I was standing at a bar in Berlin last night when an incredible thing happened. I briefly turned away from my friend _____ who was drinking next to me to discuss the crippling effects of marijuana on the sporting world with a monstrous South African guy when I heard a small explosion.
I turned to my left and there was a space where _____ was standing just moments before. Next to that space was a small step. On the other side of the step and space _____ lay face down on the wooden floor with his freshly ordered cocktail still clutched in his right hand. Gathered about him like deer at a pond were a series of white bar stools on their sides. One of the stools lightly kissed the top of _____´s head. Seeping out from under his right hip was a small puddle of what looked like beer. The group smoking the hookah at the table next to him wore expressions of violent detachment as the staff behind the bar watched on in cold horror.
The whole scene smelled to high hell of treachery and homicide.
My mind raced. Had I just witnessed an execution? Who were these people in this place and why did they want to kill us? What in God´s name had _____ been doing while we were separated that night in Hamburg?
I steadied myself and readied my dust-covered karate skills. This was going to get messy. _____ stirred and my spirits lifted, he wasn´t dead, yet. A man with a huge head and tiny eyes moved towards my prone friend from the left. A woman with a rag in hand stalked in from the right. The bastards were going to finish the job in front of my very eyes and then probably come for me. This was ludicrous. _____ was a good man. He didn´t deserve to go out like this. But what could I do? I was horribly outnumbered. This was it. I wouldn´t let them touch his face. I would try to do that much - for his mother.
Just as I readied myself to pounce the huge-headed man reached down and brought _____ to his feet. The woman knelt to the floor and wiped up the spill. _____ dusted himself off and gingerly walked back to the bar taking careful note of the step. I was confused. Were they playing games with us? Did they just want to watch us stew in fear and doubt before finishing the job? _____ approached me and chucklingly commented on his dumb luck. I looked him over and said, "Damn right you´re lucky. It must only be a flesh wound." He asked what the hell I was talking about. I said that it was okay, he was probably delirious from the head impact and that everyone in the bar wanted to kill us. I counted the people between us and the door and told him that our next move involved furious kung fu and a brutal exit. He said that he hadn´t finished his cocktail yet and that it had cost him many Euros.
I was frustrated.
Here we were in a killing house and all he wanted to do was finish his damned drink. I informed him of this fact. He said that the place didn´t look that bad, except for the step, and that he wanted to stay. I paused for a second. _____ the old fox. Yes, act nonchalant, assured. Make like that first attack didn´t bother us. They would see just how bad-ass we were and be intimidated, then we would strike! The idea was cunning and elegant. I thumped _____ on the back and ordered another cocktail for each of us. I leant with my back against the bar and smiled. The hunters were now the hunted...