The Barkeep

by William Lashner

She swore she wouldn’t call him, swore she wouldn’t knock on his door, but it only took a few moments of pacing in her apartment after work, exasperated and hopeful and heartsick all at once, before she started dressing for an evening out. And where she was headed wasn’t in doubt from the moment she picked out her brightest red lipstick and spikiest heels.

  Zenzibar.

  When Justin saw Annie Overmeyer walk into his bar, he felt a disappointing lurch of emotion.

  The lurch was disappointing because he had spent hours on the tatami after visiting his father, working to rid himself of the emotional attachment he had felt for Annie just the night before. That emotion was all based on illusion, he knew, lies about a future that existed only in his fevered imagination and would never survive the mutable onslaughts of reality. Fear it not. Be not terrified. Be not awed. Know it to be the embodiment of thine own intellect. It was all a trick of the mind that would immediately be exposed upon his father’s release from prison. Better to drain its power now rather than wait for it to drain his sanity. And so he had worked hard on letting the emotions flow through him and out of him, and hoped that would be the end of it.

  And then, of all the gin joints in all the world…

  He had been trying to have a serious conversation with Cody between serving other customers, hoping to glean what was really going on with him, when she made her entrance. And he wasn’t having much luck with Cody, either. Something had happened to him, something strange. Cody was nervous, hyper, scared absolutely, and yet full of a weird optimism about his future.

  He was making Cody’s third Sidecar of the evening, drinks that Justin was still paying for in exchange for the detective work, when Cody had said, “When I get back, I’m going to buy this place.”

  “Let’s keep our ambitions modest,” said Larry, who was sitting beside him, “and say that when you get back, maybe you’ll actually buy your own drinks.”

  “No, I’m serious. I always wanted to own a bar.”

  “How are you going to afford a bar?” said Larry.

  Cody winked. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Afraid someone else will jump at the opportunity?”

  “There you go.”

  But there was something in the wink that wasn’t all hope and cherries, something cheerless and frightened. Cody was into something way over his pay grade, and Justin couldn’t help but think about what Detective Scott had asked regarding whether anyone Justin knew had fallen into money. Or how shaken Cody had seemed by an obituary he had read. Or, and this concerned him the most, how Cody had thanked Justin for setting him on the path of his newfound success.

  “You haven’t run into that old guy since your visit to Dirty Frank’s, have you?” said Justin.

  “No. Why?”

  “Just thinking,” said Justin. “He’s not a guy you want to hitch your wagon to.”

  “Don’t worry. A guy like that is all pipe dreams and desperation. I know what that’s like. I’m getting as far away from pipe dreams as possible. The thing I have going is as real as they come, and don’t I know it.”

  “Good,” said Justin.

  “It’s as real as a kick in the balls,” said Cody.

  “We should have a going-away bash,” said Larry. “Buy a cake, blow up some balloons.”

  “You really know how to party,” said Cody.

  “I might be depressed. Do you think I’m depressed?”

  “You’re not depressed, Larry. The problem is you’re sober. Buy him a drink on me.”

  “Which means on me,” said Justin.

  “Exactly.”

  “So when are you leaving?” said Larry.

  “I don’t know exactly,” said Cody. “First I need to build up my bankroll and pay off my debt to Solly.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Cody leaned forward and tapped the bar with a finger. “I think my luck has turned. I’ve made enough in the past few days for one more bet, with everything riding, and then I’m off into the sunset.”

  “And if you lose?”

  “I won’t,” said Cody. “My luck has turned. And I happened to get word of a sure thing.”

  “There is no such animal,” said Larry.

  “Maybe not, but truth is, it doesn’t really matter. I could go clean or I could go dirty, but either way I’m going. Things are getting a little tight here, don’t you think? A little closed in.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Justin, sliding Cody’s drink in front of him.

  “I’m going to miss you, pal,” said Larry.

  “I’ll send you punks a postcard.”

