Rat Face, Part 5:
The Restless Goat was a shit hole, but Rat Face was used to shit holes, and felt at home there. At least the men in the brown coats wouldn't find him. They had no love for this part of town.
Emmie was speaking to two strange looking women when Rat Face stepped up to the bar. Emmie was the stingiest, cruelest bartender in West City.
She made eye contact with Rat Face and frowned.
"I thought I said to stay out," she said as Rat Face found a stool at the bar.
"You said to go die," he said. "I tried and failed."
"You fail at everything," she said without a hint of smile.
Rat Face nodded, looked briefly at his hands. That one stung a bit.
"What are you having?"
Rat Face ordered a Green Milk. "You see Porks in here recent?"
Emmie grunted. "Porks? Porks is dead."
"What do you mean dead?"
"Dead dead. Run over by a commuter train."
Rat Face shook his head in disbelief. Porks was the most tuned in man Rat Face knew. He'd lived in Trash Town his whole life; he knew the ins and outs.
"What a bummer," Rat Face said. "He was a good guy. You never do know when your time's gonna come."
"Oh, Porks knew." Emmie said. "He was a suicide."
Rat Face didn't know what to say to this so he said nothing. Instead he eyed the two women across the bar. Two rubber horse masks lay clumped on the bartop next to a pack of smokes. When the woman looked at Rat Face he turned away. Emmie came back with his green milk. You're lucky, he said. "This is the last of the Creme de Menthe."
"What's with the horse masks?" he said.
Emmie looked at where was was nodding.
"They work at Aseop's."
"Aesop's?"
"You know -- Aesop's Stables. The horse bar. It's the new big thing."
"If it's so big why haven't I heard of it?" Rat Face said.
"I guess you ain't big," Emmie said. "It's down on South Block Street. The ladies dress like horses and the men pay to ride them. Porks loved that place."
"Porks was a good man."
"Porks was an asshole," Emmie said.
Rat Face wasn't about to get kicked out again, so he shut up. He was hoping to ask Porks about Lex. They had been pals, those two, back in the day. Some said they were once lovers, but Rat Face couldn't believe that. Maybe Rat Face was a bit homophobic -- in fact, he probably was. He was a lot of things he shouldn't have been. He liked to think he was trying, but he probably wasn't.
Emmie refilled the ladies' drinks, then came back. "You ain't very thirsty tonight," she said to Rat Face. He'd barely touched his drink. "I've got something on my mind."
"Lex?"
"How'd you know?"
"I hear things."
At that moment, a drunken patron sidled up to the horse women and put his paws on one of them. Emmie stepped away to deal, but she needn't have worried. The women got off their stools and took the man to the ground. There was a scream, the snap of an arm bone. In moments the man had been dragged out the door and the women were back in their seats, enjoying their rum-sprites.
The Restless Goat was a shit hole, but Rat Face was used to shit holes, and felt at home there. At least the men in the brown coats wouldn't find him. They had no love for this part of town.
Emmie was speaking to two strange looking women when Rat Face stepped up to the bar. Emmie was the stingiest, cruelest bartender in West City.
She made eye contact with Rat Face and frowned.
"I thought I said to stay out," she said as Rat Face found a stool at the bar.
"You said to go die," he said. "I tried and failed."
"You fail at everything," she said without a hint of smile.
Rat Face nodded, looked briefly at his hands. That one stung a bit.
"What are you having?"
Rat Face ordered a Green Milk. "You see Porks in here recent?"
Emmie grunted. "Porks? Porks is dead."
"What do you mean dead?"
"Dead dead. Run over by a commuter train."
Rat Face shook his head in disbelief. Porks was the most tuned in man Rat Face knew. He'd lived in Trash Town his whole life; he knew the ins and outs.
"What a bummer," Rat Face said. "He was a good guy. You never do know when your time's gonna come."
"Oh, Porks knew." Emmie said. "He was a suicide."
Rat Face didn't know what to say to this so he said nothing. Instead he eyed the two women across the bar. Two rubber horse masks lay clumped on the bartop next to a pack of smokes. When the woman looked at Rat Face he turned away. Emmie came back with his green milk. You're lucky, he said. "This is the last of the Creme de Menthe."
"What's with the horse masks?" he said.
Emmie looked at where was was nodding.
"They work at Aseop's."
"Aesop's?"
"You know -- Aesop's Stables. The horse bar. It's the new big thing."
"If it's so big why haven't I heard of it?" Rat Face said.
"I guess you ain't big," Emmie said. "It's down on South Block Street. The ladies dress like horses and the men pay to ride them. Porks loved that place."
"Porks was a good man."
"Porks was an asshole," Emmie said.
Rat Face wasn't about to get kicked out again, so he shut up. He was hoping to ask Porks about Lex. They had been pals, those two, back in the day. Some said they were once lovers, but Rat Face couldn't believe that. Maybe Rat Face was a bit homophobic -- in fact, he probably was. He was a lot of things he shouldn't have been. He liked to think he was trying, but he probably wasn't.
Emmie refilled the ladies' drinks, then came back. "You ain't very thirsty tonight," she said to Rat Face. He'd barely touched his drink. "I've got something on my mind."
"Lex?"
"How'd you know?"
"I hear things."
At that moment, a drunken patron sidled up to the horse women and put his paws on one of them. Emmie stepped away to deal, but she needn't have worried. The women got off their stools and took the man to the ground. There was a scream, the snap of an arm bone. In moments the man had been dragged out the door and the women were back in their seats, enjoying their rum-sprites.
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