THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road by Frank Kaminski Read Free Book Online Page A

of wet shit.  Tarra had set him up.
    “Oh my god, she got me.”  Stephen said quietly to himself, slumping into a bar chair next to Fish, thinking back upon the extra fragrant choice of dinner, and the fact that his bar clothes were chosen by her and left out in the living room the whole time she was cooking.  He had figured it out.  BC curry must have meant ‘Birth Control’ curry.  Damn, that woman is good!  I never saw it coming!
    “What did you say?”  Fish asked.
    “Nothing, never mind.  I just figured something out.”
    “Like what…that you smell like shit?”  Fish laughed.  Connie laughed too, extra loud, since she had reached that girlish, half-drunk and love struck point where anything Fish said, regardless of how ridiculous or pathetic it was, would be funny to her.  It indicated a deep-seeded crush, normally concealed, but now apparent most likely due to the alcohol.
    Stephen murmured, “No, well, Tarra got me this dinner, and I, yeah.” 
    “Dude, are you gonna sit there and babble all night or are we gonna drink?”  Fish questioned.  Although Stephen discovered that he actually could smell the curry on himself, another smell was even stronger.  A delicious invisible cloud of cinnamon gusto permeated the atmosphere in front of him.  It emanated from the breath of his friends and wafted off the four empty shot glasses of Fireball on the table.  Almost as if it was a living creature itself, the scent beckoned him to join the party.  Stephen’s mouth watered as he snapped out of his stupor and looked at his best friend.
    “Hell yeah, brother, let’s do this!  Or, as I should say, ‘Let’s do this, yo!’”  Stephen yelled.
    “That’s the spirit!”  Fish yelled back.
    “Let’s do this, yo!”  Connie yelled too, in her high-pitched, extra-feminine voice.
    Stephen smiled and high-fived Connie as Fish went to the bar.  The two made small talk as they anxiously waited.  Minutes later, Fish returned with a tray full of drinks.  Four pints of beer, eight shots of Fireball and a rum and coke.  He flamboyantly set the tray on the table.
    Connie raised an eyebrow at the intimidating arrangement in front of her and said, “Wow.  That’s a lot.”
    “That’s right.”  Fish replied, and then slapped Stephen on the back.  “Curry boy here needs to catch up!”
    Stephen was ordered to do two shots by himself, in order to ‘catch up’ with Fish and Constantine.  He eagerly chased each one with a large slug of beer.  The trio was about to cheers each other with another shot, all together this time, but an intense raucous at the bar postponed their celebratory toast.  All of the regulars were up-in-arms about something on the television above the bartender, who was also watching the TV and not serving drinks.  Odd, since there wasn’t a game scheduled that evening and no UFC fight until the next day.  So it couldn’t have been sports.
    Fish was the first to notice that the commotion had something to do with his beloved Chicken Stand-Off and raced over to the bar to get a closer look.  Stephen and Connie looked at each other and silently agreed with a nod that they should go see what was happening as well. 
    “That’s fucking bullshit!”  One of the grizzled regulars hollered at the TV, with echoes of agreement from several of the others.  The Chicken Stand-Off had become a Chicken Slaughter.  A reporter was summarizing the events.  The protesters were given a deadline at which time they were ordered to peacefully disperse.  The ones that went along with the deadline were promised amnesty from any charges.  When the deadline approached, a dozen or so protesters left the picket line as requested, but were immediately placed into handcuffs, an obvious breach of the amnesty agreement.  The remaining protesters, observing their comrades being hauled away by the police, retreated back into the restaurant.  Law enforcement launched tear gas canisters into the