  “Hey, Cody,” said Justin softly, leaning forward as he said it so Larry couldn’t overhear. “You’re not into something you shouldn’t be, are you? I mean, nothing you’re into so deep you couldn’t get out of it even if you wanted to.”

  Cody just looked up at him, and his eyes were about the saddest things Justin had ever seen.

  And that was when Annie Overmeyer walked into the bar and Justin’s emotions lurched, a combination of yearning and regret that sent his jaw shaking.

  She came right over, looking as fresh and bright as a ripe pomegranate, sat down on an empty stool, and waited for him to make his way over to her part of the bar.

  “Hi,” she said to him, and he had to fight the sudden twining urges to kiss her and to cry. But he knew for a fact that the only way to maintain his equilibrium was to pull the emotion stirred by this woman out by its root. He wasn’t going to let false and evanescent attachments get in the way of the possibility of something new and rich between him and his father. And when the right moment appeared, whenever that was, he was ready to tell her the truth of things. So instead of kissing her or bewailing his fate, he simply leveled his gaze and reverted to perfect barkeep form.

  “What can I get you?” said Justin.

  “What can I get you?” said Justin.

  And there was something in the calm, dead expression of his eyes that told Annie everything she needed to know. She knew why he hadn’t called, she knew why the flowers weren’t for her. He was one of those men who lose themselves in the moment and then, on reflection, pull away, jerk away, run away like fearful little boys and hide in their callousness. And as sudden as that, the doors started closing in her mind, one after the other, slam, bam, one after the other until she was as locked up as an accountant at a meeting of the board.

  “Something tall and wet,” she said, knowing how to play it now, the way she played it every stinking day of her life.

  “Fruity?”

  “Definitely not fruity. Why not something sparkly and gay to remind me of a fundamental truth of the world.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Men are shits.”

  “All men?”

  “Maybe I’m being too harsh. There might be a nice guy in Toledo. I’m just talking about the ones I sleep with.”

  He stared for a moment and she hoped to see some hurt, or maybe embarrassment, or at least a little regret. But that’s not what she saw at all; what she saw was nothing. A barkeep’s nothing. And all she could do was laugh.

  “Is something funny?” he said.

  “Me,” she said. “I’m hilarious. I never fail to crack myself up.” She turned her head from him, she had to look away, it was too painful. Some guy at the other end of the bar was staring at her. He nodded. She smiled reflexively and turned back to Justin. “The silly thing is, I was actually waiting for your call. Like I was sixteen again.”

  “Something came up.”

  “It always does. Trust me, this I know better than anyone.”

  “Look, Annie, I need to talk to you. The thing that’s come up—”

  “You don’t need to explain. Last thing I want is an explanation. Too bad you’re not married. Then your excuse would be easier, you could just use the kids.”

  “I’m not looking for an excuse.”

  “Little League. Girls’ soccer. That’s why men invented
these things. Don’t tie yourself into knots, Justin. Whatever happened just happened and that’s that. You’re not my type anyway. Your hair is pretentious, your place is too small, and you need some furniture.”

  “Furniture?”

  “That whole futon on the floor is so undergraduate. And you want to know something about tea? I hate tea.”

  “Who hates tea?”

  “I do.”

  “No, really. No one hates tea. It’s like fresh air.”

  “That too. And your coffee sucked.”

  “Can we talk, please?”

  “We just have.”

  “Don’t do this, Annie.”

  “You’re right, it’s not you, it’s me. Blame it on me, baby, that’s fine. I can take it.”

  He stared as if he were seeing something new in her, something he didn’t like. Good, now they were even, because she had seen something just like that in him. He glanced at her one more time before he turned away and walked to the other end of the bar. She breathed deep and tried not to think.

  When he came back, he was holding a Champagne Cocktail. “This is from the gentleman over there.”

  “Fuck you,” she said, the streak of authentic anger in her voice sharp and surprising. But she sure as hell had taken the drink.

