Goodbye Johnny was not well liked, and barely tolerated. His real name was lost in a haze of smoke and waves of awful whiskey. Bad bars felt like home to Goodbye Johnny, especially The Alibi. When the people at the Alibi had enough of his meanness, someone would start interrupting him, "Goodbye, Johnny!". Slumped figures at the bar and tables would pick up the words till the room was chanting, and Johnny left. His nickname may seem unkind, but so was he. He greeted people with insults, and he enjoyed inflicting the deepest cuts possible. He'd goad old Mike about his wife's cancer. When he sat near Stacy who had miscarried, he'd hum a lullaby. He tortured Gerald by making beeping sounds, like a vehicle backing up. Gerald, who had accidentally backed his car over his grandson, damaging his legs. And every taunt was accompanied by his jarring, wheezing donkey laugh. Somehow, Goodbye Johnny knew everyone's sore spots, and they hated him.
But no one did anything. The rules at the Alibi were unbending. Alibis for all and NO FIGHTING, as the sign behind the bar said. Until one September night, after shouting Johnny out of the bar, revenge was plotted. He would get what he deserved.

Old Mike talked to a guy, who provided a very recently dead body. No questions were asked.

Sticky, who was actually named after Ronald Reagan by his very average parents, lifted Johnny's buck knife from his jacket, left side. It was easy as Johnny used to tap that spot when he was nervous.

WhileGerald and Mike argued about who would set the grousome scene, Stacy pulled a glove on to protect Johnny's fingerprints, and stabbed the corpse in the heart, leaving the knife in to explain the lack of blood. They gingerly arranged their dead guy so lividity would match.

They shared a soul-searching gaze with the rest of the patrons, and everyone gave a solmon nod.

With a slight tremor in his hands, Mike called his childhood friend, detective Jim Heart. Jim and his partner parked around the block, waiting for a signal. Gerald stood outside pretending to talk to his wife, watching for Johnny. When Johnny walked past Gerald, Johnny made a beeping sound, and guffawed his horsey laugh as he swung open the door. Gerald dialed Jim, it's time. The room was absolutely still. No one moved or spoke. Mike pointed to the dead guy on top of the bar, "Is that your knife, Johnny?" Mike asked quietly. Johnny saw his own, distinctive knife sticking out of the corpse's chest.

Johnny stood disbelieving, his skin instantly pale and sweaty.

It was his vanity, that knife. It was a carving of johnny's own face, done by a gifted artist on the handle, coated in red laquer.

Johnny looked around and tried to chuckle, but it came out strangled. "Well, at least I have an alibi", he said, raising his hand for a high five, but no one moved or spoke, making it easy for Johnny to hear the sirens. Panic rose, and still they sat and watched. Johnny, alternatnated yelling at them and pleading. Finally, Mike smiled and winked, " No problem Johnny, it's the Alibi. We got ya.

Johnny deflated with relief, sinking into a chair as the cops walked in.

Everyone one was interviewed. Johnny swaggered through his, so confident you could smell it. It smelled strangely like teen spirit.

When the police approached Johnny with cuffs, he argued as they secured the cuffs, he stuttered out that he had an alibi.

The police told him that everyone had said Johnny was there, and that it was Johnny's knife..

As they walked him across the room, Gerald held the door and called out cheerfully, "Goodbye, Johnny!"

Stacy and Mike joined in, then they all took up the cry

"Goodbye, Johnny", echoed into the dark...

And good riddance.