The Last Three

by Almon Chu

waiter yelled, grabbing one of the men by the collar and yanking him from his seat.

  “Move, get the fuck out,” the waiter continued to yell as he herded them out the door with his bat.

  “Goodbye, idiots!” Aleksi yelled after the men, as he finished his cigarette and tossed the butt towards the table behind him.

  We burst out into laughter. Bearne and I leaned to one side as we struggled to see and breathe.

  “Shut the fuck up,” one of the sport fans yelled from a bar stool. The laughter abruptly died. I always hated sudden hostility. I hated it even more when drunk.

  “Fuck off,” I responded as I raised my hand to order another pitcher. A bottle crashed into the middle of our table and sprayed us with glass shard shrapnel and leftover beer.

  “What the fuck,” I said as I rose, my chair tipped over as glass shards fell from my coat and hit the ground with the tiniest of clinks.

  “Who the fuck threw that,” I said, drawing closer to the group of men sitting by the television. They diverted their attention from the screen, five men all wearing identical team jerseys. Berne was still sitting in his seat, carefully watching. Aleksi had risen and was now standing behind me.

  “Sit down, and shut up,” said the one on the far right, in a tone that someone would use to address an uppity child. He spun back on his stool and returned his attention to the television. The insult. The nerve. A familiar rawness overtook my right arm. I turned around and picked up a bottle from an empty table next to me. The other four men were starting to turn their attentions back to the television, assuming that I had listened to the command of their friend. Turning back to their direction I threw the bottle at the head of the man who had tried to order me.

  The bottle struck with a hollow thud and hit the ground intact.

  “What the fuck,” he said as he held the side of his head. His friends got up from their stools and drew closer to me. The man, still clutching the side of his head, picked up the bottle I had struck him with and shattered the end of it.

  “You punk ass pi-”

  “Sit down, and shut the fuck up,” I said. It was at this point that the waiter had returned from kicking out the smokers that were behind us.

  “What the hell are you boys doing,” he yelled, notched baseball bat in hand. It was apparent that he was more than ready to add a few more notches that night.

  Aleksi stood in front of the waiter. “No no no! Calm down man!”

  “We're going to fucking kill you!” screamed the man brandishing the broken beer bottle, clearly not paying any heed to the waiter.

  “Make my fucking day, you fucking pieces of shit,” I yelled as I reached for my knife.

  You're weak. A familiar voice echoed through my mind. Blood and breath hot with anger.

  My knife was halfway unsheathed when Berne came up from behind and put his hand on my arm.

  “Not here,” he said. Gritting my teeth, I unwillingly released my grip and the knife slid back into my coat.

  The waiter pushed Aleksi aside and swung the bat in the direction of the five men. After a brief staring match between the waiter and the men the shattered beer bottle was dropped, and the men backed down.

  “That's right, break it the fuck up,” The waiter said. He grabbed me by the collar and was pulling me in the direction of the door. When it became clear that I was not resisting him he released me from his hold and started nudging me along.

  “I want you guys out,” he said, addressing Aleksi, Berne, and myself.

  “They started it, who the hell throws a beer bottle at someone?” I said.

  “I don't care, get out.”

  “Suka blyad! No way! That's just low! Come on, how is this fair!” Aleksi continued shouting as the waiter herded us towards the exit.

  When we were in front of the exit Berne finally decided to speak.

  “You know this is going to be bad for business,” he said.

  “What? Fuck you,” the waiter said as he picked Berne up by the collar. I had my fingers on the handle of my knife again, ready, waiting to see how this would play out. Berne whispered into the waiter's ear. We watched as his expression changed from anger to confusion to fear.

  “I'm so sorry sir, please-”

  “It's alright,” Berne said.

  We were welcomed back up and sat at a new and unblemished table as the five men were thrown out of the bar.

  “What the fuck!”

  “Shut up, you're lucky to be alive,” the waiter said as he shoved the last man out of the door.

  “What did you tell him?” I asked.

  “The truth,” Berne smiled, “now who wants another pitcher? I'm buying.”

  The rest of the night faded into drunken laughter.

  II.VII

  The plastic stretching screech of packaging tape. The shipment was going out the next morning, and our investors were coming in that day to take a peak before it went. Berne paced back and forth, checking and double checking every detail for signs of imperfection.