  And now here she was, snuggled next to Mark from King of Prussia, whose cologne was making her sneeze and who thought the Champagne Cocktails he had been plying her with were actually going to seal this deal.

  Even as Mark was telling a story about a cockroach on the trading floor and one of the runners who was offered four figures to eat it, Annie kept her eye on Justin. He moved with a lovely grace behind the bar, mixing and pouring, pirouetting as he reached to get a bottle. Just as graceful as he had been in bed. Screw him.

  See, that was the problem, she still wanted to. She turned and gave Mark from King of Prussia a taste of her tongue. That would keep him interested, that would be good for another two drinks at least.

  When she looked up again, Justin was talking to that girl from the time before—what was her name?—Lee, that was it. God, she was beautiful, so beautiful Annie had winced when she walked into the bar, winced like every other woman had, as if she had somehow stolen a few watts from each of them. And now Justin was leaning forward and whispering in her ear, and Lee threw her head back and laughed. Laughing, Annie was certain, so that her perfect white teeth just caught a bit of the light. She was good, and, as always, her shoes were fabulous.

  This was more than she could take, this she had to get away from. She lifted her drink, gazed at the bubbles collecting on the edges before rising to the top, and then downed the thing. It tasted like Paris in the springtime. She had never been to Paris in the springtime. If she ever went to Paris in the springtime, it would not be with a stiff like Mark from King of Prussia.

  She leaned toward him and nipped his ear in her teeth. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here, doll,” he said.

  “Good.”

  She gathered her purse, slipped out of the booth, made sure Justin was watching as she headed, not to the restroom, but to the front door of the bar. She hesitated a moment before walking out, not just on Mark from King of Prussia, but on Justin Fucking Chase too.

  On the whole damn city, to be honest about it. It was time to go someplace else. Austin. Vegas. LA. It didn’t much matter, just so long as it wasn’t here.

  Heartsick.

  Justin watched Annie Overmeyer leave the bar and he felt heartsick. He never knew what that word had meant before; now he swore he’d never feel it again.

  Lee watched him as he swiveled his head to follow Annie’s progress out of the bar. “I guess it didn’t work out,” she said.

  “What didn’t work out?”

  “Her,” said Lee, looking at the now-empty doorway.

  “Who, Annie?” said Justin, getting back to the business of mixing drinks. “There was nothing to work out. She was part of the past, but not my past, someone else’s past.”

  “You lips might say it, but your eyes give you away.”

  “You want another drink?”

  “No, I have dinner reservations. Buddakan.”

  “Sweet. Someone nice?”

  “From work,” she said. “He’s been pestering me for years. And yes, he’s nice. A regular nice guy. I’m going to try sincere, see how it tastes.”

  “I bet it tastes fine.”

  “Maybe, but I came in for a quick pop just to hedge my bets.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, got to go. It’s good to be late, but not too late.”

  “You’re going to devour him,” said Justin.

  “And he’ll love every minute of it,” she said before reaching out and patting Justin on the cheek. “Take care, sweetie.”

  “Sure,” said Justin.

  He watched her leave, the gorgeous and sweet woman whose bed he couldn’t wait to leave, watched her walk out the same door that Annie Overmeyer had walked out a moment before. They were the lucky ones, the two of them. If he could leave himself behind, he’d toss down his towel and walk out that selfsame door without a backward glance.

  When he made his way back up the bar, Cody was telling him good-bye, telling him that he had a place that night to be, but Justin ignored him and stood right in front of Larry.

  “You know what you should do?”

  “What?” said Larry.

  “You should stop feeling so sorry for yourself and get your ass to Pittsburgh.”

  52.

