After Monica and I had that bullshitass dinner with her bat shit crazy sister, we got into the Prius and drove back to her apartment in Burbank. I had Skynrd CD in the player and hoped I could drown Monica out with it, but, after like a minute, she reached over and turned it off. Now, I realize that Yankees don’t get Skynrd, but I also can’t stand it when people mess with the controls when I’m driving.
Of course Monica started in on Caroline and the fake boyfriend and how she looked like shit and…I don’t remember the rest. I just hit Monica’s mute button and started planning how I was gonna angry fuck her when we got back to her apartment.
And when we get there, the bitch was fuckin out of beer.
So she got a sober angry fuck. Believe me: it was angry. And hot, like a good angry fuck should be.
I felt better afterwards, but I wasn’t gonna stick around. I’d already woken up in Monica’s bed that morning (Friday is Netflix night), and I wasn’t gonna do that two mornings in a row. Besides, the next day was Sunday and I was gonna need to get up and dressed right for church. (Ok, so I don’t always go. But that’s a Sunday morning decision, not one for 12:30 on Saturday night.)
I’d also seen more than enough of my girlfriend for the week.
So I got back in the car and headed back to Pasadena. I needed beer before I needed the IHOP, so I got off at Orange Grove and got a space in the garage on De Lacey. I figured I’d check in on Keaton and grab a beer at the same time. Having a buddy who works in a bar is pretty handy.
The bar Keaton works at is behind a restaurant on Fair Oaks. The bar is the back part of the restaurant and opens onto a really nice alley with other bars and restaurants and stores on it. The bar itself has a dive vibe in an upscale neighborhood, so it’s not as tough as it looks when you first walk in. Still, at 1:30 on a Saturday night shit can go down.
And I could see some was going down when I turned into the alley. Keaton and the other security dude, Miguel, were standing outside the bar and facing off with what I could already tell was a super asshole.
The asshole was a short Mexican dude, probably 5’6” and 150 pounds tops. He was fucking with both Keaton and Miguel. Miguel looks like the total inkedass badass Mexican. He’s about 6’2” and easily 300 pounds. Shaved head, long beard with a braid in it. He’s actually a super nice dude, but he looks like the scariest motherfucker a white boy could imagine lol.
Keaton’s about 6’1” and 210 and, like I told you, knocked Miguel out cold with one punch the night he got himself the job at the bar. He’s got a sloppy haircut instead of a shaved head, but he can look just as scary as a scaryass Mexican.
And in the other corner…the short Mexican dude, shit-faced and (I could tell right away) trying to impress his girlfriend (around a 7 and looking really embarrassed) by picking on the biggest, toughest-looking dude in the place.
“Look, man, don’t start no trouble. You’ve had enough so just get going,” said Miguel. Turning to the girlfriend he said, “you can get him home? You got his keys?”
“What did you say to my girlfriend?,” said the dude. “You wanna fuck her? You even got what it takes to fuck her, hijo de la chingada?”
I speak German and not Spanish. But I know one thing: never call a 300-pound Mexican dude who’s inked up to his neck hijo de la chingada. I’m not even sure what it means. But don’t do it.
“Just move along, man.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
Staying right where he was, and with his hands in his pockets, Keaton said to the girlfriend:
“Seriously, ma’am. Get him out of here. Now.”
“C’mon Nacho…let’s go home,” said the girlfriend.
“What if I don’t wanna go home?”
“Listen, man, either you walk away or I’m gonna go back inside and you’re gonna deal with my buddy. Take it from me, man: you don’t want that.”
“You afraid to fight me, puto? You got tattoos on your pussy?”
I wasn’t the only person watching by this point. And I could tell Miguel was starting to get pissed off. Keaton was just standing there with his hands in his pockets.
So the asshole turns to Keaton.
“C’mon white boy. Let’s go.”
Like I said: the dude was 5’6”. Keaton’s easily 6’3” in cowboy boots.
Keaton took one step forward and took one hand out of his pocket.
“Don’t give me an excuse.”
Hell, I was scared. And he’s my best buddy.
That did it, though. The short Mexican asshole backed down, said some shit in Spanish, and walked away leaning on his girlfriend.
She turned around and mouthed “sorry”. Miguel shrugged. Keaton stayed exactly where he was, just in case the dude changed his mind.