“Are you sure this is the place?” Straight asked, rubbing the back of his head.

Dago looked down at the map. “It’s a little hard to tell, but I think so.”

“Are you sure it’s not just wishful thinking?” Mulligan added.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dago asked.

Mulligan swept his arm out toward the business sign that read, THE FISHERMAN’S POLE.

Straight scrunched his mouth before replying, “It does look kinda like a gay bar.”

“Ya, and?” Dago said, his arms crossed before him as he glared at Straight.

“I’m just saying that it does seem kinda like your type of place.”

“I’m not gay! I don’t like getting fucked in the ass.”

There was a moment of silence as both Straight and Mulligan avoided eye contact with Dago.

“Okay. I liked getting fucked in the ass, just not by dudes.”

Straight tried not to say anything, but Mulligan couldn’t help himself.

“What about,” was all he could get out before Dago cut him off.

“How many times have I told you, Mulligan? Just because a chick has a dick does not make her a man.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

“What about the nurse back on P3?” Mulligan asked.

“That was only a blow job.”

Now it was Straight’s turn to say something, which he did with just a raised eyebrow and eyes full of judgment.

“Okay. We may have done more than that, but those were desperate times, and I wasn’t the one getting fucked in the ass. When you think about it, there’s not much difference fucking a man in the ass versus fucking a woman in the ass.

“Can we change the subject?” Mulligan asked.

“I’m all for that,” Straight said.

“Good. Grouchy said it was triggering his memories of being fucked up the puppet hole.”

“Grouchy? Are you seeing that puppet again?” Dago asked.

“Ya. He’s over there next to the trashcans shaking and rocking back and forth.”

“Mulligan, I think it’s time to take your medicine.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, you really need to.”

Mulligan stood there striking his best Peter Pan pose, daring Dago to try to make him.

“How many times have you taken your meds today?” asked Straight.

Mulligan shrugged, “I don’t know, twelve?”

“Twelve?” Straight turned toward Dago. “How many times have you asked him to take them?”

“Three or four. I’m not sure.”

“That sounds better,” Straight said. “Mulligan, have you been hitting your meds button more than just when Dago asks you to?”

“No,” Mulligan replied sheepishly.

“So, does three or four sound right to you?”

“I guess,” Mulligan said with a shrug.

“You guess?” Straight asked.

Mulligan shrugged again.

“Okay. Looks like we’re going with four. Now, how many times a day are you supposed to take it?”

“Like once or twice a week. They want to work me up to once a month, but they need to work out the dosage first, and if I’m being honest, I’m not really having much luck with the schizophrenic meds. The anti-psychotic seem to be working okay, but they make my brain run a little slow.

Straight and Dago just stood there, slacked jawed. This was the most intelligent and well thought out thing Mulligan had said since they ran into him, but he had also been more out of it than they had seen him in a while. Yet he did seem a lot better than how they had first found him. Fuck it, Mulligan had already taken four times the recommended amount, or was it eight? Either way, one more couldn’t hurt. “Hey, Mulligan. How about you hit that ned button one more time for good luck?”

“Yes, boss,” Mulligan said, hitting the button on his arm, but he didn’t actually hit it, he just pretended. He wasn’t going to let anyone take Grouchy away from him, not even himself.

“So what now? Do we go in?” Straight asked.

“Not sure. The map doesn’t say. Maybe what we’re looking for is out here.

Straight shrugged, his arms crossed, “Could be.”

“Into the unknown motherfuckers,” Mulligan shouted, with his arm out in front of him and his finger leading the charge as he headed for the establishment’s doors.

Dago looked at Straight with concern in his eyes before taking off after their daffy companion.

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Straight tapped him on the shoulder, getting his attention and showing him his drawn gun.

Fuck. Dago drew his rifle. Straight was right. They had no idea what they were walking into.

Mulligan burst through the doors of the Fisherman’s pole. “Homos, I’m home.”

All eyes turned to Mulligan as the room erupted into silence.

Dago’s hands went up, burying his face in shame and embarrassment. Two emotions that Dago did not feel easily.

What they had hoped was another empty building was, in fact, packed with people. People who looked pissed off. The groan of metal chairs across the hard wood floor indicated that more than a few had risen to their feet or were getting damn well ready, too.

Dago jumped in front of the armored idiot. “Hold on. Hold on.” He pushed out his hands with each phrase as if he was trying to hold back the rising crowd. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Mulligan said.

Dago cast a glance over his shoulder at him. “Dude, you’re legally retarded,” he said under his breath, but the room’s acoustics had no problem carrying it to the furthest corners in the stillness.

“Ya, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Dago looked back at the crowd and addressed them with a shrug. Mulligan’s statement had spoken more than his words could.

The crowd did not look nullified. Straight’s finger tensed next to his trigger. He wasn’t a big fan of having to shoot civilians, but he’d be ready to use the gun as a show of aggression if he had to.

“Look. I’m sorry my friend said what he did, but you all look like understanding homosexuals and lesbians,” he added, noting the women in the room. “I’m sure…”

He was cut off by a burly man in the back. Dago would have described him as a power bear.

“Were not fucking fags.”

And there it was. Straight knew letting Dago do the talking was going to backfire on him. Straight raised a hand and stepped forward. “Hey everyone. I think the problem here is that my friends were confused by the name of your fine bar. I’m sure you can see why they would become confused. I mean, The Fisherman’s Pole does sound like it could be a gay bar.”

“It’s named after our lord and savior Jesus Lee. And this ain’t no bar, it’s a goddamn church!”

Straight put his hands up. Fuck, fuck-fuck. Time to back-peddle. “I’m real sorry. I saw the beer on tap, and the bar, and you all drinking and just thought…” Then he realized the piece of the puzzle he had been missing and almost slapped his forehead with the thought of it. “I didn’t realize you were in the middle of renovating the place.”

