Big Jake and the Maurauders

Out side of the out of the way bar the sounds of engines revving and big burly guys are heard cussing. When the noise dies down on the outside everything on the inside becomes so quiet you could hear Mother Hubbard's dog's stomach growl.

At one table, just of right center of the stage, sat three gentlemen with sweaty palms and beady little eyes. They had a guilty, nervous look; the look of a chicken on the cutting block, and they were keeping their eyes peeled on the swinging half doors of the night club.

They knew, like everyone else, that those engines weren't from a semi just passing through, or a big yellow road working bull dozer. Those engines were from Big Bad Jake's and the Dynamic Duo's Harley Davidson's and when they were in town heads would roll.

This trio of bikers didn't like the over-paid, disrespecting, four-eyed, suit wearing freaks that would populate their favorite comedy club. You laughed when they laughed, you stood up when they stood up and you better be drinking the same bottle of water as they were.

Tonight was a special night for Wilma, it was her first night on stage. This could be her ticket out of this three biker town if only she could be discovered by a big time talent scout.

The swinging half doors were vioently swung open and through it came a half falling and half trying not to fall man wearing a Leisure suit and carrying a briefcase. Or should I say the talent scout for the biggest and best talent agency this southern side of the Mississippi river. In other words, he probably was also scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Jake and the boys were a little late because they used more than a little effort to bring the scout to see Jake's girl perform on stage.

Wilma looked a little frazzled because of the three suits that had been just a little on the unappreciated side of her humor. One little look at them and Jake knew all to well what was going on. He walked over to the table carrying the scout to the same table as the hecklers and sat the scout and himself down.

"She's very funny isn't she boys?" said Jake.

They all nodded their heads.

"I can't," resounded Jake, "I can't hear you. Now speak up before I rip you tongues out."

"Yes!"

The talent scout placed his briefcase on the table, fumbled with the latches and then opened it up. He shuffled around some papers and pulled out the standard management contract, knowing full well that his boss wasn't going to like this woman's act. He did have a life to save...his own.

Wilma finished up her set to the false bravados of the intimidated applause, but she was happy with actually being able to scratch this off her things to do in life list.

But Jake wasn't to happy with knowing that his girl was being disrespected by a couple of drunk yuppies. He stood up, grabbed one of the suits sitting at his table and made the poor soul stand up. Jake then unscrewed the cap to his bottle of water and poured it on the man. If that wasn't enough or to add insult to a would be injury, he dumped the man's drink also on his head.

The man must have been feeling the liquid courage in his glass take on a life of its own and swung on Jake. The man didn't have a deathwish, he was just tired of being pushed around like the ninety-eight pound weakling on the beach getting sand kicked in his face. Boy did he pick the wrong time and the wrong guy to come to terms with his manhood.

Jake caught the man's hand in the palm of his and gave it a mighty squeeze bringing the man to his knees. The man pleaded but it was to late for Jake snapped. Jake picked the man up over his his head and spun around three times before Wilma jumped in to try and calm down Jake.

"Jake, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep beating up all of these people for not having the same taste as you. Please put him down".

Jake heard her words, and he thought things through for a minute and he put the man back on his feet and straightened out the man's suit. Then the the three bikers and Wilma made their grand exit to never be seen again, in these parts that is.

The End