No Sleep Til Brooklyn

Write at the Merge gave us a picture of a sign for Millie's Tavern and the Beastie Boys song "No Sleep Til Brooklyn" this week.  Don't ask me where it came from cuz I don't know, but here's my response to this prompt.  It's a bit rough, and a bit longer than it should be, as I didn't get as much time to edit as I wanted.  Stupid work and stupid road construction level traffic.

“No sleep – til Brooklyn,” the radio blared.  My buddy and I were on our way there, following that old Beastie Boys song for spring break.  When you go to school in a nowhere town in northern Georgia, there isn’t much to do.  We were crossing some mountains in West Virginia when Nate decided he was hungry, so I agreed to stop in the next town where we saw a restaurant.

I don’t remember the town but I remember the pub.  Millie’s Tavern.  Nate loved it the moment he saw the sign.  He loved those old, hole in the wall places.  Millie’s fit that.

We went in and sat down.  The waitress came and took our orders.  She plopped down two mugs of beer and took off into the kitchen.  Nate and I were the only two in the place so it didn’t take long for our food to arrive.

As we polished off our meal two girls walked in.  They were hot.  I’m talking movie star, fashion model hot.  I was so stunned when they sat down at our table I couldn’t tell them my name until Nate kicked me.  When they started flirting with us I almost forgot I had a girlfriend.  Nate didn’t, so when the girls hinted at giving him some action, he was all over that.

“I’ll be back in a while.  No sleep til Brooklyn.”

He all but ran after the girls.  I settled back in my chair.  I don’t think it was five minutes after Nate left that this little old lady with a suitcase size handbag walked in and made her way to me.

“Where’d they go?”

“Who?”

“Those two girls that just walked in, dunderhead.”

“They took off with my friend to a back room.”

“Damn it.  Here.  Take this.  Stay behind me and keep that handy.  It may save a life tonight.”

She thrust a bottle of water at me.  I took it on instinct.  She took off toward the back.  I trailed after feeling ridiculous for following this little grandma.

She stopped at the door where it was obvious Nate and the girls had gone.  Then, this old woman pulled a sawed off shot gun out of that handbag.  She stepped back, hiked up her skirt  and kicked it in.

The scene was straight out of a John Carpenter movie.  Nate’s blood was raining down on him and the girl at his neck like confetti in Time’s Square at New Year’s.  The other girl was lapping it up off of them.

Grandma swung the shotgun as if it were a Louisville Slugger, knocking both girls away from Nate.

“Don’t let them get past you!” as the girls scrambled to get away.  The naked fear in their eyes seemed so odd being inspired by this old woman.  She flipped the shotgun back around and calmly blew a hole through the chest of each girl.  Then, as they struggled to move away from her, Grandma pulled a machete out of that handbag and cut off their heads.  The bodies dissolved into dust.  She wiped her hands off and turned to Nate.

“Hand me that water.”  Numb, I followed her direction.  When she dumped it on Nate’s neck he began to scream.  She slugged him across the temple knocking him out.

“I hate it when they scream like that.  Gives me a headache,” she rummaged in her handbag and dug out several crosses and a bandage.  Grandma wrapped Nate’s neck and hung a cross around it.  She handed me the other one.

“Put that on.  That’ll keep you safe until the glamour wears off.  Once that’s gone, none of these bitches can find you again unless you’re stupid enough to follow them.  Your friend will be fine.  Let him sleep tonight and by morning there won’t be any signs of the attack left.”

With that, Grandma picked up her things and clomped out of the room.

We never made it to Brooklyn.