Chapter Seventeen
Brick
I slid the customer another beer, shoving a slice of lemon in the mouth of the bottle on the way. He immediately plucked the lemon out, tossing it down on the bar like a piece of trash. “Thanks.”
“It’s been an hour exactly,” I said.
“What’s that?” The guy must have been at least a decade older than me, but he didn’t really show it. He was pure muscle, from his thick neck all the way down to his ropey arms. If it weren’t for the shock of silver in his hair, I might have just assumed he was my age.
“You ordered your last beer exactly one hour ago and took that whole time to finish it off.”
“What, you timing me now?”
I chuckled, wiping down the counter with a cloth. “Not at all. You enjoy yourself and do your thing. It’s just that most guys who sit around the bar all night drink a lot faster than that.”
The man shoved a finger forward, pointing at the wall behind me. I turned, noticing the old sign that was buried back in the dust and shadows.A drink an hour keeps the doctor away.
“That’s not really sound medical advice,” I grumbled.
Honestly, the guy was sticking out for a few reasons. I was accustomed to silent types who wanted to stew over their personal tragedies at the bar in peace. But he was better dressed than the regulars, propped up at the end of the bar in a dark suit. He also barely moved, which was weird and a little creepy.
He just sat there.
“Have you worked here long?”
I grabbed myself some soda water from behind the bar, glad to at least have a few words from the guy on such a slow night. I had a week to go before I got my paycheck and skipped town, but as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t come soon enough. “I’ve been here for six months, give or take.”
“You’re a natural,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
I indulged in a little smile. “Yeah, you’d think I was born to work this dump.”
Lilith came out of the back while we were chatting, hauling a box of beers with her. The speakers had been acting up, so the place was quiet, just the rumble of a few guys playing cards in the back filling up the room.
“Everyone is born to do something,” he said.
“And how about you? What do you get up to?”
“Me? Not too much these days, I’m afraid. Used to be a little busier when I was young.”
“That so?”
He took a drink from his beer, and when he set it back down, bubbles started coming out the top. I made to hand him a napkin, but he waved it off, letting the foam drip over his hand instead.
“Sure is,” the man continued. “My line of work, when you’re young, they come running for you. When you’re old, no one thinks you can do it anymore, even though you’re probably twice as good as when you were a young piece of shit with a cocky attitude.”
I chuckled. “That’s probably true of just about every profession. I’ll bite. Tell me, what do you do?”
He picked up the beer again, twirling it in his fingers, but before he could open his mouth, it slipped and fell to the ground, smashing against the floor.
“Aw shit, I’m sorry,” the man said, rising to his feet.
I grabbed a couple of rags and the little broom we kept for these occasions and hurried around the bar. “No problem, happens all the time. I’ll get that for you.”
When I came to his seat, I dropped to a squat. I only managed to raise the hand-broom in the air, however, before a heavy foot landed against my chest, sending me spiraling backward against the dirty floor.
Oh, I get it now.I thought.
He’s a tough guy.
