(Hey folks. Here's part two of my short story, "Watch Out for the Banana." It's probably best to read part one first.)
I just wanted an apology.
A few months passed since my employment at the bar. I'd held my own in plenty of brawls. I backed away from nobody. Now most drunks saw me and found the quickest exit, either on their own steam or mine.
I left a party with my girlfriend and best friend ZAP. We all piled into her car, since she stayed mostly sober. Then some undergrad toolbox asked my girlfriend to come upstairs to his apartment. I waved him off. Then he hollered, "Fuck you, Bitch!" That's when I lost it. Of course, my rage could have been the result of seven hours of drinking I'd done prior to this incident.
As his vocalized "Bitch" echoed throughout the apartments' alley, I'd already opened the passenger door and stormed up a flight of steps. "Come on and get some!" this kid shouted. My girlfriend's screams also resonated off brick walls: "KC, no!"
Lucky for me, this shitbird stood far from the stairway entrance, disallowing him from kicking me in the face as I stepped up. Some shitbird calls my girlfriend a bitch, he sure as hell wouldn't be above a cheapshot.
"You've got a problem, Faggot?" the shirtbird wobbled his head at me like he'd seen too many Al Pacino gangster movies—in fast forward.
"Just one. Apologize to my girlfriend. Then I've got nothing."
"Fuck you, Faggot. You don't want to mess with me. I'm from Kentucky." As I wondered what the Hell was so tough about Kentucky I couldn't think of anything to say. "That's right. I know Tae Kwon Do. Also my fists are registered weapons in this state."
Now I knew I needed to say nothing. I've never actually heard of a state that registers somebody's hands as deadly weapons, but I knew Colorado was definitely not one of them.
Still, I pondered, why lead with, "I'm from Kentucky?"
I smiled. He stood in some sort of Bruce Lee fighting stance. Cute for movies and demonstrations, but leaving his entire torso open for any number of strikes, throws, or holds.
A fat girl gurgled at me. "You better watch out. He's not full of shit."
"Look, Sweety. Tell your little boyfriend to apologize, and I'll go home, and he can go back to being a toughguy."
"Faggot, do you know who you're messing with?" the Bluegrass Boy said through clenched teeth. Then he brought his hand to his nose and sniffled, giving me another hint.
"Yeah, the biggest pussy who's done way too much coke and seen too many movies."
Bluegrass Boy dropped his head and tried to tackle me. I thought he moved in slow motion, but then I realized that was just as fast as he could move. I let him close in on me, then wrapped my right arm around his head, which looks like a headlock, but in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu we call it a guillotine—a simple choke that works as you're standing, sitting, or being sat on.
The guillotine works incredibly fast, or slow, depending on your arm placement and your mood. I wanted this guy to suffer for a few seconds, so I didn't execute the choke totally.
Bluegrass grunted. I tightened my hold and arched my back, activating the choke. He begged to gasp, but couldn't. "Now, how about that apology? Just two simple words. ‘I'm sorry.' And all of this can stop," I snarled.
I loosened my grip, and he whined, "Fuck you." I squeezed his neck again and plowed him against the banister. He pushed back.
"Stop it you…" A hand grabbed my left shoulder, I tossed my left elbow. A satisfying crack boomed, yet my elbow felt nothing.
I looked at Bluegrass and saw the banister's wood starting to buckle. I wanted to hurt this kid, but not throw him three stories down onto some asphalt. I turned him around so I could see everybody. Bluegrass attempted a rush, but didn't budge me. I stared at the back of his head. "You're about to fall asleep. If you don't apologize before you pass out, I'm going to drop you. Then I'm going to wake you back up and continue knocking you out until you learn some manners."
I heard ZAP try to cover up a laugh behind me. My girlfriend still screamed.
"Anything to say?" I asked, as politely as circumstances would allow.
"Just…" I let him breathe.