Jacko’s is a bar on Glitter Street. I’m there at 7:00 with the after-office crowd. I like Jacko’s. They have a live band. The drinks are a little pricey, but like most old biddies, I can nurse a Coke half the night. It’s a survival trait; servers ignore women on their own. This waitress is intimidated by my glance. I make her want to button up her blouse and tug down her skirt. I remind her of her sixth grade teacher, the one who made her read Shakespeare out loud.
I don’t fit in at Jacko’s. Major out of place, in a flowered dress and a ten dollar haircut. I’ll never see fifty again, and a good thing, too. The first time I saw it, it scared me white-headed. Jacko’s caters to the thirty-might-be-twenty-five bunch, monograms and blazers and incipient stock options. Hooray for them. The band plays 40’s swing, which is not easy with a keyboard, a guitar, and a drum-kit.
I like it here; I don’t know anybody, nobody knows me, and nobody gives a damn.
Feels like home.
7:30. Her ex swaggers in, half-drunk, and grabs the waitress. She’s been warned if he causes one more scene she can kiss Jacko’s goodbye. This time he’s brought his friend the big sharp knife. Makes sense, scar the pretty girl’s face, she can’t get the good jobs in the nice places; she can’t afford to leave you.
You’ll tell me a .38 doesn’t have the stopping power of a .45; and a snub-nose, obviously, doesn’t have the accuracy of the longer barrel. But Jacko’s is a small bar. They’re not even twenty feet away when I put a neat little hole through his left eye. Well, neat going in. I cannot begin to describe to you the distress of the yuppie in the three thousand dollar suit who happens to be sitting at the table behind the couple, sipping his Zinfandel and watching the assault like it’s part of this evening’s entertainment.
The big advantage of a snub-nose is, it doesn’t bulk out a purse like a full-barrel .45. I stow it away and walk out the door with half the hysterical crowd. True to type, I leave no tip.
But hey, I gave her my ‘abused girlfriend’ discount. What more do you want? If I didn’t do so much damn charity work, I could afford a better haircut.
Nancy Wilcox is a word-jones. (Something like a wordsmith-wannabe.)
Did you like this story?
A new and interesting story is posted every day.
A new and interesting story is posted every day.
Subscribe to the RSS Feed! (what is rss)
Don’t miss another story! Subscribe to Every Day Fiction via RSS.- Share on Facebook
Rate this story
35 Responses to “JACKO’S BAR • by Nancy Wilcox”
Comments
« INCOMPLETE • by Robert Swartwood | Home | THE BRIDE’S TAIL • by Nicholas Ozment »
May 21st, 2009 at 1:23 am
That was a weird one! Weird, but nice.
May 21st, 2009 at 1:38 am
That’s one helluva Ma Baker! Loved the surprise and tight prose! Five of course!
May 21st, 2009 at 4:09 am
A “Self-imposed-duty” story. And a good one. It’s a worthwhile cause this lady has taken upon herself. Well told story too. She had a solid feel to her.
May 21st, 2009 at 4:35 am
Ace story, Nancy. I loved this, really loved it. Gentle intro. Smooth set-up. Total surprise, like out-of-the-blue. And a killer final line. Lady, I want to read more of your stuff (and, no, I don’t say that to all the girls). Wish I could give more than five. But will you accept a X from a fan?
May 21st, 2009 at 4:50 am
Perfect.
May 21st, 2009 at 4:52 am
Damn good.
May 21st, 2009 at 5:43 am
I found the transition at “7:30″ a bit awkward and hard to follow, I think that needs a bit of work. Otherwise, very nice.
May 21st, 2009 at 5:48 am
Your narrator is a likeable old dame…the sort of character you could hang an entire novel off of. Well done, Nancy!
May 21st, 2009 at 5:51 am
A well-told tale with some good examples for others on how to pull off a description and make it interesting. The standard, tired approach is to have someone look in a compact/mirror/reflective glass and comment on what they see. Here we have delicious lines like: “I make her want to button up her blouse and tug down her skirt. I remind her of her sixth grade teacher, the one who made her read Shakespeare out loud.”
Can you see her? Of course you can. She’s like the Church Lady packing heat.
Enjoyed. Thank you.
May 21st, 2009 at 7:09 am
Excellent – but how did you notice me in that crowded bar?
Kate – who will also never see fifty again and loved your line!
May 21st, 2009 at 7:22 am
Outstanding Nancy. A 5 from me.