  MOTHER’S MILK

  A few minutes later, as if cued by Justin’s foul mood, Birdie Grackle stumbled through the front door of Zenzibar. The old man regained his balance, looked behind him for the offending limb that caused him to stagger, and upon seeing nothing there but the smooth tile floor, turned around again, sucked his teeth, and, with an exaggerated hitch in his step, angled his way toward an open stool at the bar. He climbed up, leaned forward, tapped at the mahogany with an oversized knuckle, and let out a woodchuck’s shrill whistle.

  Justin finished serving a customer at the far end of the bar and slowly made his way to the old man.

  “Why, Birdie Grackle,” said Justin without mirth. “As I live and breathe.”

  “At your service, doctor, as always,” said Grackle, his big dentures loose in his mouth, causing his words to be a mite mumbled. “It’s a rare pleasure seeing you again.”

  “I thought you had crawled under a rock and disappeared.”

  “No such luck for the ladies or the bottles,” said Birdie with a tap of the bar and a rheumy wink. “Or for you neither, I suppose. I’m like them bats in that cave outside San Antone, I am. Fifteen minutes after dusk, there I come, swooping out like an avenger from hell, ready to feed.”

  “For once, your imagery is apt. What can I get for you?”

  Birdie smacked his lips as he examined the bottles lined in rows behind the bar. Finally, his gaze hooked on something high up on the wall. “How about a little more of that fancy blend you shoveled at me last time I was here. I must admit, it left a haunting impression on my tongue.”

  “Johnnie Walker Blue?” Justin reached up, pulled down the bottle, examined the label for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s a bit expensive.”

  “Don’t mind the expense, doctor. I’m good for it. You can just take it out of what you owe me.”

  “What I owe you?”

  Birdie smiled his fearsome full-dentured smile. “Now don’t go squelching on me, doctor. A deal’s a deal, and we had a deal.”

  “We had no such thing.”

  “You been smoking that wacky weed, boy? Didn’t your momma tell you that stuff kills the memory? I said clear as day, if we started on something, we was going to finish it, remember?”

  “We never started, Birdie.”

  “You must be smoking something, you don’t remember you giving me the go-ahead. That’s the only reason I gave out my clue. And I must say, I was mighty impressed the way you ran that doggie to
the ground.”

  “What the hell do you know about it?”

  “A man like me, he keeps his eye on his investment. Oh, I been watching you, and watching that cop watch you, too. I got myself a good idea of everything what’s going on.”

  Justin felt a chill just then. Cody had said that Birdie wasn’t alone, that he had a companion. Justin would have spotted Birdie if he was spying, but maybe not the muscle.

  “How’s your daddy doing?” said Grackle.

  “He’s doing.”

  “Always better than not doing, that’s for sure. Things are working out?”

  “They look like they might.”

  “Then all is as you could have hoped. I figure I earned my fee. So what’s the problem, boy?”

  “You didn’t finish anything, Birdie.”

  “No?”

  “I found someone who might have fit your description, but even if she was the right one, you had nothing to do with what happened to her. She killed herself.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I saw the scene with my own eyes. She put a bullet into her head. I’m sure it’s a disappointment for you, Birdie, but you weren’t needed. Let’s say I pour you one more drink, we call it even, and then we part our ways forever.”

  Birdie’s slick dark tongue slithered out of his mouth and licked his upper lip. “I could go for the drink part, that’s for sure.”

  Justin eyed the old man for a moment and saw the need in his eye. It was almost out of pity that he opened the bottle and started pouring into a lowball. When he poured in two shots’ worth he stopped and looked up at Birdie. Birdie was staring at the glass, not moving to grab it as of yet, just staring, waiting. Justin tilted the bottle until the thick brown liquor rose to the rim.

  “Thank you, doctor,” said Birdie, reaching for the glass.

  He lifted it for a moment, but his hands started shaking so badly he had to put it down again and slide it to himself. His head lowered and he slurped at the glass until the level of liquor was secure enough that he could lift it without risking a drop. He drank deep as if it were water from a tap, and his eyes fluttered as if he were in the throes of something obscene. It was almost enough to get Justin drinking again.