Oh, you're still here?

That's great. Great. That means I'll actually have to tell you the rest of the story. Present company accepted, of course.

The second time the "Guy" came back was about three weeks later, and boy, did he cause a riot.

I was behind the counter, as usual, but Carlo was on his off day and it was just me, Sheep, and this friend of Carlo's--I keep forgetting his name. Maybe it was Tony, but I doubt it. We'll call him Tony. Basically, he was the smaller, whiter, and more player version of Carlo. Sure, he was better looking than Carlo and had jaw length blonde hair that got in his face every time he swung his head to look at Sheep, but he was the biggest doofus I had ever seen in my life. You would think the way he stared at her, Sheep was the center of Tony's life and the rest of the world was just an afterthought.

So here was Mr. Overbearing, who was hitting on Sheep every time she went around in the evening getting people's orders of extra breadsticks and beverages. And every time she came to the bar for refills, I could see that she was absolutely pissed. I'm not sure if "Tony" could see her look, but I recognized Sheep's expression very quickly as the 'help-me-right-now-with-this-idiot-or-I-will-kill-him'. It was a look that only came up once every two years. I even seen it applied to me sometimes, whenever I pissed her off.

And I'm warning you now, you never want to get a look like that from Sheep. Ever. Nothing good can come from that.

Anyways, the night was still young and the sun hadn't disappeared beyond the horizon when "he" came in. The door burst wide open, determined footsteps from military grade combat boots hit the wooden floor and I knew instantly that "the Guy" had come back. And he wasn't looking pretty.

I don't know if you've ever seen the aftermath of an MMA fighter's face after a total beat down, but the Guy came in looked liked he had just had gone through ten rounds with Anderson Silva. The Guy's bottom lips was totally swollen, his right eye was closed shut by a red blot of skin that had mushroomed off his temple, and there were the familiar bullet sized holes all over his shirt. He had at least two in the chest and three organized in a neat triangle over his abdominal section.

The Guy's dark fringing short cut hair was mussed, and an open gash peaked out from the edge of his hairline. Dried blood pockmarked his upper temple, sort of forming an obscure image of China. I set down the clear glass pint I was shining and put both hands on the counter. I winced when he plopped down onto the bar stool; he didn't look up.

"You know," I began, voice low and hesitant. "If you keep coming in here like this, Tony over there"- I nodded discreetly to the bug-eyed bouncer staring at a leering Sheep "-He might throw you out as soon as he gets so much a glance at you."

I gave him a wry smile, but he still didn't notice. The Guy was looking down at his hands, as if my voice was coming from them. I kept talking, this time adding an edge to my tone.

"If you persist, you're going to make it very hard for my customers to come in here, with you looking like that."

The Guy raised his head, and I could see the simmering embers that were still leftover from God knows where or who he was fighting. The fire in his eyes sparked and bit back at me.

"What customers?"

I opened my mouth to speak. I turned my head and looked at the empty bar before me. Only Carlo's annoying friend Tony and Sheep were the occupants inside the pub. I ground my teeth and smirked at the Guy.

"I still have an image to keep here, you know," I said, "No matter who's here."

"Kid," The Guy began, rubbing his jaw methodically, his fire bright eyes piercing me. "If you're worried about image, you might as well close this dump right away, 'cause this place is a real load of-"

"Okay, okay, stop." I interrupted, "I get the idea...um..." I scratched my chin, staring at the Guy in front of me. His dun tinged eyes drilled into mine.

"What's your name?" I asked. The Guy's working eyelid twitched, and then grew creases. One corner of his bleeding mouth rolled and jumped up, sending a chain reaction across and around his face that resulted in a bark of laughter.

"Kid!" The Guy continued chuckling, his voice sounding like walnuts squelching under a hand nut cracker. His eyes became dark, yet filled with ominous humor. "If I told you my name... I would have to kill you. Right here." He jabbed a solitary finger that was missing it's nail on the bar counter.

