2-Jim Creegan

2

 Jim Creegan

 The door opened at the far side on the non-descript police interrogation room.  This excited Jim because he had been sitting alone in the room for what felt like hours, waiting to have the police come in and get the next part over with.  The condemnation part.

The cop was young and in full uniform.  This wasn’t a detective-thing, so he was here to get Jim’s statement before throwing him back into the holding cell where Jim would much rather be.

“Do you know why you are here Mr. Creegan?”  The officer asked in a low, squeaky voice that sounded nearly pre-pubescent.

Jim’s blue eyes rolled and his defined jaw worked. ‘What a dumb fucking question’ Jim thought to himself.  “Yeah.”

The officer raised his eyebrow.  “Well, I ask because these are relatively heavy charge, and you waved your right to an attorney.”  The officer continued.

“Look,” Creegan’s voice was heavy handed and stern, “I know what I did.  I don’t think it was wrong.  As far as an attorney goes, I have been in this situation before and there ain’t a whole lot an attorney can do for me.  So, turn on the recorder and I’ll give my statement and get out of this room.”

The officer shrugged then turned on the recorder.  “Please state your full name and occupation.”

Jim began eagerly, “Jim Creegan.  Bouncer.”

“Alright Mr. Creegan, please take us through the events of Monday January 12^th,  at ‘The Bent Elbow’ bar?”

****

10:15 pm Monday January 12^th at the Bent Elbow…

The bar was sparsely occupied.  Only three or four table’s worth of people.  Paul was bar tending and Lisa was alone on the floor. 

This was Jim’s third job in the course of four months and he couldn’t be happier.  Jim had been having a hard time since he had lost his long-standing job at a freezer warehouse.  Although, in all honesty, he hated that job too.  In high school, he had been a damn good half back.  A tackle gone wrong had made his knee Swiss cheese.  Jim now walked with a slight limp and, needless to say, could no longer play football.

Out of high school, he had gotten a job at the same warehouse driving a tow motor and moving 50 pound cases of beef around for the better part of his life.  He was 26 now and after the frozen juice guy had made the wrong comment, and Jim had summarily broken his nose, he had been fired.  His father had disowned him and it had gone downhill from there.

Jim was oddly happy, though.  He had found a job that he loved and was starting to pull himself out of finical debt.  The owner of the bar, Mike Miller, had even given him a loan to keep his apartment up until he could get on his feet.

“COME ON!  You know we are gonna tip well!”  Jim’s smile faded as he paused from clearing bottles from a table and looked to see a table of four men in the corner table.  They were badgering Lisa for the third time tonight.

The lead jack ass was grabbing at her ass and laughing.  She looked very unhappy with the situation.  The four were dressed in jeans and camouflage and were all in their late twenties or early thirties.  Jim figured they were coming back from a hunting trip of some kind.

Yet again, the man grabbed at her and this time the cute, young, brown-haired college girl dropped her tray.  Beer bottles went crashing to the floor.  This seemed to make them all laugh even harder.

Creegan put the bottles back down and flexed his jaw.  He stood six-foot, four-inches and had a lot of mass that used to be muscle in his younger days but had lost definition, as he had stopped working out so much.  His ‘Staff’ t-shirt was a size too small, and although he looked oddly shaped he still looked like a force with which to be reckoned.

****

“So, you approached the table.  Did you identify yourself?”  The Officer interrupted Creegan’s retelling.

Creegan just sat there.

“Did you ask the table to leave quietly?”  The officer’s questions continued.

Creegan continued to stare at him.

“Did you let this table know who you were and that they should leave in any way?”  The officer built to his perceived climax.

Jim suddenly could no longer suppress a grin.  He leaned forward…

“There is no doubt in my mind, officer, they knew who I am.”

****

10:17 pm Monday January 12^th at the Bent Elbow

Jim was suddenly behind the lead man like a shadow or a specter called forth for vengeance against these four idiots.  Jim brought his elbow downward in a perfectly fluid motion, connecting with the outside of the man’s right collar bone.  A wet crack followed and Jim quickly followed up with a fore arm to the side of the man’s head.  Jim then wrapped his arm and neck from behind and dragged him out of his chair, before twisting and hurling him through the air and into a table and series of chairs with a crash.

