I've been steadily drinking for the last few hours and feeling like a real asshole for leaving Rex to deal with those two and possibly the cops on his own. I know I've only known him for a couple of hours and I've done far worse things to people I've known for years, but he seems like a genuinely nice guy. The incident did shed a little light on why Pete may have wanted Rex and I to meet. The guy definitely has a problem letting things go, but is my general passiveness any better? I guess not much to be done about it except order another drink.
While I wait for the bartender, I look over at the guy next to me. He's been here for about an hour. I've never seen him before, and thankfully he hasn't tried to talk to me. He's been drinking his drink and scanning the room, staring stealthily at the pretty girls as they come and go. He's been locked on one girl for awhile now. Normally, I wouldn't pay a guy like this any mind, but he keeps fidgeting as he tries not to stare too long at the girl on the other side of the bar. Then he does the last thing I wanted him to do. He leans over and talks to me.
“Damn, isn't that girl over there hot.”
I look at her. She's pretty. I wouldn't say beautiful, just pretty in a very conventional way. Shoulder length dirty blonde hair, pale green eyes, and smile that took thousands of dollars to create. There are half a dozen of her in the place right now.
“Go over and talk to her,” I say to him. He isn't bad looking guy but she's still out of his league. More than anything, I'm curious to see if he'll actually go up to her.
“I can't talk to her.” He responds, shocked that I even suggest such an idea.
“Why's that?”
“She's not gonna give me a chance.”
I shake my head in a contemplative manner. I feel a little bad for the guy, he obviously has self-esteem issues. Not that I'm a solid example of someone who has a very good opinion of himself, and I understand the staring and adulation, it was the sum total of my adolescent sex life, but now I would have no problem going up and talking to the girl.
“You know what I'd like to do with a beautiful girl like that. I'd like to kidnap her and take her to my apartment . . .”
My mind is not sound enough to hop aboard this man's delusion train so I interrupt him. “I don't think women like to be held against their will.”
“It wouldn't be against her will!” The guy next to me became angry and defensive. Everything about him turns sinister and he stares me in the eyes, deciding whether or not to smash my face with his glass. I watch his eyes and hands carefully. A few deep breaths later, he calms down enough to finish what he is trying to say.
“Once she saw my place, she'd realize how cool I am, then she wouldn't want to leave.”
Maybe I'm wrong about the self-esteem thing, I think to myself. But these are still the desperate words of a very strange and twisted man. What does one say to a desperate, drunk, crazy man?
“You should leave that one alone. I've heard she's got syphilis.”
“No. A girl like that.”
“Yeah. A friend of mine got it from her. Terrible stuff, man.”
“That's horrible. Some people.”
I feel like a huge asshole now. I completely leveled this poor guy's fantasy, burned it to the ground, and just for good measure, I made sure he was in the house when the house burned down. I got up off the bar stool and threw some money on the counter. If it was short, Paul the bartender would make sure I paid up next time. I have credit here, but it's not very good anymore. I left the guy next to me to ponder his rotten luck. The one girl he falls in love with today, probably has syphilis. Truth is, I don't know if she does, I don't know her, but I felt compelled to keep her from having to deal with him, twisted logic I know.
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