9 CHAPTER NINE: THE HANDY BOTTLE

Sandy's Bar

13:11

Caesar pushed his way through the beaded curtain and looked around. There was no one around. He glanced at the bar and found it empty. Shrugging to himself he chose the table directly under the fan which was in full throttle. An empty bottle of beer and some spent cigarettes littered the table. He eyed them distastefully and wondered where the waitress was. . He dropped the bag he was carrying on the floor and sat down to wait.

After leaving Vera's place with a promise to her of a repeat visit he dashed back to Alex's place to collect the counterfeit money. However his nose sniffed trouble in the air.

A full hour passed and Ani did not show up. Caesar felt it was uncanny that the bar was open yet no one was around. He decided it was time to go. As he bent to pick the bag he heard a rustle of beads. He straightened up to see a man come through the curtain into the bar. He was built along the same lines as a battle ship and barely fitted through the door. Caesar was still admiring his structure when six others followed suit, each of them of astronomical proportions. Uh-oh, he thought.

The pack of gorillas walked purposely towards his direction and each grabbed a nearby seat as they came. Turning the backs of the seats to face him they straddled the chairs. They enclosed him in a perfect semi-circle. Caesar felt like a cornered rat.

The first one to enter and also the ugliest of the bunch, which is no mean feat, appeared to be the leader. He began to speak.:

"So you are a reporter, huh?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Because you smell like one."

Caesar wanted to tell him that he smelled of half a kilo of weed but changed his mind.

"Must be the shirt. I borrowed it from a journalist."

"I don't like reporters. They never mind their own business."

"Well I'm sure your business isn't worth minding."

"Talking of business what's in your bag?"

"Talking of business, it's my business but if you must know they are personal effects."

"Give it to me."

"Get it yourself.'

The man picked up the bag and unzipping it quickly emptied it on the table. The wads spilled over the place. All the men whistled.

"Now this is a lot of money" commented the leader, "you want to buy the bar with it?"

"I don't think it's worth that much."

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The man took a sheaf of notes and began to scrutinize it. Suddenly he stiffened.

"Hold on! These are fake!"

"You're pretty fast" said Caesar admiringly, "Most would take days to find out."

A roar of outrage echoed among the men.

"So you think you're smart, eh?" growled the leader.

"Normally no but considering I'm surrounded by apes then I guess the one eyed man is king in the land of the blind."

"That's it, Punk. Take him!"

The next few seconds dragged into slow motion. While they had been chatting, Caesar's fingers had been caressing the neck of the empty bottle on the table. As the men made to get up he grabbed the neck purposefully and in one deft movement flicked the bottle towards the spinning rotors of the ceiling fan. Simultaneously he ducked down, trying to cover as much of his head and neck with his arms.

The impact was thunderous. The bottle hit the whizzing blades at top speed and exploded like a bomb, disintegrating into a deluge of lethal pieces of flying glass. He was aware of multiple screams around him as the glass sliced mercilessly into any exposed flesh it could find.

He shoved the table violently forward and heard it connect rewardingly with bone. Someone screamed again. Without further ado he bolted for the door. Someone made a blind rush at him. Caesar knew he was blind because blood was running from his eyes. Caesar kicked him viciously in the groin and his would be assailant went down like a felled tree.

Hurdling over writhing, agonized bodies he flew threw the curtain with a clatter of bouncing beads. Before anyone else could realize what was happening he was gone leaving only bleeding bodies and shattered glass in his wake.