Prologue - Part 1

            “You want another beer?” the bartender asked me, his name is actually Damon but I like to refer to people by their profession. He’s a tall Aryan looking bastard that’s built like a brick shithouse.

            I let out a silent chuckle, “My glass is empty, isn’t it?” I was annoyed; the music that was blasting near to the point of not being able to hear the person right next to you was an annoying rap or techno song that just repeated the same noises for seven and a half minutes with very slight changes. Not only that but it was dark in there. Let me correct that, dark I have no problem with, I have a problem when they set the lights somewhere between ‘ambient’ and ‘we-want-this-to-be-a-club-for-douche-bags’. In my opinion, it counteracted the whole point of making the place look like an old school Irish pub.

            ‘Bartender’ didn’t seem to fully appreciate my smart-ass comment as he took my glass and filled it up with a mix of water, coke, and beer. I hate it when he does that but then again I am used to it by now. It tastes like a watered down ashtray and it’s his passive-aggressive way of saying, ‘Get the fuck out’. It’s really my fault he does that, the first night I met him he said he could drink any shit mix without throwing up. Long story short, I proved him wrong with the very same mix. I could stomach that drink even though I didn’t enjoy it but every time he got annoyed or pissed off at me he would try to get even with me by giving me that drink.

            As I lifted the glass up to my lips to chug it down I could see him stifle a shudder at the memory of the time I made him drink the same mix. It’s always funny for me when I see this hulk of a guy cringe at something I find so easy.

            I put the empty glass down with my right hand and at the same time grabbed something out of my pants pocket with my left hand. Carefully I brought it up over the bar and kept it hidden in my hands. Thumbing it and feeling the now smooth texture against my rough skin, slowly training my eyes on it.

            “What’s that in your hands?” the bartender asked.

            “Same thing I always have when I come in here.”

            “Yeah, but you’ve never told me what it is or let me have a look at it.”

            I let a smirk spread across my face, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and if I showed you you’d just think I’m crazy,” I paused, letting my mind get a grasp over the alcohol for a second, “Crazier then you already think I am that is.”