Doorways to Everywhere (Tourist Trap Book 2)

Chapter 2

“Whiskey, you say,” Max rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “All right, we’ll give that a try.  Two whiskeys, please!”  He licked his lips expectantly as the bartender returned with the drinks.  “Say what do you use for currency around here, anyway?” Max asked.

“Uh, dollar bills,” Maurice replied.

“Could I borrow a few of those?  I don’t have any and it appears the bartender is expecting some form of payment.”

“All right, I guess,” Maurice scratched his head uncertainly as he forked over some money.  

“Here you go,” Max said handing him one of the glasses.  “Drink up.”

“Uh, I just told you I don’t drink,” Maurice said.

“You were serious about that?”  Max shook his head in disbelief.  “Jeez.  What the hell’s wrong with you?  You know, you should really give it a try.  You never know, you might like it.  Besides, it’ll put hair on your chest.”

“Oh, I already have plenty of hair on my chest,” Maurice said, shoving the glass away.  “Not to mention on my back and in my ears.  I’m a pretty hairy guy.”

“I’m not sure why that’s the case, since you’re obviously not suffering from an excess of testosterone,” Max muttered.  “Just drink the whiskey, for crying out loud!  I bought it for you, after all!  Where I come from, it’s considered rude to decline a drink somebody paid for out of their own pocket!”

“But I paid for it,” Maurice said.

“You and your technicalities.  Are you going to drink this or not?”

“You can have them both,” Maurice said.

“Fine, I will!” Max muttered as he shot both the whiskeys down.  “Yowza!  Those are pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.  Maybe not everything about this world is completely unlivable.”  

He ordered another round and again tried to push a glass on Maurice, who declined once again.  So Max shot down two more whiskeys, and ordered yet another round, apparently continuing to forget that Maurice wasn’t drinking.  Whether this was by intent or genuine alcohol-induced amnesia Maurice wasn’t sure.

“Man, you can hold your liquor better than me,” Max slurred as he pushed yet another glass towards him.  “You almost look like you haven’t even been drinking!”

“I haven’t,” Maurice reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” Max said tipsily.  “Why the hell not?”

“We’ve already been over this,” Maurice sighed.

“I still think you should just have one,” Max insisted.  “Come on!  One drink never hurt anyone.”  He offered forth the glass again.

“I told you, I don’t want it!” Maurice shoved it away more violently than he meant to.  The drink sailed through the air, splattering a large muscular bald man covered in skull tattoos who turned around slowly with an intimidatingly menacing look in his eye.

“He did it,” Max said, pointing at Maurice.

The large man walked over and stood towering over Maurice, staring wordlessly at the top of his head while a look of pure rage spread across his face.

“Oh my gosh, I’m terribly sorry, sir.  It was an accident.  I swear it won’t happen again!”

The man picked up Maurice by his shirt collar and flung him across the room, sending him crashing into an even larger man with a greasy black mullet and a long jagged scar on his face who had his arm around a statuesque blonde woman in a tight fitting outfit.  This guy proceeded to kick Maurice in the head a few times before turning his attention on the bald man and yelling several obscenities at him.  The bald man returned in kind and whacked another patron across the head with his flailing arm.  Before too long a full-fledged bar brawl had broken out.