The Stranger at Sam's Bar

         Sam had been the bartender at the Bent Elbow pub for the past fifteen years and despite having seen some crazy shit he knew that, someday, something or someone would come through that door and one-up everything he'd seen before, and he'd seen the moon landings when he was a kid. As he cleaned some of the glasses between orders, he got the feeling that, whatever was going to happen, it would happen that night.

         "Tonight's the night," he said to Joe, a regular.

         Joe replied with a simple, 'yep', having had just enough beer to 'not give a damn'.

         It wasn't three minutes later when the front door swung open just hard enough to draw Sam's attention. Looking over he saw the man who had just walked in.

         "That'll be him," Sam said after sizing up the stranger.

         Joe slowly turned around and stared at the man for a while.

         Then the stranger began heading toward the bar and Joe, having completed his survey of the man, said, "Yep. See you tomorrow, Sam."

         It was clear that Joe really wanted no part in whatever was coming. As the man got closer to the bar Sam noticed that his right arm seemed limp and it seemed to be weighing him down. Joe walked out the door as the stranger sat down at the bar and put his arms on the surface, the right one landing with a heavier 'thud' than would be expected.

         "What can I get you?" Sam asked further taking the stranger in.

         The man couldn't have been much more than 25 or weighed any more than 120lbs. soaking wet. He was wearing glasses, an old jean jacket, and dark jeans with little to make him stand out save for the snow white gloves he wore.

         "Got any ciders?" he asked, sounding weary.

         "Sure. Apple or pear?" Sam replied.

         "A pint of pear, please," the stranger said.

         In short order Sam had poured the drink and set it in front of the man. The man was just finishing his drink when the bar door slammed open. Everyone but the stranger turned to look at the door before swiftly averting their gaze upon realizing who it was. The new arrival walked with thundering footsteps toward the bar causing tables throughout the room to shake.

         "Evening, Harold," Sam said as calmly as he could, always having felt uneasy about the regular, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

         "Move," Harold grunted at the stranger, ignoring Sam completely.

         The man then spun around on the stool and set his left elbow back on the bar.

         "Why?" the man said.

         "That's my seat," Harold said.

         "Really?" the man replied, sizing up Harold who loomed over his head, "I didn't see your name on it."

         "Give me a reason not to slug you," Harold growled.

         "You wouldn't hit a man with glasses would you?" the stranger said, grinning almost nervously.

         "No," Harold replied, "I'd hit him with my fists."

         Harold then took a swing at the man. Before Harold could make contact though, the man grabbed Harold's fist with his right hand and stopped the attack cold. The grin fell off the stranger's face as he lowered Harold's fist for him.

         "You do not want to fight me," the man said.

         "You think you can take me?" Harold shouted as he swung at the man again.

         This time the stranger simply dodged the attack and jabbed Harold in the side. There was a faint crack heard and Harold clutched at where the man had struck.

         "It's only a fracture," The stranger said, "I could have done much worse."

         Harold was infuriated and lunged at the man, managing to grab the man by the jacket. He then proceeded to drag the stranger along the bar before throwing him across the room and out the window. Satisfied, Harold walked back to the bar and sat down on his stool before ordering a drink. As Sam set the drink in front of Harold he cautiously pointed toward the window.

         Harold looked over and grunted, "Put it on my tab."

         As Harold was taking his first sip the door burst open again. Everyone turned toward the door, eyes wide as they saw the stranger standing there. His entire outfit had cuts and tears all over it and he was bleeding a little in a few places. As everyone stared the stranger stood there and glared at Harold.

         "Back for more?" Harold said, leering.

         The stranger said nothing but tore off his left sleeve.

         "Ooh, think you're a tough guy huh?" Harold sneered.

         The stranger then tore of his right sleeve and the already silent room seemed to grow even quieter. All eyes were drawn to the stranger's freshly revealed arm. It shone silver in the light and an intricate Celtic knot was painted around the upper arm. The stranger never took his eyes off Harold as he slowly advanced. The stranger stopped just three feet short of Harold as he got off his stool.

         "You think that armour will help you?" Harold jeered, "Must have cost a pretty penny, huh? Especially with that 'tattoo' on it. Why don't you just give up? I'd hate to damage something so fancy."

         "Fat chance, lard-ass," the stranger replied, "Bring it."

         Harold, having had just about enough of the stranger, swung hard with a right hook. The punch never met its target because the stranger had deftly swung his own right hook at nearly the same time. The two fists collided and Harold's fist rebounded off the solid steel. As Harold went to nurse his hand the stranger come back quickly with his left hand and threw several punches into Harold's gut. Harold then roughly grabbed the stranger and threw him to the floor before kneeling on his chest.

         "Let's get rid of that armour," Harold said, "Even this up again."

         Harold grabbed the stranger's forearm and tried to pull off the armour. Heaving with all his might Harold realized it would not come off that easily.

         "You've got this on way too tight," Harold complained.

         Then he wedged his fingers under the forearm's largest plate and pulled as hard as he could. The steel creaked and complained while the stranger continued to try to get Harold off himself. Eventually the screws holding the plate on gave up the ghost and with a loud ping the plate came off.

         "What the hell are you?" Harold yelled a moment later as he leapt back off the stranger, "You're a freak!"

         The stranger calmly got up and said, "No, I'm an inventor."

         Everyone stared at what the missing plate revealed. Where there should have been bare skin there was more steel, this time in the shape of cables, wires, and 'muscles'. Everyone in the bar watched silently as the stranger grabbed Harold by the shirt and hoisted him over his head, a feat made more impressive since the stranger was nearly a foot shorter than Harold. Then the stranger carried Harold over to the bar, slammed him down onto it and slid him along the bar like a served drink. Harold's impressive momentum then took him straight out the window the stranger had gone through earlier.

         The stranger then put a small stack of bills on the counter and handed Sam a business card saying, "Call me if he ever comes back."

         Sam looked over the card and found nothing but a phone number. When he looked up again the stranger had managed to pick up his plate and reach the door.

         "What's your name?" Sam asked.

         The stranger merely smiled and said, "That's a little secret I like to keep."

         With that the stranger vanished into the night. Sam then turned his attention to the bills. He counted out everything and found there was more than enough to replace the window. What caught Sam's eye was the single bill at the bottom of the stack with a note paper-clipped to it. The note read, 'Keep this in a safe place. It'll be worth a fortune for your grandkids." Sam read the note twice more before smiling and pocketing the both the note and the crisp, vintage, Canadian $2 bill.