Twist Short Story Competition - Winner

Two guys and their pet gorilla walked into a bar.
Sounds like the opening line to a joke, don’t it? And not even a good joke. The kind of lame attempt you might hear at one of the bar’s Tuesday night comedy clubs.
Excepting these guys walked in late on a Sunday. Right as the clock ticked off the minutes ahead of a new work week and all the joy that promised to bring. And, from the looks on their faces, things weren’t about to get funny. Least ways, not in the ha-ha-Seinfeld kinda way. Cos, when these guys walked in the front door, funny stopped goofing around, stood up and ducked out the back just as quick as it could.
I’ll tell you another reason why these guys showing up wasn’t giving me the chuckles.
That bar they’d just walked into?
It was my bar.
Danny and Donny Grimes. Yeah, you heard me right. Danny and Donny. Not the most menacing of names, sound like a couple of bozos, don’t they?
Don’t be fooled. Danny and Donny were no Jokers, they didn’t need no scary names. Not with their past, which everyone knew, yours truly included. Most of the folks around these parts knew more than they wanted about the Grimes family. And knowing even a little was enough to make you want to see out your days without ever meeting up with the two remaining Grimes boys.
Especially not when the pet gorilla walking in with them was their cousin Frankie Four Fists. If the Grimes’s reputation didn’t scare you, the sight of Four Fists sure would.
Why’d they call him Frankie Four Fists? According to the unfortunates who’d crossed Danny and Donny - and not that too many came out of that experience still able to draw breath - one single punch from Frankie was like you got hit by two men at the same time. Two huge, violent men. And, with a sledgehammer fist at the end of each muscle-wrapped arm, well, you can do the math. On the rare occasions his fists failed to persuade, Frankie carried a six-inch serrated hunting blade in a leather sheath, a holster really, under his arm. Frankie liked to keep that blade real sharp and he liked to use it real often.
All in all, Danny, Donny and Frankie were the three people in the whole state that you don’t want to see. Not ever. You sure didn’t want to be polishing glasses in an empty bar, waiting for closing time and watching through the reflection in the mirror as they stepped into your new joint.
Hell, you didn’t want these guys coming into your place anytime. And, if they had to come in, you didn’t want to be around when they decided to call by to play catch-up.
Which meant me coming in that Sunday night to cover for my bar manager Brett had to be the second dumbest thing I’d ever done in my life.
Although, I ain’t joking here, there was one lame thing - two really - about the whole situation. The Grimes boys themselves.
Danny’s left leg was, literally, shot to pieces. Meant he walked with the help of a fancy, jewel-topped cane. All polished mahogany with an emerald set right into the carved handle. Rumor had it Danny thought the cane, along with his taste for fancy suits, vests and snazzy neckties, gave him a dapper look. Yeah, Danny Grimes reckoned he rocked like an old-time-movie gangster.
Younger brother Donny had a busted leg too. His right dragged behind when he moved. You couldn’t rightly see the trouble Donny had with walking. He hid it well. But there was always a faint scraping sound as his foot slid along.
You had to watch and listen real hard for Donny’s limp. He didn’t advertise it like his brother did with those fancy canes. Donny didn’t care to use sticks of any sort, fancy or plain. Other than the occasions he took an aluminum Little League bat to beat on some guy’s head. That was Donny’s way of keeping his hand in. Plus, it gave Frankie and his fists a break every once in a while. Donny didn’t much go in for fancy suits or ties neither. Looking at Donny next to his brother, he looked a bit of a slob.
Not that I was gonna say that to Donny’s face.
I put down the tumbler I’d been working on and tucked the end of the cloth into my belt.
’What can I get you?’
Two whiskeys. Ice one, the other straight. Make ‘em big too.’
It was Danny who ordered. Donny pulled out a stool and sat down. I saw his hand go to his busted leg and rub at his thigh. Man, years later and it looked like it was hurting still.
I reached for a bottle and started pouring, thinking to myself, if I saw the light of day again, I was gonna torch the stool Donny was using.
‘And get him a strawberry milk.’ Danny gestured with his cane to Four Fists.
I nodded, pushing the whiskeys over to Danny and Donny. Moving down the counter, I nudged open the door into the small kitchen behind the bar.
