Some Drinks at the Bar
A few days after the submission bout, Tom invited Jay to meet him at a nearby bar, Larry’s Watering Hole. Jay was surprised to hear the friendly tone in Tom’s voice.
“What y’all did was rough, but I did survive,” Tom said on the phone. “I just want to show you there’s no hard feelings. You won the match, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, Tom, I’m glad you feel that way,” Jay replied, somewhat startled at what he has just heard. Considering the fury Tom showed all during the submission events after the bout, this was a huge change. All the better, Jay thought, that he could finally feel this way. “Yes, I was rough on you, I’m sorry for that, and what happened in the showers afterwards, well, I guess we’re all in on that, too.”
“That’s OK,” Tom interjected. “It’s all past history now. So, let’s have a few drinks and move on.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Jay replied. “That’s really big of you. I’ll be there at eight.”
“Good, good, Jay,” Tom said. “I look forward to it.” Tom added in an unusual tone of voice.
Jay didn’t fully get what Tom was hinting at, but then he dismissed it as his imagination. It really seemed like Tom wanted to kiss and makeup, sort of. He did say he wanted to move on.
Larry’s Watering Hole was in a seedy part of Austin, one of the warehouse districts in a neighborhood called Travis just off the Ben White Boulevard near the airport. Larry’s was a popular bar, mostly for male clientele. There was a civil mixture of straights, bi’s, and gays. Most of the bi’s and gays were decidedly not twinks. There were lots of cowboy and biker outfits, even among the straights. There were always a few ladies, who would be best described as “four beer women.” Anyway, any night of the week there was always a good social buzz going on, typical Texas friendliness.
Jay wore his usual bar hopping outfit: tight athletic T to show off his shoulders and thick upper arms, and tight Levis to advertise a good basket and a lean ass. Then again, everyone in Texas wore tight jeans, from scrawny fence posts to fat slobs. It was just part of the culture.
Tom was at the bar and beckoned Jay over when he spotted him coming through the door. Tom had two friends with him and all three were wearing sleeveless muscle shirts – to good advantage – and, surprise, tight jeans.
Tom ordered up a local microbrew for Jay and then introduced his buddies.
“These guys are my house mates, Roy and Charlie,” Jaw said. The two other guys thrust their hands out and each one tried to crush Jay’s hand in the handshake. They were big bruisers, obviously muscled up, but maybe in need of dropping a few pounds. Heavy endowment in the crotch department, however.
“Nice to meet you, gents,” Jaw managed in between paw-crushes. “Me and Tom are in a wrestling club. He’s kinds of, like, the captain. Captin’ Tom,” he smiled, nodding to Tom.
Jay’s drink arrived and Tom proposed a toast all around: “To better times, moving on, and all that stuff!” The four of them clinked bottles and took deep drafts of the local beer.
The simple banter continued for another hour, the guys trading stories of wrestling. There was no mention of the recent submission match. Charlie and Roy were construction workers and they recounted company screw-ups on several jobs that had all four of them laughing and drinking hard.
Jay finally announced that he had to take a piss, and Roy said the same thing. The two studs left the bar for the men’s john which was in the back, left of the bar. Tom took a small packet of powder from his pocket, tore one of the corners off, and tapped the powder into Jay’s bottle of beer, which was half full at this point. He swirled the bottle to mix the drug and then put the bottle down exactly as he had found it, label side turned slightly to the right. The drug was ruhypnol, ruffie, the date rape drug.
Jay and Roy came back and the story telling and drinking continued for two more rounds of brewskis. Jay was surprised to feel a lethargy coming over him. He felt like he was losing focus on what the other guys were saying. He had been standing up, but he felt better sitting down on one of the bar stools nearby.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, just a bit woosey,” Jay replied. “Odd feeling, never felt this way until I’ve had a half bottle of Jack. We didn’t have any whiskey, did we?” he asked, slightly slurring his words.
“No, pretty sure,” Tom replied. “Maybe next time we can do shots and beer.”
“Yeah,” Jay badly slurred. “That’d be re-e-e-al ni-i-ce . . .” he started to add, but slumped over with his head to the wooden bar, spark out.
Charlie spoke up loudly as the barkeep came over to check: “He’s OK, just maybe one too many. We’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”
“OK, thanks,” the young barkeep replied.
Tom and Roy picked Jay up from the bar, one on each arm, and carried him out to the parking lot.
“Put him in the back of the truck,” Tom ordered. “Cuff his hands and feet and then throw a tarp over him so we don’t get any stupid questions.”
Charlie and Roy hefted Jay’s limp body into the back of Tom’s pickup. They had cuffs in their pockets, which they took out and clipped onto Jay’s wrists and ankles. There was an old tarp on the truck bed, which they spread over Jay’s body and tucked the sides in under him so the wind wouldn’t catch them. Then they closed the truck’s lift gate and joined Tom in the front.
Tom drove far outside of Austin on US 190 to his small ranch near Cameron. Access to the ranch was by a dirt road. Tom stopped the truck and Roy got out to unlock the steel gate, let the truck in, and relock the entrance. They parked outside Tom’s rundown farm house and dragged Jay in.
Then went directly to the basement, which was a small but fairly well equipped dungeon. Tom had his lips compressed tightly. “Now I’ll get even with that bastard!” he announced to his two friends. “I’ll show him he can’t humiliate me and get away with it!”
“Right on, boss,” Roy spoke up as all three men began to strip off their clothes for the forthcoming fun and games.
Jay didn’t have a clue as to what he was in for.