<strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Simon’s BullCape Merrin</span></strong><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">The quiet chatter and clink of pool balls coming from the other parts of the bar settled down in response to JJ’s announcement against the police. A couple of men at the back of the bar stood near the pool table. One of them had a beer gut, thick mutton chops and a handlebar mustache. His hair was tied back in a black bandana with Jolly Rogers on it. Sunglasses were perched on top of his head—like he’d come in and started drinking before the sun had set. This man cocked his head, looked over at his friend, and said, in a thick Maine accent, “Eh, Jonah, this city slicker—heah—” gesturing toward JJ, “he’s insultin’ Cape Merrin’s finest. You gonnah stand by and lissen ‘a that?” The other man, taller and more muscular than Mutton Chops tossed his pool cue back and forth from one hand to another, looking angry. “Mah brothah’s on the force, pissant—watch your mouth.”</span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">The two men glared for a while and slowly went back to playing pool—the tension in the bar was thick. Most of the people that frequented Simon’s Bull were working class laborers or washed out drunks. The drunks were starting to get a little worried a ruckus was going to spill their beloved spirits and a slow exodus began before Micheal’s impromptu speech began.</span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Some of the bleary-eyed drunks turned their attention to Micheal as they were at the door, leaving. His words precipitated their hasty departure, and after his speech was done, Mutton Chops and Cop’s Brother approached the bar. Their stroll casual, and easy. Mutton Chops leaned across the bar and looked straight at Louie: “Lookit, Lou, we don’ come in heah to hear no crazy talkin’, no bullshit, no smartass loonies. We come in here tah drink and play a lil pool. Simon’s Bull needs a bouncer, or you need tah get St. Agnes’s psych ward out here.” After this little speech, he surveyed the group of people around the bar, his eyes conveying a sort of working man’s disgust at the ridiculousness of these people’s claims. “And I mean, fast,” he finished. Shaking his head, Mutton Chops taps Cop’s Brother and leads him out of the bar.</span><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Cape</span></strong><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"> Merrin</span></strong><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Mutton Chops and Cop’s Brother stumble out into the chill drizzle and are confronted with the sight of a mad woman in a cassock kicking a man repeatedly. They look at each other, shrug, and Cop’s Brother sticks his head back inside the bar door and says, “Ay, Lou! Call the CMPD, some crazy bitch is kicking the shit out of a homeless guy out here.” With a slight sneer, he looks over at some of the people still remaining in the bar and says, “Maybe one of you tough guys wants to come take care of this for the pathetic Cape Merrin cops, eh?” He withdraws his head, and the two men head off toward a battered Chevy pickup with a rifle rack in the back of the cab. </span>