(Below is an excerpt from my newest work, The Brooding Bard. The most popular places to find it are on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble. Happy reading!)

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“Ever seen the show?”
The man sitting next to me attempted to start a conversation.
The interior of the Troubadour was something to behold. If you were standing in the entrance, the left wall was lined with booths and on your right stretched a counter, a treasure trove of alcoholic beverages tempting you from the other side. Lights hung low from the high ceiling, reflecting off the bottles and the mirror that ran the length of the bar top. The size of the room was increased exponentially, thanks to that mirror.
In between the booths on the left and the bar on the right were the tables. Two-tops and four-tops and more chairs than you could count with a passing glance led all the way to the back wall of the room. From there, you could turn right toward the bathrooms or go straight through a large door, leading down a hallway toward the stage in the back. An auditorium took up the entire other half of the bar, with an exit that dumped you onto the sidewalk.
In its day, the Troubadour had been the place to be. But these were hard times. For everyone.
Muffled beats flooded the room, spilling over from the auditorium. The show was in full swing and there was applause after every song. Not a lot, but it was there. Between the people in the stage area and the smattering of patrons in here, I guessed there were forty souls in the bar altogether. The most active Thursday night I’d seen in a while.
“Ever seen the show?” he asked again.
I turned in my seat and regarded the man in the tweed jacket.
Aside from the tweed, he oozed class. Five o’clock shadow; short, dark brown hair; simple gray T-shirt complementing freshly pressed slacks and shoes so polished I could almost see my reflection. He had a glass with ice in it and some sort of dark liquid, but what kind of drink it was eluded me. He had an air of mystery about him.
“Mystery?” I asked, sniffing.
“Damn good cologne. How’d you know?”
“I’m wearing the same thing,” I replied.
“Well didn’t this just get adorable.”
I laughed.
“Never seen the show,” I remarked. “Though I’ve heard it through the walls on a number of occasions.”
Cameron, the bartender, interrupted our little talk. “Sam!” he called, heading over to our section of the bar top. “Sorry about that, I was a little busy.”
I smiled at the redhead that had been “keeping him busy.”
“I see you’ve met Clay,” he continued, gesturing to the man in the tweed.
“Clayton Jones,” the man said, extending a hand.
“Samuel Karde,” I responded, shaking it.
“Clay’s been a regular nearly as long as you,” Cameron said. “Been here since the glory days.”
“I don’t think I’ve been a regular that long,” I said. “It was a little touch and go there for a while.”
“I remember,” he nodded, grabbing a glass and pouring me a pint. “I remember you didn’t like the noise.”
I shrugged. “I hadn’t decided.”
“I was just asking Sam here if he’d ever seen Jordan’s show,” Clay chimed in.
“Have you?” Cameron asked.
I shook my head. “Naw.”
“See?” Cameron told Clay. “He doesn’t like the noise.”
The pint finished pouring and Cameron handed it over. “Winter Lager, imported from up north,” he said. “Tell me if you can guess from where.”
I took a sip and it was delicious. Just the right amount of hoppy.
“No idea,” I said, taking a solid swig. “You know I’m no good at this game.”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes, see if you’ve changed your mind,” Cameron said. “I’ve got something I need to get back to.” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, tromping off back toward the redhead. Obviously eavesdropping, I saw her smile out the corner of my eye and puff out her chest. By the time Cameron was on his way a second later, she’d returned to a facial expression of feigned indifference, focusing on her drink and the frosted windows by the door.
I rolled my eyes and took another swig.
“So!” I said, addressing Clay and getting the conversation back on track. “I take it you like the man’s music.”
“Hell no.”
“No?”
“Man’s a hack,” he said, sipping on his drink. “But people seem to like it.”
“He’s not that bad. Reminds me of a poor man’s Depeche Mode.”
Clay laughed at that and downed the rest of the glass. “You could say that.”
The music stopped in the other room. There was clapping, followed by an announcement I couldn’t make out.
“Intermission,” Clay said. “In case you were wondering.”
I tipped my beer in his direction. “Thanks.”
Clay’s grip on his glass slipped and it fell to the counter, ice spilling across the bar.
“Whoa!” I shouted, jumping backwards off my stool. “You all right there, buddy?”
Clay’s head dipped down before snapping back, as if he were suddenly falling asleep. One of his legs dropped down off the stool and the rest of his body threatened to follow. I set my beer down fast, Winter Lager sloshing up over the edges as I rushed to catch him.
“Cameron!”
Footsteps pounded over behind me as Cameron came around the bar. Clay sucked in a breath and  seemed to snap out of whatever it was.
“Clay!” Cameron said, appearing at my side. “What happened?”
Clay shook his head. “Something...”
“What is it?” I asked. “You all right?”
The floor shook, silencing our questions.
Cameron and I looked around the room in confusion. I noticed the other patrons doing the same.
“Earthquake,” someone mumbled, breaking the spell.
I continued to scan the room.
The windows were frosted over and the band had yet to resume playing. The silence was almost total.
The lights hanging from the ceiling swung softly from side to side, casting odd shadows across the room. For a moment, the only sound was the creaking of the wooden floors.
Clay was staring at the hallway leading to the auditorium. I followed his gaze. If it wasn’t for the quiet, I wouldn’t have heard what he said next.
“Shit.”
The back wall of the room exploded and the bar rocked, sending the people nearest to it flying.
There was a collective scream, drowned out by the sound of bricks and mortar landing heavy on the ground. One of the lights broke free of the ceiling and crashed down onto the tables below. People shouted, running in all directions and bolting for the door.
Another explosion sent flames rocketing out of the hallway coming from the stage. The floor heaved and the wall next to it burst outwards, burning chunks of rock hurling themselves into the crowd and straight toward us.
“Look out!” I cried, shoving both Cameron and Clay to the ground.
A ball of concrete the size of a fist hit me in the face with a cracking sound. The world spun and I pitched to the side, capsizing like a schooner at sea. A bright white flashed in front of my eyes before my head connected with the floor.

Then it was black.
*

Copyright ©2014 Ryan Philbrook