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Galen pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. He was on the last leg of a multi-city trip heading toward Savannah when, for the third time in less than a week, the car he'd been assigned had suddenly and inexplicably died. Piece of crap!!!
Opening the door, he got out of the late-model lemon provided by his employer, and assessed the situation. There aren't many towns within easy reach of Interstate 16. In the distance, he could just see an exit ramp. Unfortunately, it was back in the direction from which he'd just come. He got his cell phone out and discovered that he had no signal (of course!). In resignation, he picked up his coat, locked up the car, and started the long trek to the exit.
It was hot. Still, he was able to cover the distance in about half an hour, but when he arrived, the news wasn't good. According to the signs, the nearest town of any size was Statesboro, about twenty-five miles off of the Interstate. Galen looked at the phone again: Still no signal. Cheap bastards could have at least bought a decent calling plan!
He started walking toward the town. Another half-hour or so of sweaty walking brought him to a place where the solid wall of trees lining the highway opened up into a roadside clearing. An unpaved road, little more than a jeep trail, really, left the highway and wound off toward a squat building at the rear of the clearing. An inconspicuous, hand-made sign, scrawled with the words "Mary's Game Room," pointed to the building.
Checking the utility poles, Galen thought that "Mary" might have a telephone, so he changed course to approach the "Game Room." As he got closer, he observed that there were quite a few motorcycles, and no small number of muscle cars, parked near the building. Empty cans and bottles, littered the erstwhile parking lot, while loud music and raucous laughter seeping through the doors. Redneck bar! Oh well...
Thick, stale cigarette smoke burned his eyes as he entered the building. It took some time to adjust to the low light inside, but then he moved easily to the bar. Odd that the barkeep isn't wearing a shirt. That has to violate some health code! He's so pale, he must never see the sun, and I guess the customers don't mind the red-tipped hair spikes...
The bartender turned around and Galen waved him over. As he approached, Galen observed that, other than the top of his head, all visible parts of his body were totally hairless. That's odd...
"What can I do for you, dearie?" the bartender leered at him.
Oh fuck! I've stumbled into a queer joint! Regaining his composure, Galen considered his situation. At least it's cooler in here than out there, and maybe I can call for help, and get a cold one while I wait.
"Does this place have a phone I could use? And how about a cold beer?" he asked.
"No pay phone here, sweetheart," the bartender smirked, "and I'm not supposed to let anyone use the house phone, but if it's an emergency, I could make an exception for a local call..."
"It's an emergency for me," Galen interrupted, testily, "my car's broken down on the interstate, and I've just walked about two miles in this insufferable heat, looking for help! The fucking cell-phone doesn't even work!" He stopped to regain control. "Look, the call I need to make is an 800 number. If you'll let me use the phone, I'll even pay you for it."
"Okay, okay, sweet cheeks, don't get your panties, in a wad," the bartender tried to soothe him, "As long as it doesn't come out of my paycheck, you can call Timbuktu! I'll get you the phone..."
"I'm sorry," Galen offered, "it's just been a very trying day."
"'Sokay," replied the bartender, "By the way, my name's Jerry. What's yours?"
"Galen," he replied, "I appreciate the help. And how about that beer?"
"Oh Gal, we don't sell spirits here, just mixers and setups," Jerry told him, "This is a 'dry' county. Everyone has to bring their own bottle or whatever. We just provide a place for them to meet, dance, play the games, an so on..."
"It's Galen," he said firmly. He hated the nicknames people tried to hang on him, especially that one. "So there's no way I can buy a cold one in here?"
"Well, it's illegal for the club to sell spirits," Jerry observed, "but I have some of my private stock of beer here - twelve ounce cans - and there's no harm in a person letting a friend have something at cost..."
"How much for a can?" Galen asked. His thirst had grown almost unbearable.
"Five dollars," Jerry replied.
Galen looked at him thoughtfully. "At cost, huh?"
"Yeah. Stuff is hard to get, and costly in a dry county," Jerry said with a straight face.
