mary who had bent down to restock glasses and straws, for the evening's closing. As she stood up, she looked towards the closing door and a man, who had been sitting in the back for most of t he evening, walking out. "Goodnight," she said, to a pair of ears that never heard her.

Nice, best few lines of the story I think.

Who asked you?

In truth, you did. You always did.

The evening's air had turned crisp as Ron Pearson walked back across Thomas and Fourth Avenue, to where his green BMW had been parked. The streets had quiet down considerably and many of the shops, along the main street had closed for the evening. Little puffs of steam escaped from a mouth moving on it's own. He walked first around and then to the back of his car as if checking for dents. He then reached in his left coat pocket and removed his set of keys. Bright white lights flashed from behind, as he stopped in the rear of the car and waited for the lights to leave. More puffs of steam, coming more rapidly now as he put the key in and turned, releasing the trunk.

Oh shit.......

Shhhhhhh.....quiet please.

The trunk door opened and exposed a large tool box and assorted car cleaning supplies. A full sized spare tire had been bolted down and covered with a blanket, matching the interior. It was to the left of that tire, did his attention go. Placed longways from front to back, was a long brown baseball bat. Measuring some 34 inches and weighing in at 7 pounds, Ron could see that the black electrical tape that had covered the lower half, was still intact. He reached down and pulled it from the trunk, closing it afterwards. One more glance across the street and after checking both sides of Thomson Ave, he headed across the street and back to Anthony's famous Bar and Grill.

Mary would be just finishing up one last pour for a man sitting at the bar. He was Steven Hobbs from Portland Maine, who had come in for a nightcap before returning to his hotel room down the road where his wife and eight year old daughter quietly slept. She would smile at him and had just thanked him for his tip, the two were just about to finish chatting about how the area was getting more busy during the off seasons, when she turned to see the man who had sat in the back table for most of the night, eating. Her first thought was that he had forgot something, a wallet or maybe a hat. She was just about to greet him again, when she noticed the object in his hand. As if frozen by the night air of Maine's winter, there was little she could do but scream inside as the returning man had raised the wooden object that she knew now was a baseball bat, and swung it towards her, cracking her skull. Blood flew from the side of her head and sprayed onto the Anthony's Bar and Grill mirror behind her. Fragments of both bone and hair followed as she tried to gather what thoughts she could inside a head with only partial remains. Her small body did little to aid her as it slowly fell backwards, but not before being hit one last time.

Fuck me! What the fuck are you doing man?

SHUT UP!

Steven Hobbs had locked up in his seat, unable to do anything but pray for an ending to what he hoped was a nightmare. A chance to leave this place and return hopefully to his room where he would awaken to find his wife asking if everything was okay and how he should have not eaten that second bowl of chili. He was praying for the moment and hoping to hold her one last time and tell her that he loved her and his family. Steven Hobbs would never get the chance, his death would quickly follow t he young and beautiful bartender who had only greeted him and those who came through Anthony's Bar and Grill, with a smile.

Chaos erupted in form of screams and yells. Ron had stood still now looking down at what he had done. He looked around at those running from him and those towards him and knew that his time was near. With the bat still in his hands and dripping blood, Ron Pearson turned slowly around to where he saw an off duty police officer, holding up a pistol and shouting something he couldn't quite hear. Seconds later, everything......went........black.

Jesus Christ! Your a fucking animal man! A fucking animal! Get away from me you fucking freak! Get away from me now!

Freak? Animal? hmmmm..... I don't see these things my old friend. Perhaps your looking at someone else maybe?

No! No! No! I'm looking at you motherfucker! Your a fucking freak who should be locked the fuck up for what you did. You didn't have to do that man, didn't have to fuck everything up like that!

Oh yes I did. I had to do something, wasn't I boring you, weren't you getting bored watching me write this?

Sick, Sick, sick. Your fucking sick man, sick and you need help like a motherfucker. Damn! I can't believe what you have done! You fucking animal!

Oh, so now I sick am I? Too sick for you, I guess huh? Didn't like the ending either huh?

No! I didn't like the ending of your otherwise shity story, fuck this story, fuck you and fuck the ending. I hate you for what you did! I HATE YOU!

Oh come now, calm down old friend. You getting out of control and it's not good for you. You've got to watch your blood pressure, you're going to blow something, if you're not careful.

Blow something? Blow me you asshole! You've gone to far man! Too fucking far this time, I'm out of here pal, out of here! Do you hear me!

Don't leave yet buddy, I haven't finished the story. There's just one last part needed.

One last part! How the fuck can there be one last part? You killed off the guy and the girl and even managed to throw one extra in for good measure, what more!?

Something very special, you'll see.

What are you doing? What are you doing, show me now. What the fuck are you doing.!

Why I'm ending the story.....old friend

NOOOOOOO!!!

Bang!!!!!!

In a time where all things must come to a close, Richard Preston came to be. He had written his first novel since returning from the hospital where he had suffered his second nervous breakdown. Try as he might, he had come to t he understanding that the gift he had taken for granted, had escaped him one night, while driving home from a party in the rain. His wife of 14 years Marie, had taken their two children and moved back to New York.

On this rainy Friday evening, she picked up the phone and called to an ex- husband who had been late with the checks this month. She intended to make the conversation short, trying not to let it slip that she still loved him.

THE END