until he pointed it out. One of those annoying slips where you end up sharing more information than you intended.
“He passed away. Some time ago,” I said.
He gave me a slight nod. It was the tough guy equivalent of “I’m sorry”. I appreciated it.
“I’ll leave you to your sandwich,” he said as he walked off.
I wolfed the sandwich down, only pausing for the occasional swig of my drink. The bartender went back to cleaning glasses and checking on the other patrons in the bar. There were only two other people in here at the moment, besides the bartender and myself. I guess a couple of people had left since Danny gave us the head count. Truth be told, if I were relaxing in my favorite bar and some Feds walked in, I would probably leave too. Concerning the two men that remained, there wasn’t really anything remarkable to share.
The first looked to be in his late seventies, his wrinkled reddish skin making him look a little like a dried prune. He was sitting further down on the main bar with his whole body slumped forward almost as if he was about to fall asleep. He was peering into the bottom of his empty glass, clearly searching for some great secret that he hoped to find hidden there. The second man was sitting at one of the tables. He was in his late thirties and wearing a gray suit, his tie pulled loose and to the side haphazardly. On the table in front of him was a half empty bottle of Scotch, and judging from the man’s expression, he meant to finish it off. He was turning his drink back and forth in his hand, watching the reflections play against the glass. The man was obviously having a bad day and clearly hoping that some sort of answer to his troubles would present itself. I didn’t want to stare, so I brought my attention back to my Coke and the bowl of mixed nuts.
The bartender, noticing how quickly I devoured my first sandwich, was kind enough to supply me with a second. He dropped it on my plate and refilled my Coke from the soda gun. He then looked up to meet my eyes before speaking again.
“I assume those badges that came through earlier were with you?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” I smiled, “Luckily for us they had to get back to the office and do some paperwork.”
He seemed to ponder the thought for a moment before continuing, “And those unsavory characters that they chased out back. Will they be returning?”
The expression on my face remained steady and unchanged. But sometimes not reacting to something tells the other person exactly what you wanted to hide. I could see the recognition in the bartender’s eyes. I figured there was no reason to stay quiet now.
“They won’t be bothering anyone anymore,” I tried.
“I see,” he started, “The boss would appreciate that.”
I gave him a nod but didn’t bother to respond. He obviously considered them a threat to his boss, his bar, or his patrons. Either way I got the impression that they weren’t the type that he wanted around. I watched his features lighten slightly as I think he started to dislike me less.
“You’re welcome to wait here for as long as you want. But I wasn’t lying earlier. I really have no idea when or even if the owner will be in today,” he said.
“I appreciate it. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to wait around a bit, just in case he shows,” I said.
He shrugged, giving me the universal symbol for “no skin off of my back”, as he turned to walk away. Stopping after a couple of steps, he turned back to face me.
“I’m Jim. Let me know if I can get you anything else Bruce,” he said.
I nodded thanks as he turned and walked down the bar returning to his cleaning duties. I ate my second sandwich slower, watching Jim work as I did. It was clear that he took a great deal of pride in his job. He took his time with each glass, making sure that they were spotless. As I watched him I realized two things about the Cold War bar, the first being that they took their alcohol very
“He passed away. Some time ago,” I said.
He gave me a slight nod. It was the tough guy equivalent of “I’m sorry”. I appreciated it.
“I’ll leave you to your sandwich,” he said as he walked off.
I wolfed the sandwich down, only pausing for the occasional swig of my drink. The bartender went back to cleaning glasses and checking on the other patrons in the bar. There were only two other people in here at the moment, besides the bartender and myself. I guess a couple of people had left since Danny gave us the head count. Truth be told, if I were relaxing in my favorite bar and some Feds walked in, I would probably leave too. Concerning the two men that remained, there wasn’t really anything remarkable to share.
The first looked to be in his late seventies, his wrinkled reddish skin making him look a little like a dried prune. He was sitting further down on the main bar with his whole body slumped forward almost as if he was about to fall asleep. He was peering into the bottom of his empty glass, clearly searching for some great secret that he hoped to find hidden there. The second man was sitting at one of the tables. He was in his late thirties and wearing a gray suit, his tie pulled loose and to the side haphazardly. On the table in front of him was a half empty bottle of Scotch, and judging from the man’s expression, he meant to finish it off. He was turning his drink back and forth in his hand, watching the reflections play against the glass. The man was obviously having a bad day and clearly hoping that some sort of answer to his troubles would present itself. I didn’t want to stare, so I brought my attention back to my Coke and the bowl of mixed nuts.
The bartender, noticing how quickly I devoured my first sandwich, was kind enough to supply me with a second. He dropped it on my plate and refilled my Coke from the soda gun. He then looked up to meet my eyes before speaking again.
“I assume those badges that came through earlier were with you?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” I smiled, “Luckily for us they had to get back to the office and do some paperwork.”
He seemed to ponder the thought for a moment before continuing, “And those unsavory characters that they chased out back. Will they be returning?”
The expression on my face remained steady and unchanged. But sometimes not reacting to something tells the other person exactly what you wanted to hide. I could see the recognition in the bartender’s eyes. I figured there was no reason to stay quiet now.
“They won’t be bothering anyone anymore,” I tried.
“I see,” he started, “The boss would appreciate that.”
I gave him a nod but didn’t bother to respond. He obviously considered them a threat to his boss, his bar, or his patrons. Either way I got the impression that they weren’t the type that he wanted around. I watched his features lighten slightly as I think he started to dislike me less.
“You’re welcome to wait here for as long as you want. But I wasn’t lying earlier. I really have no idea when or even if the owner will be in today,” he said.
“I appreciate it. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to wait around a bit, just in case he shows,” I said.
He shrugged, giving me the universal symbol for “no skin off of my back”, as he turned to walk away. Stopping after a couple of steps, he turned back to face me.
“I’m Jim. Let me know if I can get you anything else Bruce,” he said.
I nodded thanks as he turned and walked down the bar returning to his cleaning duties. I ate my second sandwich slower, watching Jim work as I did. It was clear that he took a great deal of pride in his job. He took his time with each glass, making sure that they were spotless. As I watched him I realized two things about the Cold War bar, the first being that they took their alcohol very
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