In a Mist by Devon Code-mcneil Page B

showroom. It occurred to Richard that he’d have to walk back as far as he’d come, but he felt compelled to keep going. Beyond the car lots lay a commercial zone full of sprawling factory outlets and aluminium-sided warehouses with loading bays for tractor trailers. In the distance he could make out the towering cranes of a container pier and the glimmer of sunlight on the ocean. Across an empty parking lot stood a squat building with pale blue vinyl siding and a patio of varnished wood, empty of patrons. As he approached he could read the words “Crow’s Nest” arched in yellow letters around a ship’s wheel on the sign that hung from the side of the building. He wasn’t sure if it would be open but there were two cars parked out front and he decided to give it a try. An air conditioner rested in an open window next to the door. There was a damp stain on the pavement directly beneath it where water dripped steadily, evaporating almost instantly in the sun.
    He opened the front door and the cool air enveloped him. He ran his hands over his bare arms and felt goose bumps. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the bar. A few empty wooden tables and video lottery terminals filled the back of the room. On the back wall hung a wooden ship’s wheel draped with plastic pennants advertising beer. There was a television with the volume turned down mounted over the bar. A man sat at the far end of the bar and another man stood behind. When he entered they stopped talking to one another and turned toward the door. Richard exchanged nods with both men and sat on a stool halfway down the bar so that he could turn to see thetelevision screen. The bartender had a crewcut and a goatee and wore a Boston Bruins t-shirt tucked into his faded jeans. The man who sat at the bar was older and heavier with thick eyebrows and greying hair. He wore a dark red flannel shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, tawny work boots and brown work pants with a western-style belt. A pint glass half full of draft rested on the bar in front of him. The air conditioner hummed.
    â€œWhat can I get you?” asked the bartender.
    â€œScotch please,” said Richard. “And a glass of water.” The bartender thumped the bar once with his fingers and turned to the shelf of spirits. Above the liquor bottles was a second shelf full of sports trophies: gilded figures of hockey players blanketed in a thin film of dust.
    The bartender stood with his back to Richard and looked over the selection, his hand suspended in the air before the bottles. He muttered something, chose a bottle of Irish whiskey, measured an ounce in a shot glass and poured it into a tumbler. He rested the glass in front of Richard on a cardboard coaster, then ran the tap for several seconds before filling a water glass.
    Richard said nothing and lifted the whiskey glass to his lips. He chased the whiskey with a sip of water and turned his attention to the television. An image of a supersonic jet filled the screen and then a razor blade. An athletic, bare-chested man ran the tips of his fingers along his cleanly shaven jaw.
    â€œWork around here?” asked the man seated at the bar.
    â€œNo, I don’t.” Richard turned to face him.
    â€œFunny place to come on your afternoon off ,” said the man. Richard noticed a slight lilt in his speech. The bartender cleared his throat.
    â€œQuit bothering the customers, Lloyd,” he said, winking at Richard.
    â€œIt’s true though,” said Lloyd. “Wouldn’t catch me anywhere near this place if I didn’t work down the street.” He drank from his beer. “You’re looking for work then,” Lloyd said to Richard. “You can tell when a man’s been out of work for a while.”
    â€œCan you now,” said the bartender.
    â€œNo shame in it. Being out of a job,” said Lloyd.
    The bartender counted a stack