‘Honey, can I get a glass of strawberry milk out here?’ I said. ‘Use real strawberries, not cans or syrup.’
I paused as my wife looked at me then I turned back to the trouble at the bar.
‘The milk won’t be long.’ I said to Four Fists. There was something about the look he gave that worried me. But, then, most everything about Frankie Four Fists was worrying.
‘Brett in?’ Danny finished his drink and motioned for a refill.
‘Not tonight.’ I poured them both another.
Now I knew why Brett had cancelled his shift. Brett liked sports. More than that, Brett liked to lay down cash on sports; football, basketball, boxing. Anything and everything, even soccer, for Chrissakes, was good for a bet. But Brett really liked the horses. Thing is, the horses didn’t care much for Brett. Which explained why he’d called in sick that morning and why these three were now sitting in my bar.
‘He had to leave town for a while.’ I lied, hoping to give Brett a little more time.
‘Did he now?’ It was Donny who spoke. ‘Gone upstate to see that sister of his?’
So much for giving Brett a chance to run.
‘He didn’t say.’ I said.
Danny looked at me. ’You Al?’
‘No.’
’Sign outside says Al’s Bar.’ He pointed with his cane to the door.
‘It’s just a sign.’
“Paint looks fresh.’ Four Fists was still staring at me.
‘Yeah, we got us a new one. Kept the name.’
‘I know you from somewhere?’ Frankie’s stare was making me uncomfortable. No-one likes being stared at.
‘Don’t reckon so. We just moved here a month back.’
‘We?’
‘Me and my wife.’
‘She here too?’
‘Yeah. She’ll be out with that milk real soon.’
Four Fists grunted. He was getting impatient for his drink. I poured the Grimes boys another round.
I pushed my glasses back up my nose. There were a lot of things from my past that I missed but, right at that time, my hair and 20/20 vision didn’t make the list. Finally, I thought, those extra pounds I’ve gained over the years and couldn’t lose were proving to be a godsend.
There used to be three Grimes boys; Danny, Donny and Davey. Their names just get worse, don’t they? What had Ma and Pa Grimes been thinking? Davey was the youngest. I say was the youngest, Davey got himself killed twenty years back. Shot to death in a feud over a girl by the name of Cat. Funny thing, she wasn’t even his girl.
Long story short, Cat was Danny’s girl for a while. Until she decided she didn’t want Danny no more or the life of crime she’d have with him. So, Cat found herself another boy to go with. Things got nasty when Danny found about her new guy. Danny started asking around after him but didn’t get far. The hit was only supposed to take out Danny. But it got botched. Danny and Donny got all shot up and were left with those limps. Little brother Davey got the best casket and a whole store full of flowers.
The shooter got clean away. Last seen firing from the back seat of a beat-up tan-colored Dodge. They found the truck later, all burned out.
‘I want my milk.’ Four Fists was getting annoyed. Danny and Donny were three drinks deep and Frankie hadn’t even had one sip.
The thing about Frankie Four Fists and his strawberry milks probably sounds funny. Maybe it was, I don’t rightly know. Some guys, most guys, like a drink now and then. A beer, a whiskey, maybe some shots. Some drink more often than they oughta, which is good in my line of work. But Four Fists didn’t touch alcohol. Never had and he mostly drank milk. Few people ever commented on it. Unless they were stupid. I wasn’t about to be that stupid.
Thing is, I’d already make my dumbest mistake.
‘Say.’ Danny said. ‘How’d you know to use real strawberries and not canned or syrup?’
’Oh, shit.’ I said as Frankie, Danny and Donny started up from their stools.
It was then things got a little crazy.
Frankie reached for his knife. Donny pulled the bat from inside his coat. And Danny, well, Danny just sat there, recognition sweeping over his face.
The kitchen door swung open and my wife walked into the bar carrying Frankie’s glass of milk on a tray.
‘Hi Honey,’ she said. Scanning the bar, she smiled over at Danny. ‘It’s been a while, Danny. Still missing me?’
Then Cat dropped the tray, swung a shotgun from behind her back and opened up with both barrels.
As I said, there are things from my past that I miss.
Top of that list was driving my old tan Dodge and watching as Cat laughed from the back seat.