Dangeruss & Tazer

Jonathan Toews needed a drink or two real badly. He sat at his favorite bar in Downtown Chicago, a place known as the “Hawk’s Nest”. It was a popular bar, if not the most popular bar in the city. Tourists, who were old enough, often came to have a drink here.

The bar happened to be packed, which made total sense, because it was a Friday night. He sat alone. He was gazing downward at the wood surface. He sniffled to himself, struggling to hold back his tears. He’d lost his best friend.

It had been exactly two hours, since the female officer had broken the news to him about his best friend’s disappearance. Patrick Kane had been kidnapped. But why?

He lifted the pint of bubbling Bud Light beer to his mouth and sipped the sweet liquor of the God, Dionysus. It was only his fourth, but he still felt completely sober. As he drank, around him the intoxicated patrons danced, partied and goofed off. A few of them stood up on tables. One man had stripped his shirt off and was waving it around in the air like a lasso. The sight only made Jonathan’s stomach twist in knots, making him feel light-headed and nauseous.

Another man entered the restaurant and sat down next to the Blackhawk forward. He seemed concerned about Jonathan. He didn’t make it obvious, but he tossed a few glances in the hockey player’s direction.

He had a tight-fitting athletic shirt on that made his muscles bulge outward. He was small with a mop of curly dark brown, almost black-ish hair on top of his head. He wasn’t black, but it was clear to Jonathan that we had descended from African ancestors. Maybe one of his parents was black and they’d married a white mate. He looked kind and gentle.

He gestured to the bar keep and ordered a Bud Light as well. After the bartender turned his back, the man rotated around and finally faced Jonathan.

“Hey, man, you don’t look so good?” he spoke.

Jonathan set his beer down, rather sloppily. He looked up at this stranger. “Do I know you?”

“No. You don’t. Well, maybe you don’t. The name’s, Russell.” He held out a hand, kindly out to the Blackhawk to shake.

Jonathan eyed the hand, suspiciously. Russell shrugged and dropped his hand.

“It’s okay, dude. Meeting a Seattle Seahawk can be crazy sometimes!”

Seattle Seahawk? Something inside of the Chicago Blackhawk’s mind ignited with curiosity. He suddenly cracked a small smile.

The bar keep returned with the beer for Russell.

“Russell Wilson? The quarterback for the NFL team. I remember you now. We had a Super Bowl viewing party in the UC and had the game on.”

Russell made a royal gesture with his hand, dipping his head lightly in the process. “It is I.”

“I actually rooted for the Seahawks. Patrick didn’t, he----” The hockey player broke off, looking down. He fought off the tears, screwing his face up. He shook his head and returned his gaze upward. “He wanted the Broncos to win!”

Russell cocked his head in interest. Jonathan could tell that he figured out something was wrong with him. But he respected the privacy and didn’t press for answers. Instead, the football player grabbed his beer and took a big gulp.

“What’s your name? Surely you can tell me that?!”

“Jonathan Toews. I’m the captain for the Chicago Blackhawks!”

“Hockey? Right?”

“Yeah, the NHL.” He put emphasis on the “H”.

Russell took another sip. He faced Jonathan, who was now showing bewilderment on his face.

“So, if you’re from Seattle, why are you here in Chicago?”

Russell cracked a smile, laughing. “Business trip, actually. That and I have family, who reside here. They are fans of the Blackhawks, honestly.”

“We try our best to please our fans.” Jonathan was beginning to chuckle now.

And after a few minutes, the tension passed. Russell Wilson and Jonathan Toews became close bar buddies.