"Oh what the hell," Galen laughed, " it'll be worth it today. Set me up!" He threw a fiver on the bar.
Jerry grinned and pulled a cold one out from under the bar. He popped the top and handed Galen the can, then swept the money off the bar. "Being the humanitarian I am, if you don't need a glass, I won't even charge you the setup fee!"
"You're a saint among men," Galen observed with a grim smile, "and I'll be fine, drinking from the can."
Jerry brought an old dial-type phone out of hiding then, and set it on the bar in front of Galen. "Remember, no toll calls..." he reminded.
"Thanks," Galen responded, and taking the phone, he dialed his employer's toll-free number. After he had identified himself and his reason for the call, the receptionist connected him with the operations manager. He had a quiet but intense exchange of ideas with that manager, during which he extracted a commitment that the company would foot the bill for a tow to the nearest auto repair facility, a hotel room, and a rental car. After giving directions to his location, he hung up and picked up his beer.
Jerry, noticing that he had finished, wandered down the bar to retrieve the phone. Batting his eyes, he ventured, "You know, Galen, I get off at five, and I'm currently unattached..."
Galen smiled and replied, "Sorry Jerry, I'm not that kind of guy. Besides, in a place like this, why would you be lonely?"
Jerry barked, a bitter laugh. "You haven't been very observant. Look around and you'll figure it out." He leaned back against a counter, and waved a bar towel toward the tables.
Galen spun about on the stool, to see what Jerry meant. His eyes were now acclimated to the smoky twilight in the room, and could see more detail than he could have earlier. At first glance, it still looked like a typical backwoods redneck bar, but the longer he looked, the more apparent the differences became. They're all women!
He spun back around, and saw Jerry's mischievous grin, and before he could say anything, Jerry put his forefinger to his lips in the universal signal to hush!
Jerry approached him closely, smiling, and very quietly said "Yeah, it's a dyke bar! You and I have the only swinging dicks in here. I'm safe, because the bulls know I'm no competition, but if I were you, I'd not draw attention to myself..."
Galen sat back on the stool and thought for a moment, and swilled down the remainder of his beer. "Thanks," he said, and he put another five on the bar. "Set me up again, please."
Jerry gave him another beer, and asked, "So, what are your plans?"
"I need to stay here long enough for the tow service to find me, so that they can retrieve my car, then I guess I'll leave quietly."
"Here's some advice," Jerry offered. "If you face the bar and stay quiet, you probably won't provoke a confrontation. Sit here for about another fifteen minutes. It shouldn't take the tow truck much longer than that to get here. Then, you walk up to the road to finish your wait."
"I'll take that advice," Galen replied, sipping his beer. Jerry went back to patrolling further down the bar.
Galen wasn't too worried. He'd been in rough places many times before, and mostly he'd found that if he minded his own business, everyone left him alone. He was counting on that tendency to keep him out of trouble now. It almost worked, too.
He finished his beer right about the time that Jerry had indicated the tow truck would arrive, and was about to leave the bar. Just as he made to get off the barstool, however, there was a commotion at the door, and a tall, solid-looking dyke strode in pulling on a leash. Glancing at the dyke, he noted that, despite her mannish demeanor, she was an attractive woman, with a full head of shiny black hair. It was very obvious, however, that any effort spent trying to interest her in a man would be wasted, so, after noting her more pleasant attributes, he directed his attention back to his empty beer can.
His mistake was in glancing at the mirror behind the bar. Just as he did, the other end of the leash came into view, attached to a leather collar, and with it the most wonderful example of female flesh he'd ever seen. Lovely face, perfect figure, and beautiful, silky blond hair to her waist, as scantily clad as any lingerie model he'd ever seen. He reflexively turned so that he could gaze directly at her, and in doing so, he came to the dyke's attention.
"Keep your eyes to yourself, bitch!" she growled, shaking a fist at him. He turned back to the bar, but it was too late. The dyke stopped and looked harder at him. She came closer, and finally figured out what was wrong.