  “Aleksi,” Berne yelled into the next room. Aleksi shuffled in from the front a few moments later, a trail of smoke followed him as he walked. A cigarette was in his mouth and a tape gun in his hand.

  “Yeah?”

  Berne's hand met the side of Aleksi's head with a thwack.

  “Don't smoke here.”

  Aleksi let the cigarette drop from his lips and crushed it beneath his foot. A black ashy spot of paper and tobacco leaves marked the floor. I found myself laughing as Aleksi called the new guy over to sweep the newly ashed floor.

  “Sweep faster! Don't leave a speck or I swear I will punch you so hard your mother will not recognize you!” Aleksi screamed at the new guy, following him into the other room as he disposed of the rubbish.

  Berne watched over me as I packed the final box. All the careful forgeries were finally in place to be moved. I was about to pull the tape gun across the top seam of the box when Berne stopped me.

  “Leave this one open,” he said.

  “Alright.”

  There was a bang on the door.

  “Go get it,” Berne ordered.

  My joints ached and cracked as I stood and put down the tape gun. I opened the door to a short old Chinese man dressed in a puffy multicoloured winter jacket. Balding and wrinkled, he shook as he crept inside. I moved aside as Berne shook his hand.

  “Mister Fung,” Berne said.

  “Ah, how are you. Everything very good?”

  Mister Fung was accompanied by two younger men who dressed only in black and white, puffy large jackets, baggy pants. Their hair worn in near identical crew cuts. Each had a glazed look in their eyes; the kind of look you could only acquire after seeing a lifetime's worth of too much. They never said a word but seemed to know their jobs perfectly. One stood outside by the door, refusing to come inside as I gently closed it behind him. The other trailed behind Fung as he was shown around the shop.

  Aleksi came back from the front and stood next to me, we watched Fung and his lackey be toured around our workplace. At the end of the tour Berne showed him our product and the product we sought to imitate.

  “Very good,” Fung said as he put on his reading glasses and held the two products side by side.

  “And these are the two responsible for helping us make these products,” Berne said as he motioned towards Aleksi and myself.

  Fung leaned in close, as if to inspect us as he did the products. I could feel his breath on my neck.

  “Haha,” Fung burst out laughing next to my ear. He took my hand and shook it.

  “Thank you,” I barely managed to say before he was already shaking Aleksi's hand.

  “Very good,” Fung said as he turned to Berne, “everything very good.”

  “I'm glad everything is up to your standards,” Berne said as he extended his hand for a handshake.

  “Yes yes, very good.” Fung extended his hand past Berne's and playfully slapped him on the cheek.
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  “Do not grow careless boy,” Fung said before bursting into laughter. I tensed up. Berne was left momentarily shocked, his hand still hanging in the air.

  Hit him. Such disrespect. Hit him, said a familiar voice.

  I bit down on the inside of my lips as I tried my best not to telegraph my emotions. The blood retreated from my fingers as I clinched my fist. Fung's bodyguard shifted his attention towards me, it was obvious that he picked up on my anger. He stared me down for a moment before he and Berne followed Fung to the door. Berne had managed to shake himself from his shocked state and was sharing the laugh with Fung.

  “Good advice sir,” Berne said with counterfeit happiness.

  The door opened, the cold blew in. Fung looked up at Berne and patted him on the shoulder.

  “We will see you tomorrow,” Fung said before disappearing into the dark cold with his two men.

  The door slammed shut, the warmth began to reclaim lost ground.

  “How I hate that man,” Berne said with half a smile. Aleksi and I laughed.

  “Alright, back to work,” Berne said with a clap.

  “Let me grab the new kid,” I said. My inner lip was bloody but I had calmed down. In the place of my anger was a craving for cigarette and an itch for a strong drink.

  “Oy new kid,” I yelled into the other room.

  He jumped when I stepped into the room.

  “What are you doing?” It was clear that he had something in his hand.

  “Nothing,” he said with a shaky tone and closed the object in his hand with a click. A cellphone. I gave him an odd eye, it was clear he was caught doing something. He looked stressed, and more frightened than I had ever seen him. An odd silence.

  “Well stop having phone sex and