THE LOST CAUSE BAR #wattys2017

Chapter 5

                 

I get off the phone with the owner . . . . . former owner of the bar. He bartered five thousand cash he is not responsible for any outstanding invoices.  I accepted under the condition I review the books before making anything final.

He sounded part relieved but smug at having the bar stay open but more than anything he was ecstatic not to have to deal with the property anymore. I laugh and walk out of the over-stuffed office to see self centered jerk supporting himself on the wall opposite of the office door.

"I guess I have a hot bartender on the payroll now." I shout eyeing the way to the bar.

His look of confusion at my hasty statement morphs to shock and stops at outrage.

I laugh as I pass him, guess he didn't like what I have to say. My laughter stays with me until I reach the end of the hallway where I can see the patrons are spread out in the main room. I walk up to the bar and let the earlier mentioned bartender know I want another beer.

He shoots me a wink as he hands me the opened bottle before quickly moving in to another customer. I watch as he expertly mixes drinks, artfully doles out bottles of opened beers and pours the more commonly asked for draft beer, which is served in a large mason jar.

That's a big beer.

Occasionally, or maybe every other customer he would look my way and if he caught me staring at him he'd give me a wink, which I would return with a smile.

I let my mind wonder from one aspect to another as I take slow measure sips of my beer. The shelves are stocked well enough, I guess, but there are few empty spots that need filling. The choices are a range of bourbons, whiskeys, and tequilas; most are house level but they do go up to a mid-range.

I take in the rest of the one room bar. The lone pool table and change machine at the back of the room, the bartender with his flexing muscles,  the lit beer signs decorating the walls, the little dance floor, and back to the bartender talking to his other buddy, from outside, at the other end of the bar.

The two looking my way, the one drinking lifts his beer in a wave while the flirt sends me another wink.

I take another sip of my beer when I see the source of my agitation join the two flirts. They talk, nod, make angry hand gestures to ward the stupid one before he walks off.

Good maybe he'll leave.

I set down my bottle and grab a few peanuts from one of the baskets dotting the bar. pealing one and going to toss the naked root in my mouth I see the third wheel standing right next to me.

Oh, Goody!
I have had enough I like the flirting from "A" and "B" but I can do with out the dunce. How can I get him to leave me alone, piss him off and make him storm off or pick a fight with him and make him storm off.

I don't have the energy for a fight so lets go with piss off and storm off.

"So what do you do here? Obviously it is not much but seeing as at least one of your buddies work here I am betting you do too, correct?" I fire off the information in quick succession not giving him to answer any one question.

His slow drawn out "Yea," is his only response.

            "hmmm so a manager? Checking on the place keeping books , filling in, and such?"

            "I check on the place when its closed and stop in to make sure no fights have gotten out of control and no extra help is needed in serving," he replies skeptically, "Why you need help running the place, . . . .  princess?"

            You would think he'd learn.

            I grit my teeth as I take a sip, if only he knew, drawing it out to remain calm, at least on the outside.

            Not that this is true but, "because before you walked up I saw your buddy," I point the one behind the bar, "has been skimming and the liquor is kind of low." I look at him from half lidded eyes and see his eyes widen, they dilate as he registers what I've said.

            "not sure I want to look at the books or buy this place if this is how the old man allowed his employees to operate on a daily basis."

            He storms off, just how I planned, intent to yell at the innocent man I commended so I can make my get away.

            I look at the handsome bartender, catching him looking at me for the final time tonight, I quickly mouth, "I'm sorry" before taking one last sip of my beer.

            His perplexed face causes me to let out an enthused laugh.

            I wonder, as I lay cash on the bar and walk out, is  this place a lost cause or if this place  helps people with their lost causes.