"It's a fucking DICK!" she shouted at the top of her lungs." What the hell are you doing here?" Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed a handful of his hair, and slammed him face-first into the hard surface of the bar. Stunned, he fell off the barstool. Laying on the floor with his nose bleeding, his vision cleared just in time to see a boot heel headed straight for his face.
The time for temperance and diplomacy was past. It was crystal-clear that if he failed to act in his own defense, this dyke was going to kill him. As his mind speeded up in response to the situation, his opponent's actions appeared to slow down. He reached up to grab the descending boot, not to stop it or slow it down, but to redirect the kinetic energy it carried. Unconcerned with the consequences to the boot's owner, he deflected the path of the boot, pulling it even faster, but not in the direction it had intended to go. Then he twisted it, hard!
The changes in the dyke's facial expression were almost comical, as they cycled from a cruel sneer, through open-mouthed surprise, then finally, extreme pain as her ankle and her knee joints were hyper-extended. She hit the floor and bounced, her head striking the solid mahogany of the bar cabinet. As she went down, she let go of the leash, and her paramour simply stopped moving.
All talking in the bar stopped, and several of the larger dykes made as if to become participants in the little drama. By this time, however, Galen was on his feet. He quickly retrieved a hidden pistol, then checked the door. Seeing that no one else was about to enter the building, he fired a single round into the floor to get everyone's attention. That had the effect of halting all forward motion on the part of the dykes.
"None of you were involved in starting this. You don't need to be involved in finishing it. Just go back to what you were doing before it started, and pretend it didn't happen," he said.
After a short standoff, the dykes decided to follow his advice. There was some grumbling to the effect of "Fucking DICK!!" and "We oughta kick his ass!" but there was just as much "Shit. I never liked the bitch anyway!" and "About time she got her comeuppance!" as people went back to their tables and dances.
Just as he began to hope for a peaceful exit, a large woman, large in every direction, came barreling through a heretofore-unnoticed door, brandishing a shotgun, pointing right at him.
"Drop the gun," she demanded.
Galen grabbed his fallen opponent, shoving her between him and the barrel of the shotgun.
"Fuck off," he told the woman with the shotgun, "Shoot me and you'll shoot your barkeep and several patrons as well. Now YOU drop it before I drop YOU!"
The large woman was Mary, owner of the "Game Room." She really didn't want to get a reputation for running a place where people got killed, but she wasn't ready to back down just yet, not from some male creep threatening her clients. "Jerry, what the hell happened here?" she demanded, with a venomous glance at him.
Jerry swallowed hard, and replied "This guy came in to use the phone. His car broke down on the interstate, and he needed to call for help. He's waiting for a tow truck. PeeJay," he continued, pointing at the black-haired dyke, "waltzed in here, dragging her new toy," he gestured disdainfully at the blonde, "and decided she didn't like his looks. She tried to kill him, but it didn't work."
"He shot her?" Mary asked, incredulous.
"No, silly," Jerry lisped, "your other gentle patrons seemed to feel they needed to expand the scope of the conflict. He simply fired a warning shot to get their attention, and convinced them it wasn't a good idea."
"Oh," Mary responded. After some thought she decided that her place had seen enough excitement for the day, so she said to Galen "all right, just get out of here and never come back."
As he made to comply, she stopped him, pointing to his former opponent. "And don't leave that here. I don't ever want to see her in here again either."
"What am I supposed to do with her?" he demanded. "I don't even know her!"
"I don't give a flying fuck what you do with her, as long as you don't do it here!" Mary shouted. "Now get yourself and your mess, " pointing to both the injured dyke and her paramour, " out of here, and never come back! Now, before I decide to load your asses with buckshot anyway!" She drew back the hammer of the shotgun.
"Okay, okay. Just hold your horses," Galen replied. He detached the leash from the blonde's collar, and used it to bind the fallen dyke's hands behind her, then threw her limp form over his shoulder. On his way out, he took the blonde by the hand, and led her through the door.