mother-fucker, drink!’
Tuesday happy hour beer pong special: Brett’s idea. The goal was to prop up their slowest night of the week. The result was
ogre clientele, bad news for the carpets, absolute zero net increase in the nightly take.
‘Was it the nachos?’ Mick bent to straighten the foulrubber mat between them. ‘Swear to God I’m going to fire Carlos. I mean, it’s
nachos
, right? I’m no longer asking him to do
au poivre
—’
‘He didn’t eat the nachos,’ Jamie said. ‘I offered, like you said, always push the apps. And he said okay, but he’s just been
sitting there. Every time I check in, he like just stares at me.’
Mick thought the girl was controlling some kind of weird shiver. ‘That’s it?’
Jamie frowned. ‘And I don’t think he blinked. At all. He just—’
‘I’ll handle Brett,’ Mick said. ‘Let me know if the guy keels over. I gotta get out of here anyway. Can you handle the closing
tonight?’
Jamie tensed again, but nodded. ‘I’m getting used to it.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘Okay. I owe you one.’
Jamie scurried off to the kitchen. Mick turned and pulled his daily wage from the bar register. He hadn’t cut himself a paycheck
in fourteen months and the two hundo he removed tonight just about cleaned out the till. As he was pocketing the wad, he caught
movement in the bar mirror: Eugene Sapphire entering, black wind-breaker trailing like a cape, thwarting Mick’s escape. Sapphire’s
eyes were bloodshot, his mouth set in a crooked snarl, and Mick thought, So this is what the grim reaper looks like. A fucking
accountant dressed in a KMart suit.
21
‘So that’s it,’ he said. A small miner with a pickax seemed to be standing behind Mick’s forehead, digging for gold. ‘Thirty
days. Fourth of July weekend plus, what, a week?’
The accountant’s neck turtled up from the shell of his starched collar. ‘Forty-five or sixty if you can renegotiate some of
the invoices with your suppliers—’
‘I won’t stiff my partners,’ Mick said, upending his whiskey sour. ‘They’ve already gone above and beyond.’
‘—and run a skeleton crew, pull double shifts, and go into a liquidation mode with half a menu, maybe ninety, but—’
‘I was already pulling double shifts and I’m not keeping it a secret until the last day. Not happening, Gene.’
Eugene Sapphire had been the Straw’s numbers man since the doors opened. He had roomed with Mick’s father, Bernard Nash, in
college, and remained bright-eyed, sharp in his calculations and sage in his advice, with a nice head of gray hair Mick associated
with members of the Senior PGA Tour. He hadn’t apologized forbeing late and Mick guessed that Sapphire now regarded Nash Jr as a lost cause.
‘If it comes to
that
,’ Mick said, ‘we’re going to maintain our dignity, go out with a bang. I’ll throw a party for one of the local charities,
put a full-page ad in the
Camera
, a sort of farewell to the community that’s been so good to us, some bullshit like that. But I’m conceding nothing at this
point. Let’s be clear.’
‘All well and noble, Mick,’ Sapphire said. ‘But my job is to give you your options. Realistically. Have you heard from your
strong man in Denver lately? The police apprehend your Bonnie and Clyde?’
‘The police are useless and Jim Butler is no one’s strong man. He’s the new breed. Cyber crime, corporate espionage, ID theft.
Says he’s working on a last-known address, but I think he views this whole mess as a waste of his time. And maybe it is. I
mean, what’s the point, Gene. Principle? Pride?’ He laughed.
The accountant did not laugh. ‘One hundred and eighty-two thousand of your hard-earned dollars. That’s your principle.’
Mick finished his drink. ‘You know what kills me? These fucks, Greg and that dingbat Leslie, they weren’t kids or addicts.
It’s not like I hired some ex-con for a bartender and
Tuesday happy hour beer pong special: Brett’s idea. The goal was to prop up their slowest night of the week. The result was
ogre clientele, bad news for the carpets, absolute zero net increase in the nightly take.
‘Was it the nachos?’ Mick bent to straighten the foulrubber mat between them. ‘Swear to God I’m going to fire Carlos. I mean, it’s
nachos
, right? I’m no longer asking him to do
au poivre
—’
‘He didn’t eat the nachos,’ Jamie said. ‘I offered, like you said, always push the apps. And he said okay, but he’s just been
sitting there. Every time I check in, he like just stares at me.’
Mick thought the girl was controlling some kind of weird shiver. ‘That’s it?’
Jamie frowned. ‘And I don’t think he blinked. At all. He just—’
‘I’ll handle Brett,’ Mick said. ‘Let me know if the guy keels over. I gotta get out of here anyway. Can you handle the closing
tonight?’
Jamie tensed again, but nodded. ‘I’m getting used to it.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘Okay. I owe you one.’
Jamie scurried off to the kitchen. Mick turned and pulled his daily wage from the bar register. He hadn’t cut himself a paycheck
in fourteen months and the two hundo he removed tonight just about cleaned out the till. As he was pocketing the wad, he caught
movement in the bar mirror: Eugene Sapphire entering, black wind-breaker trailing like a cape, thwarting Mick’s escape. Sapphire’s
eyes were bloodshot, his mouth set in a crooked snarl, and Mick thought, So this is what the grim reaper looks like. A fucking
accountant dressed in a KMart suit.
21
‘So that’s it,’ he said. A small miner with a pickax seemed to be standing behind Mick’s forehead, digging for gold. ‘Thirty
days. Fourth of July weekend plus, what, a week?’
The accountant’s neck turtled up from the shell of his starched collar. ‘Forty-five or sixty if you can renegotiate some of
the invoices with your suppliers—’
‘I won’t stiff my partners,’ Mick said, upending his whiskey sour. ‘They’ve already gone above and beyond.’
‘—and run a skeleton crew, pull double shifts, and go into a liquidation mode with half a menu, maybe ninety, but—’
‘I was already pulling double shifts and I’m not keeping it a secret until the last day. Not happening, Gene.’
Eugene Sapphire had been the Straw’s numbers man since the doors opened. He had roomed with Mick’s father, Bernard Nash, in
college, and remained bright-eyed, sharp in his calculations and sage in his advice, with a nice head of gray hair Mick associated
with members of the Senior PGA Tour. He hadn’t apologized forbeing late and Mick guessed that Sapphire now regarded Nash Jr as a lost cause.
‘If it comes to
that
,’ Mick said, ‘we’re going to maintain our dignity, go out with a bang. I’ll throw a party for one of the local charities,
put a full-page ad in the
Camera
, a sort of farewell to the community that’s been so good to us, some bullshit like that. But I’m conceding nothing at this
point. Let’s be clear.’
‘All well and noble, Mick,’ Sapphire said. ‘But my job is to give you your options. Realistically. Have you heard from your
strong man in Denver lately? The police apprehend your Bonnie and Clyde?’
‘The police are useless and Jim Butler is no one’s strong man. He’s the new breed. Cyber crime, corporate espionage, ID theft.
Says he’s working on a last-known address, but I think he views this whole mess as a waste of his time. And maybe it is. I
mean, what’s the point, Gene. Principle? Pride?’ He laughed.
The accountant did not laugh. ‘One hundred and eighty-two thousand of your hard-earned dollars. That’s your principle.’
Mick finished his drink. ‘You know what kills me? These fucks, Greg and that dingbat Leslie, they weren’t kids or addicts.
It’s not like I hired some ex-con for a bartender and
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