We shared an awkward silence for an unbearable length of three whole seconds. Then Sheep saved my sorry backside.

"Hey there." She said, setting down her serving tray with a clatter. It already had three cracks in it. What was one more?

"Hi yourself." The Guy responded, slapping his hand on the counter. "I'll have Scotch this time, boy. And make it snappy."

I raised my eyebrows.

Sheep snickered, "Boy? Ant's already twenty."

The Guy didn't look at her. He didn't look at a lot of things. If he wasn't trying to tear into your soul with his amber eyes, he was staring at the door to the back room behind the counter. He was always staring at something. It reminded me of those pictures of veterans who had been in more than thirty hours of war. Was what it called again?

The thousand mile stare.

That's what the Guy wore on his face. Every time he came in. Every time he went out. He was always staring. And it was unnerving to feel that stare landing on you.

But the Guy was feeling awful chipper this evening; happy enough to take a few stabs at me.

"Twenty?" The Guy began. "And you're running this dump of a bar? I know middle schooler's with better taste and management skills than you."

I dipped my chin, almost colliding into my breast.

"You want that Scotch in a pint?" I tried, but my words were swallowed by his continuing insults.

"No, no, not middle schooler's." The Guy went on, staring at Sheep now. She was forcing a grin. "Babies. Yes, babies on the north side of Oakland have more skills than you. I doubt you could even handle fifty dollars properly, than a trashy place like this. Boy, they could get this joint packed with customers faster than you could say 'Holy-"

"Are you sure you want Scotch, sir!" I heard myself crying out over the Guy, my voice breaking. "Because you sound like you're pretty drunk already."

Knocking over his stool, the Guy stood faster than you could say 'Mary, Martha, and Joseph'.

"I AM NOT A DRUNK!"

Sheep flinched, backing away slightly.

Tony finally realized he was bouncer and came waddling over.

I didn't move. I stared the Guy down and stared at his piercing eyes. I stared at his messed up face. I tried staring into his soul. I failed.

"You know nothing about me!" The Guy went on, fists curled into tight balls of anger. "You know nothing about what's going on in this town!"

Tony, who had made it halfway across the bar to my yelling customer, took one look at the Guy's flesh wounds, glanced at Sheep, and backed away slowly.

The coward.

I did the opposite. I leaned in forward, putting my face out for any potential punches that I knew were coming my way. I spoke harshly, my tone seething with pent up rage.

"You are very right, sir. I don't who you are. I don't care who you are, and I don't care what happens out there." I began, and the moment the words leave my mouth, I know something's wrong with them. "Whatever you do; whatever kind of vigilante justice you're doing out there"-I point a finger out the window of my tavern-"Can stay out there! When you walk in here, you don't bring whatever the heck you were doing out there!"

I could feel my ears burning with heat, and my tongue felt unusually large in my mouth. But I kept going. And as I did, I began to see the real man behind the harsh exterior of this Guy standing before me. I could see that I had made a slight dent in his wall of security, and it was now crumbling around him as I continued.

"I don't care if you're Batman for God's-sake! Whatever you do, you do for your own reasons, and I do it for mine! And you-" I jab my index finger at him forcefully, gritting my teeth. "You don't come in here and make fun of me in my own pub!"

Silence. Not even the sound of the music could be heard. My phone had run out of playlists to run and now it was just awkward stillness that plagued the room.

Tony-useless Tony-stared at Sheep.

Sheep stared at me, astonished my reaction.

I knew she was staring at me, but I held my focus on the Guy, who glared at me, building and repairing the walls I had so harshly torn down. He was getting ready for rebuttal. His twitching fingers told me as much. He bent down, picked up the stool and slammed it back in place underneath the counter. His movements were smooth, but his eyes were as manic and crazy as a wild fire. Sparks leapt from his eyes as he planted his hands on the counter. His target: me.

