Laila stepped out of the forest and looked down at the place Cestohowa. Gently, the path continued through pastures and led to a dusty road. Small wooden houses crowded around the market square. Laila saw a gas station, a fast food restaurant and the dirty brown building with the big saloon doors—the pub.

Dick had aptly described him. The red neon sign was off, but even from a distance the name was easy to read. 'DRINK PALACE'. A name could not be more inappropriate. The name was more like Vegas or New York. At least, however, the name guaranteed a certain size. According to Dick, a maximum of 20 people fit in the pub. Laila was curious to meet the megalomaniac pub owner.

Her Porsche was far from visible. Well, at least she still had a chance to freshen up a bit. Laila put the last few meters at a relaxed pace. She stepped inquisitively through the large saloon door and stood almost in the dark. The pub was barely lit. Quiet country music dangled through the room. The entire interior was decorated in dark wood tones, which had already experienced better times.

Behind the counter stood a fat man. Under his armpits, huge sweat stains had formed on his plaid shirt. Between his fat fingers he turned a glass and a cloth. From the corner of his mouth hung a toothpick. He stared at Laila in disbelief. Some tables were staffed by middle-aged farmers. All wore dungarees and sturdy shoes.

They, too, stared at Laila as if she had grown another head. Laila paused briefly in the middle of the room, giving them the opportunity to breathe extensively. At the counter, three men the size of Dicks turned their heads to Laila. Her eyes were not disbelieving, curious-interested.

Laila asked the landlord about the toilets. He pointed backwards with the glass in his hand. Laila followed the direction indicated. She almost expected to find a bucket on which the guests had to do their business, but she was disappointed. The sanitary area was small and old, but okay.

Laila guessed that he had not been used by a woman in a long time. In the sink rusty traces pulled over the porcelain and the faucet was difficult to turn up. Everywhere stuck a thick layer of lime. Laila checked the fit of her curly mane and powdered her shiny forehead and nose. That should be enough. Even with just a touch of makeup, she seemed like an exotic bird of paradise.

Laila went to the counter. The excited murmur stopped abruptly as she entered the taproom. She released two bar stools between the three men and sat down. The innkeeper stared unabashedly at her decolletage. "Will I get something to drink here?" The landlord was still polishing the glass between his fingers, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Whisky" ordered Laila. He held the glass under one of the many whisky bottles hanging from the bar above the bar. Unsure, he pushed the glass over the polished counter to Laila. She finished the glass with a pull. The whisky was really good. It barely burned and tasted of vanilla and oak. Laila pushed the empty glass back. "One more, please." The three men put their heads together, whispering.

Finally, one of them left the group and approached Laila. Aha, Laila thought, first contact with the natives. He handed Laila the filled glass. "You are not from here?" Laila looked at the golden liquid in her glass. She smiled. "No, I only visit a friend." The man stood in silence, undecided. One of his buddies nudged him. Laila looked closer at the three.

They looked like former football players. All three of stout strong stature with slanderous chin part. The only difference was in her hair color. Straw blonde, medium brown and deep black. They wore blue jeans and tight T-shirts that put their muscular torso well in scene. They'd probably slammed their high-school buckles and sat frustrated in the pub every night, figuring out what would have happened to them if they had put on a raincoat for their mates.

The three became more trusting and surrounded Laila. She studied her attentively. "And who are you, the Marx Brothers?" Laila finished her glass and picked it up briefly. The landlord hurried to refill it. The black-haired man leaned casually against the counter. "No, I'm Jo, the blonde is Tom and the giant baby is called Mike." Laila turned on her bar stool and rested her arms on the counter. "So, Jo, Tom and Mike. are you the local reception committee? "

The three grinned and ordered four whiskys from the landlord. The fat man grumbled something incomprehensible and put three glasses and a bottle in front of her. Jo seemed to be the spokesman for the trio. "What friend are you visiting?" Laila reached for her glass. "Robert Marshall." The three laughed in disbelief. "Crazy Dick, are you kidding?"

The giant baby knocked loudly on the thighs. Laila took off her jacket and put it on a free bar stool. Jo and Tom looked at her eagerly. Mike's eyes remained fixed on Laila's bosom. "Beware, sweetie, or I'll let her out." Jo and Tom neighed with laughter. Mike closed his mouth insulted. Still laughing, Jo filled her glasses. "Seriously, what does a bride like you want from our Crazy Dick?"

Laila thanked him for the whisky. "Why do you call him Crazy Dick?" Tom leaned closer to her. "He has never had anything to do with a woman, lives totally withdrawn in the woods, was the absolute high flyer at school, could have studied with a scholarship at every university in the country, but no, our sensitive soul does not dare get out. " He tipped down the whisky. Instantly Jo took up the topic.

"He's still a virgin, shit, he has not digested the prom of the Prom until today." The three of them toasted each other and shouted "Get away". Heads wide, they tumbled down the whisky. Laila slowed down a bit. The three were certainly good in training, unlike Laila. "What trip?" Laila wanted to know and refilled her glasses. Jo moved even closer. Laila let it shut.

"He had a date with the most beautiful girl in the city for a prom, they had a really good chance of becoming Queen and King of the Ball, and just before the announcement, Dick suddenly went bad."

"Sandy escorted him out into the fresh air He drove Dick over the heap and loaded them into the car, Crazy Dick nearly falling in. The next day he was found unconscious in the ditch, with a bullet in his leg and numerous bruises all over his body He could not remember anything, Sandy was never found. " Tom hurried with the sequel.

"Sandy's friend knew they wanted to do it that night." He chuckled. "Well, we do not think he got shot, he's never had a girlfriend again, they say he built a shrine in his house, the photo of him and Sandy shot on prom, stands by it. " He shrugged. "Since then we call him Crazy Dick." Laila turned to Mike. "And, giant baby, can you speak too?" Mike grinned stupidly and kept staring at Laila's bosom. He spoke slowly, as if the words were bothering him. "It's not healthy not to use your thing, the stuff jams and gets bad."

Jo and Tom shook with laughter. Even Laila could not resist a grin, such logic. Well wait, you false snakes. You get what you deserve. Laila slid off the bar stool. Jo ran a finger over her bare upper arm. "Well, baby, you're a real grenade, what do you mean, you do not want to go out with us, there's nothing to be had with Crazy Dick."