Tommy
He watched the Stoli as it trickled over the ice cubes. He didn’t lift the bottle up in the air to make the pour look longer. He didn’t like that bullshit all the bartenders the world over did in an effort to make the person on the other side of the bar thin they were getting anything more than they really were. That shit was stupid. Just give the people what they ordered without the queer little dance.
He lifted the hose and pressed the button for cranberry. He shot a quick red stream into a shot glass. He lifted the pint of vodka and the cranberry shooter and moved them to the end of the bar where Levesque sat, furthest away from the windows and the afternoon sun.
“A nice round half-dozen and it’s not even 5 o’clock. Not bad, even for you on a Friday afternoon.”
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, and fuck you.”
“Jesus boy, I do love it when you are riled up. You wanna let me in on this little thing that has you so bent out of shape?” He’d been trying to get Levesque to talk to him since he slouched into the Chanticleer around 2pm. He’d been pale, forehead covered in sweat. He’d ordered the usual, and been putting them down at a rate of one per half hour ever since.
“I know you can’t be that broken up about the store being robbed. It’s got to be more than that dumb shit Davis getting shot up in front of your eyes. Fuck that asshole anyway. Got what he deserved after all these years of screwin’ Beth, you know?”
“It’s not that. It’s not all about that. It’s just a bad day.”
“Fair, but with you, every day is a bad day, which is how you justify tippin’ ‘em back the way you do, but this seems excessive. Also, you haven’t said more’n ‘I’ll have another’ since you walked in the door. The fuck is that all about?”
“Can’t talk about it here.” The Chanti had been filling up over the last half hour. The regulars were lined up along the bar, but the ranks of college students were beginning to swell at the tables and booths behind them. They ordered pitchers of PBR and watered down well drinks in an effort to get primed for the evening’s house parties. Tommy hated them. At the same time, they were some of his best clientele.
This was the final half-hour of Tommy’s shift. He’d opened the bar at 8am for the locals looking for the hair of the dog, or those getting off the graveyard shift at the Distribution Center. He wanted nothing more than to leave here at 5pm, go home and put his feet up, crack a couple Buds and watch the Sox. Then Levesque had walked in looking like a ghost, and he knew his perfect evening wasn’t going to happen.
“Alright, when I get off we’ll get a sixer of Buds and head to the hill. I’ll even do the not so right thing and drive your truck.
“Sure thing,” Levesque replied, ignoring the fact, as Tommy knew he would, that Tommy’s license had been suspended earlier in the year after multiple speeding violations.
The rest of Tommy’s shift went by in a rush of pitchers of PBR, pints of Bud, shots of Jack and Stoli and Sprites. The closing shift showed up right on time at 5:03pm, an hour and three minutes late, as per usual. He poured himself a Bud and headed downstairs with his tips and till to cash out for the night.
He thought about Levesque. Whatever had happened to him, Tommy was sure it wasn’t going to be good. He took down half his Bud and began counting his drawer.