"You said you didn't care about what happens... out there." The Guy swung an arm and pointed vivaciously out the window. "Well, guess what. You should. You should care about the wives that have to fend for themselves against brutal husbands. You should care that there are men out there, raping young girls and boys." His words started at the roots as a rumble, growing steadily faster and faster until it reached its peak at a roar.

"You should care about the children out there that worry every day and night, not knowing whether if they'll survive another day! You know why you should care about that?"

I heard myself shout back, "No, why?"

"You wanna know why?" The Guy persists. We both scream at each other.

"NO, WHY. TELL ME!"

Then the Guy's voice became quiet--intensely quiet—as he walked closer to the bar and jabs his finger into my chest. I didn't know why I didn't stop him. I didn't know why I didn't tell Tony to throw him out. I stand there, and face the Guy's wrathful words.

"Because whatever happens out there--no matter how hard you try--will always... always find a way to you...in here." He jabs his finger repeatedly into my chest along with each syllable.

"What happens out there will always affect you in here." He repeated it again, but then I noticed something. The Guy's voice is no longer harsh or accusing. It actually turns melancholy. "And you can't stop it from inside here."

The Guy's chest heaved. He sighed.

"While people like you don't care, I do." He slowly backed away, eyeing Tony. Tony looks away, down at his shoes. The Guy returned his wistful gaze on me. "And I clean up this town's trash, one rapist... one drug dealer... and one burglar at a time."

Sheep gains the courage to speak. She cleared her throat, and the Guy's haunting gaze falls on her. Her voice cracks.

"Why can't you leave this to the police?"

The Guy's mouth curled into a sick smile; mocking in nature.

"I'm cleaning the police up, too." The Guy said bluntly, then pointed to his swollen eye. "Where do you think I got this?"

Then the Guy was gone. Out the door and into the street. I could hear Tony sighing in relief and Sheep scolding him. I just stand there, doing nothing. I know most of the stuff was true, what the Guy had said. I did know about the rapists, pill-pushers, and gangbangers out there.

But... but did I care?

I blinked slowly, still seeing the Guy standing in my bar, his accusing eyes drilling and chiseling into my soul. Challenging me.

You should care, the Guy had said. But I did care. I wasn't heartless, nor did I want to ignore the injustices that went on outside of my pub, but...

That 'but'.

But... did I care enough to do something about it? To do what the Guy was doing, or to do... what? File a petition? Because, yeah, that totally works. Bureaucracy down here in Oakland works smoother than guacamole, and the crime is almost as bad as Detroit. I can practically hear a gunshot every night I'm down here in my pub, but I don't flinch. I don't go out to see who got shot or who was shooting.

I'm not that stupid.

But did I care?

Or was I just numb to all the violence. I wiped my nose, not realizing that it had been dripping in my argument with the Guy. Sheep was arguing with Tony, pretty the same stuff that I was going over in my mind at that moment.

"Do you think that guy really does what he says?" Sheep threw out the question. "Do you think-"

"You wanna know what I think?" Tony began, putting his hands in his over sized pants pockets. "I don't care what he does, as long as he's doing something. He's right, you know. Something has to be done about the crime here. Heck," Tony rubs the back of his neck blinking hard. "My younger cousin knows a friend from school who got shot, only a week ago. Gang violence, or something like that."

Sheep shook her head, her sputtering in frustration. "But being a... being some kind of superhero won't help! That guy can't just be a one man army out there, fighting every single criminal on the block! He's gonna get himself killed."

"Hey, Antony," Tony interrupted me from my thoughts. "What do you think about that guy? Crazy or nah?"

I furrow my eyebrows, not overly sure how to respond. I had just got my morality checked by a guy who might or might not be a real life Batman that beats up punks at night. I didn't know what to say, so I just said what was on my mind.

"I don't think the real question is whether we care or not..." I stared out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure of the Guy. I keep talking, muttering more to myself this time than to Sheep and Tony.

"The real question is whether we care enough to do what that guy is doing."