This week’s guest bartender is Lance from My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.  Lance mixes up great fiction on his blog and is always ready to mock someone at Sprocket Ink.  Today he’s concocted a fictional Spring Break story that mixes old school with one of today’s current trends .  It’s served in a tall glass with a twist of what I believe to be sci-fi.

Spring Break

Shadows danced over the queen-sized bed as Evelyn Rigby pulled the white bed sheet down and kissed her husband’s back. His already opened eyes blinked and he rolled over and spoke to his wife.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, I thought you had a busy day today?”

She pulled off her green nightgown and moved on top of him then sighed.

“I hate it when you leave on your internal scanner. I need my husband right now.”

Evelyn leaned down and kissed him. He blinked his eyes again and his mouth frowned inside of hers. Evelyn sat up and shook her head.

“Damn it Topper Rigney! When we’re in this bed, you turn that thing off!”  Topper put his large hands around his wife’s waist and rolled her on her back. He moved over her lithe body and kissed her. She knew his facial expressions.

“I’m sorry Topper. It was my idea to move here and I know how busy it is this time of the year. Is it teenagers or biters?”

He slid off the bed and began looking for clothes.

“Is there a difference, Ev?”

Topper discovered a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, mismatched tube socks, and hiking boots next to the bathroom. Evelyn slipped her gown back on and handed him his badge and gun. He leaned in and kissed her disappointed face.

“I always make it up to you, Ev. I love you. I’ll make it quick.”

They kissed again and he left their condominium through a patio door. As he reached his white Chevrolet Blazer he turned and he shouted, “close side door.”   A stainless steel wall appeared and shuttered the patio door from right to left.

The Rigneys lived two miles from the main strip of Panama City Beach, Florida. By the time Topper arrived at The Coyote Ugly Saloon, several members of his law enforcement staff stood outside, controlling the crowd. Deputy Mollie Mahler met him at his Blazer door.

“Boss, we wanted to wait until you got here. There’s three of them. One’s a girl, maybe nineteen, very drunk, we’re not sure she’s turned. One of their friends said they went to get tattoos earlier and then starting acting crazy after that.”

Topper Rigney got out of his car and put his .357 magnum in the back waistband of his blue jeans. He surveyed the scene and announced.

“Mols, I want you, Forrest, and Winnie to go to the rear of the Ugly. That’s where we’ll take out the trash of the Ugly. No reason to ruin their store front window.”

His deputies took their orders, ran to the back, and the customers that lined the parking lot yelled encouragement to Topper.

“Go get ’em Sheriff!”

He ignored them and walked with purpose inside the bar. Two teenage boys, both well over six-foot-tall screamed at him as he made his way through the large wooden door. He yelled over their noise.

“Is the manager here?”

A woman in her mid-twenties, with dirty blonde hair, leather pants, and a white tank top barely covering a recent boob job whimpered from behind the bar.

“Yes, Sheriff, right here! I’m Holly!”

Nickelback’s song Animals drowned out the small voice. Topper cringed and queried again.  “Do I have permission to fire my weapon inside your bar, Holly?”

The two large men screamed at him again and lunged toward Topper. Holly’s little voice suddenly grew.

“Yes, blow their fucking heads off!”

Topper threw a left hook into the first man’s jaw. The other man grabbed Topper’s right arm and opened his mouth. As his jaws centered on Topper’s bare forearm, he pulled his gun from his waistband with his open left hand and shot two bullets. One pierced the skull of the man on his right arm and the other went into the chest of the other man. The man on his arm dropped to the floor and Topper yelled to the patrons inside the club.

“Move away, this is going to be messy!”

He fired and the .357 hurled a bullet into the head of the other man as he lay across a round wooden table. Blood spattered about the table and dropped along the hardwood floor.

Topper rolled his deep brown eyes as the music hit a crescendo, then focused on the top of the bar. A tall, thin girl with jet-black hair dressed in ripped jeans and a white bikini top cackled while writhing in poor rhythm to the song. She jumped to the floor in front of Holly, who screamed, then Topper raised his gun.

“Can you understand me, miss? If you’re still with me, say so, and I’ll take you somewhere for help!”

He watched the black-haired girl die inside. Her eyes went black and rolled toward her brain. Her mouth expanded and she leaped at him. He tried to catch her with his right hand but missed and her jaws clamped onto his elbow like a rabid dog.

“Miss, I really am sorry!”

He fired into her brain stem and she slumped away. Topper looked at his arm and realized it wouldn’t be long before people discovered his secret. The song ended and Topper felt temporary relief.

“Holly, my deputies will take these biters away and I’ll wake up the maintenance crews to come clean up the bar. Have your boss call me when she gets in later.”

He walked out the rear entrance, gave instructions to his deputies and then drove home. His arm was mangled and the skin was dying around the wound. He arrived home and yelled to the patio door.

“Daddy’s home!”

The stainless steel sheet opened and he went inside. Evelyn met him in the bedroom.

“Oh honey, that arm is awful. I’ll open up the rejuvenation chamber. Thank God, that part of you is robotic.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and shook his head.

“I hate spring break.”