Jim turned back to the three remaining twits.

They stared back, their alcohol soaked brains unable to catch up with the events that were transpiring around them.

One of them mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” to his friends.

Then, the moment was over and they were all in motion.  The man to the right of the table got to his feet first, attacking with a wild and wide Haymaker, which Jim countered with a block while his over hand, curled into a fist, struck the inside of his elbow.

The pop that sounded was telltale dislocation.

The man’s scream was cut off mid way as Jim stabbed his elbow into the man’s nose in the half-second that followed his first blow.

The man’s screams turned to whimpers and he fell to his knees, blood pouring out of his nose.

Jim quickly kicked the table sending it into the man who had been sitting back to the wall.  The table struck his groin and with an expulsion of air, he bent over.  Jim snatched his hair and slammed his face into the table.

The man to the left of the table was still just sitting there, staring at Jim as he dismantled his friends.

He just shook his head again and mouthed the words, “What the Fuck?”

Jim snatched the mug of beer out of his hands and then brought it down over the back of the man’s head.  It shattered and beer flew everywhere.

Jim turned back to the man he had struck in the nose, ready to counter another attack but no attack would come.

He was still on his knees holding his nose.  Weeping.

****

“Weeping?”  The officer asked.

“Yeah, weeping.  You know, crying.  With tears and sputtering and everything,” Jim answered sarcastically.

“So, you are saying you hit this guy so hard he started crying?”  the officer asked in disbelief.

Jim shrugged.  “I really didn’t hit him that hard.”

The officer shook his head, “Okay, please continue.”

****

10:19 pm Monday January 12^th at the Bent Elbow

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”  The scream was high pitched and cracked, like the scream of a nerd who is picked on so much that he finally attacks.

Suddenly, Jim was struck in the back of the head by a fist.  The man sitting to the Left had finally figured out what was going on.  Jim staggered forward.  Surprised by the blow, he stumbled over a table and some chairs while trying to turn to face his attacker.  The twit stepped in and threw a terribly awful punch to Jim’s gut.  He  brought his hand back to punch again-

-Jim stepped in and swung his head forward, the thick bone in his fore head striking the top of the man’s nose, crushing it instantly.  The man staggered and fell, hitting the floor.  Out like a light.

****

“Then, I dragged them out the door one by one and left them in the street.”  Jim finished.

They had, of course, then called the police from the road and Jim had been taken into custody.  The officer nodded and clicked off the recording.

“Alright, that’s all I need.  Someone will take you back shortly.”

This happened.

Jim found himself back in the holding cell.  The night’s events hit him now, and he was truly depressed.  Another failure.  Jim’s whole life had been a failure, just one after another.  His football career, Maggie, his father, the warehouse and all of the jobs after that.  And now, the Bent Elbow, for which he would probably get sued.  Not to mention, Jim would surely get fired.

“Well shit.”  Jim said to the wall before lying down on the bench and resting his eyes.

****

“Creegan.”  The officer’s loud voice brought Jim back.  “Creegan, you have made bail.”

Creegan sat up and then stood.  “Are you sure about that?”

The police officer took a deep breath.  “No, I’m not sure, I just make a hobby out of randomly letting criminals out of the jail so that we can chase them back down later.  It’s a little game I play called ‘terrible cop.’”

Creegan nodded at the sarcasm, “I feel like you planned that speech.”

The officer smiled, “Funny you should think so, ‘cause that’s my other hobby.  I make up long winded sarcastic speeches, just  in case the guys I’m letting out ask stupid questions like, ‘Are you sure you want to let me go?’”

Creegan stared at the officer for a second, “I should just stop asking questions.”

The officer’s eyebrows bobbed, “I got a million of these.”

Creegan surrendered to the officer’s superior wit and followed him out through the processing area.  They gave him a speech about when he would have to return to court and then, they set him free.

She stood in the waiting room, dark, blood-red hair to shoulder length, dark brown eyes and a full figure.

Maggie…