“We’re not,” the man turned to Dago and asked, “What’s wrong with your friend? Is he retarded or something?”

“Uh, no,” Dago replied.

“That’s me,” Mulligan said.

Dago gestured for him to calm dawn and lie low. Mulligan had no idea what Dago was gesturing. Luckily, the man broke in.

“We’ll get to you in a moment, soldier boy.”

A pregnant woman stood up with much fuss, bringing her pint of beer with her. “Why the hell is he dark and shit?”

Dago had already singled her out of the crowd as one of the ladies he would consider putting his dick in. Now, after seeing the size of her massive belly, he was sure of it. Dago considered being pregnant the ultimate in birth control.

“Is he an auto mechanic?” the lady asked.

“Huh, what?” Dago said as he puled his pants back up in the fantasy he was having.

“Hell no, he ain’t no mechanic. You ever see cooter with that much grease on him? There’s only two reasons someone would slather that much grease on themselves before they walked into what they thought was a gay bar. One, to keep yourself from getting anally penetrated by them demon homos, or you’re into some damn kinky shit that I can’t even imagine.”

“Fuck, that’s some damn good thinking, Earl.”

Earl gave a little nod back in acknowledgment before taking a sip off his beer. “Now what I want to know is which one is it?”

The room fell silent as all attention had turned toward Straight. He hadn’t felt this kind of pressure since that time he got drunk and passed out in that dumpster.

“So, which one is it? Are you a fucking genius or a goddamn pervert?”

Straight’s eyes darted from person to person each time meeting an icy stare back. “I don’t like being fucked in the ass,” He blurted. It wasn’t exactly true. He’s never tried it and since he wasn’t Catholic, he’d never had it thrust upon him.

The crowd eased up. “No. No. I don’t reckon any man in his right mind would,” the man said, hanging his head.

It was the pregnant woman who spoke up again after downing her half full stein in a single gulp. “What about soldier boy?”

“She’s right,” said the man. “You may not be queer, but we ain’t kin to no soldiers, either. It might be best if you boys went back the way you come.”

Dago and Straight were pretty sure they wanted to get the hell out of there, but Mulligan, on the other hand, wanted ice cream. And his eyes were on a walk-in-freezer. In reality, it was just the cooler where the kegs were kept, but in Mulligan’s mind it was a frozen treat paradise. Granted even if he was able to find the Triple Mintz Fudge he was so desperately craving he would have no way of ingesting it other than possibly injecting it, which if he had a syringe he would've attempted even knowing it would cause an ice cream stroke that he most certainly not survive a second time.

With all that being said and Mulligan not paying attention, they still needed the next part of the puzzle.

Straight swallowed hard. There were a lot of guns trained on him. “We would love to be out of your hair, but we’re looking for something.”

“Not in here, you’re not,” the man said.

“Look, please.”

“I’ve already asked nicely now, as Luke said in 3:12, ‘Get the hell out of my bar.’” The draw of a compound bow emphasized the man’s point.

“He’s not a soldier,” Dago said, the tension loosening its grip on the room.

“What?” asked the man, confused.

“I didn’t want to say anything before, but he’s not a soldier,” Dago said, throwing a casual thumb Mulligan’s way.

“Yes I am,” Mulligan replied.

Dago continued on without a hint of acknowledgment. “He’s special needs. We’re taking him out today on a treasure hunt.”

“I am too a soldier.”

“If he ain’t a soldier, why is he wearing all that space armor?”

“Oh, that’s just to…”

“Keep him from masturbating in public.” offered Dago.

“Is that true, boy? Is you retarded?”

Dago put up a hand, stopping the man. “Whoa. Special needs, please.”

“My apologies,” said the man, taking off his hat. “Are you special needs, boy?” His voice more somber this time.

Mulligan looked around, confusion all over his face and hidden behind his helmet. “I mean, yes. But I’m still a soldier.” It didn’t help Mulligan’s case that he stomped his foot when he said the last part.

The man frowned. “You sure are, boy.”

An older man in the crowd took off his hat. “I’ve got a brother like that.”

Everyone in the crowd hung their head and nodded, as they remembered someone they knew who was special needs.

Straight had to hand it to Dago. That was a brilliant save.

“Like I was saying, we’re taking our brother on a treasure hunt and the map led us here.”

“Oh shit, did you say treasure hunt? Why the hell didn’t you say that sooner. We had some guy in here the other day asking if he could set some shit up for that.”

“So we’re in the right place?” asked Straight.

“Hell yes you are,” replied the man.

“So you know what we’re supposed to do?” asked Straight.

“Ya,” piped up one of the younger men sitting in the front of the other man. “You just need to…”

A quick smack to the back of the head shut him up.

“What the hell was that for, Jesse?” he said, holding his head and looking back at the other man.

“Don’t ruin the surprise for them. Let them discover it on their own, Jethro.”

“But we don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Dago said.

“Well, let me see what ya got,” said Jesse as he moved through the crowd toward them and motioning the others to sit down. Those who were still standing returned to their seats and their beers, with little concern to the preceding engagement.

Dago pulled out his map and unfolded it. He was reluctant to hand it over, so he folded it up haphazardly so that it exposed the part of the map where they were now. He emphasized it by pointing his finger at it.

“What am I looking at?” Jesse asked.

“That’s your bar.”

Before Jesse could shoot him a glance, Dago corrected himself. “Sorry church.”

Jesse nodded, accepting the apology, then smiled. “Ya, no. You’ve got everything you need.”

“What? Really? We don’t have anything.”

“You guys take a look around. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for,” Jesse stated before returning to his beer and leaving the three at the door.