May 21st, 2009 at 7:26 am
Wow. I agree with all the comments above. This was fantastic. What a character. Superb job!
May 21st, 2009 at 7:35 am
Marvelous voice and flow.
–dj
May 21st, 2009 at 8:22 am
May 21st, 2009 at 8:24 am
Exquisite!
May 21st, 2009 at 8:34 am
This one got a big laugh from me. The ending was just perfect.
May 21st, 2009 at 8:50 am
Interesting story. Loved the way she helps the waitress and then just goes on her way.
May 21st, 2009 at 8:55 am
If she tugged down her skirt, and her halter wasn’t so skimpy, there’d be almost nothing to write about. It’s thoughts about girls like this waitress which keep some of the worlds of words going, and the over-dressed matron, pretending a service to the threatened, probably has it in mind to blame the girl for everything. Not my favorite genre.
May 21st, 2009 at 9:08 am
Where did you find the ‘halter’ in Nancy’s story, Roberta? One might almost wonder who it was that was having “…thoughts about girls like this…”.
May 21st, 2009 at 9:33 am
Oscar – “button up her blouse.” A halter is a short skimpy sleeveless blouse worn in summers about 40 years ago. Usually it had a bare midriff; sometimes it had upper buttons for a cooler neck in front. The back was often bare with a band of material from the shoulders along the collar line extending around to the back of the neck to hold it up.
I think about all kinds of boys and girls.
May 21st, 2009 at 11:50 am
I love the dark humor of this story. Well done, and thanks for a good read.
May 21st, 2009 at 3:45 pm
Excellent piece, Nancy. Not an ounce of fat on it.
May 21st, 2009 at 6:16 pm
Brilliant. I loved it.
May 22nd, 2009 at 3:20 am
Lovely. I really LIKE the idea of our elders taking a delight in weaponry. Particularly pleasing are the way she focuses on the entry/exit wounds and her disdain for the “Yuppie” who suffers contemptible distress.
Can we have more like this? Perhaps something about babies stabbing each other with scissors? Or school kids with assault rifles? That would be neat. Such a positive contribution to our culture!
May 22nd, 2009 at 6:55 am
I just figured out who this reminds me of – Stephanie Plum’s Grandma Mazur.
May 22nd, 2009 at 7:08 am
Jenny Richards – I know when a lot of “more like this” started. About sixty years ago there was a movie show biz song sung by babes in high chairs:
“We do everything alike, we walk alike, we talk alike and what is more we hate eachother very much, we hate our folks, we’re sick of jokes, and what an art is it to tell us apart!”
May 22nd, 2009 at 8:35 am
Jenny R.
I hate to break it to you, but there ARE women who DO take a delight in weaponry. They will also evaluate the damage done by various tools in a clinical manner. As strange as it may sound to you, these people do grow older with time. They become very much like the woman described (Although most trained folks obviously do not go around killing people–that’s the twist of the story.)
If you want babies stabbing each other or kids with assault rifles, all you have to do is hook up the latest video games that our children spend mindless hours playing.
May 22nd, 2009 at 6:15 pm
Wow! I was not expecting the twist of this story; deftly executed and awesomely funny.
Great line: I’ll never see fifty again, and a good thing, too. The first time I saw it, it scared me white-headed.
This felt like a great character piece with a bit of plot snuck in. Really, out of a voice like this you could develop a novel – a series of novels. Thank you for sharing.
May 23rd, 2009 at 4:31 am
nice one.
May 23rd, 2009 at 6:50 am
Rob – Don’t blame the kids only, I know a grandma, possibly old enough to be everyone’s grandma, who does nothing but play “mindless” (your word, I’m actually afraid of her) video games.
May 23rd, 2009 at 6:27 pm
Exceedingly well written.
Jenny: Good grief! Have you seen TV lately?
May 25th, 2009 at 10:27 am
Loved this one, a couple of minor transition hiccups (Who’s Ex?) didn’t shake me from being sucked right in. I would love to read this character in a novel (Old Maid is assassin For Hire)
May 26th, 2009 at 12:18 pm
June 30th, 2009 at 11:15 pm
I will surely miss Michael Jackson, he is really worthy of the name King of Pop and he is certainly one of the greatest musicians of all time…
October 18th, 2009 at 4:53 am
??… ???-?? ? ???? ?????? ?? ???????????, ??????? ???????. ??? ? ???? ????