Drunken Deception

He stood there, looking stupid as a steer in a slaughterhouse, which made sense, considering he’d been drinking all day. The younger man, half-Asian by his look, stood poised to fight, his stance taut and ready. But no matter what he did, the older man didn’t respond, just swayed back and forth like a tumbleweed in a breeze.

Suddenly, the youngster withdrew two hatchet-like weapons, brandishing them with a wild yet practiced skill. Still, the older man, weaving like a drunk, failed to react to the threat.

Quietly, the older man, who was not drunk, was trying to figure out why the kid was so bent on fighting. Why had he produced weapons meant for killing? It didn’t make sense. After all, the older man was an unemployed stuntman waiting for a check from his last job.

Without warning, the first of the two Fu axes flew his way. The older man deflected it in a single, swift motion, sending it blade-first into the side of a nearby bookcase.

The second axe came rapidly after, and he caught it by the head. The feat caused the younger man to jump back, surprise etched on his face. When the older man took the axe by the handle, the youngster turned and ran, disappearing down the stairs and into C Street.

“What the hell?” Veronika shouted, her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have no damn clue,” the older man said, shaking his head.

“No,” she returned, “not that—the damn Bruce Lee move you just pulled.”

“Pour me another drink and I’ll tell you all about it,” he smiled, retrieving the Fu axe from the splintered bookcase.

By the end of the evening, Veronika would agree to a date, and the Asian fellow would be fifty bucks richer.