John chuckled as Bobby disappeared down the North side hall toward the bathrooms. The inner door leading from the boxed-in entrance and coatroom opened and Gary Crosly walked into the almost empty lounge. He had on a pale yellow T-shirt with blue horizontal stripes and white, African cotton trousers whose bottoms were carefully frayed to look like old sailor's pants. On top of his blonde, wavy, shoulder length hair sat a navy blue sailor's hat like those favored by European sailors. On his face was an expression that said, "I have an attitude." 

      He looked around the lounge and walked toward the Day Bar. His black mahogany, highly polished, wooden peg leg sounded a dull thud on the gray Berber carpeted floor with every other step. As he stepped on the black and white imitation marble floor that extended all around the bar for ten feet on all sides, the thump changed into a scraping sound. To John, it seemed like an exaggerated limp, and the fact that the leg was only covered in canvas and not something to silence it convinced him that the peg leg's main purpose was to call attention to Gary. About five steps away from the black leather covered bar rail, Gary called out. His voice was a strange combination of salty, old sailor and just enough of a queer's accent to hint at his sexual preference for other men. 

        "Good Day to you Shipmate. How's it going? Isn't it just a fabulous afternoon? Don't know what I'm doing in a bar on such a nice day. But I've been out to sea for four months now and a glass or two or three, of cold white wine would sure hit the spot. I don't want your horrible house wine. Give me a bottle of Parisian Peasant. Keep the bottle on ice and pour me a glass. Please. Oh! I just love this new floor. Harry, the owner bought it from my 'especial' friend, Billy, down at Dean's Flooring. It looks so real," Gary said. 

      Gary suddenly stopped in mid stride and standing with legs apart and his hands on both hips said, "Oh John! John! John! That blue shirt clashes with your eyes. It's the wrong color for your skin, your hair and even those ghastly discount store pants. Why don't you let me take you shopping? What time do you get off work? You definitely need some help buying some decent clothes."

      "You're actually the first one to be so kind as to notice," said John, affecting a forced smile. Then the smile disappeared and John replaced it with a blank face. "I'm working in a second-rate cocktail lounge Gary. In case it escaped your All Seeing Eye, this definitely is NOT the Ritz." 

      "Well maybe if you dressed up a little and learned to smile at your clientele, this place would be more popular. Why don't you come to the party I'm having tomorrow night at my condo? I'll introduce you to some of my 'especial' friends. If they all started coming here, you'd make more in tips every day than you make all month. I know Harry, the owner, so I know you're certainly not being overpaid. How much for the bottle?"

     "Forty-nine dollars, including tax," Answered John.

     Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat roll of bills held together by a money clip shaped like two gold dolphins. "Here's a Fifty. Keep the change." Said Gary slapping the bill down hard onto the polished simulated oak bar extending from the leather cushioned rail towards the bartender's area. 

      John answered in a practiced monotone. "Thank you sir . . . so very much." The way he said it made it hard to know whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. It was a way of talking he'd developed while in the Army. He'd often used it whenever military protocol required that he answer a higher-ranking officer whose comments or orders were contrary to his way of thinking. 

     A loud bang rang through the air and shook the building, startling John, Gary and the only customer sitting at a table. John and Gary saw a bright flash of lighting just before the strike.The lights flickered, came on briefly and then went out. The only lights in the lounge were the emergency lanterns about the exits and a few candles in red globes on the tables used for the small lunch crowd that favored the lounge over the restaurant. The lightning strike was quickly followed by a sudden downpour that sent big drops of rain mixed with pellets of hail, pounding against the picture windows on each side of the entranceway. 

     The front door opened and a customer John had never seen before hurried into the lounge. The tall stranger bent over at the waist, shook the weather out of his black hat and unbuttoned the front of his gray trench coat. After looking around the dimly lit lounge and waiting for his eyes to adjust, he headed towards the bar. "Hey Innkeeper! Gimme a cold beer. Any kind will do, as long as it's cold." The tone and flavor of the stranger's request was more of an annoying command to someone viewed as an underling or lacky and could never be mistaken for a polite request or even a routine drink order. 

     The stranger's tone irritated John. He decided to treat the stranger to a minimal amount of service. After putting a bottle of Billybong on the bar, John walked around the four-stepped inner square to the side opposite and hidden from Gary and the stranger. The inner square formed a four-sided pyramid and held the liquors, liqueurs and various ingredients used to make mixed drinks. It also kept the bottles of liquor out of reach of any customer inclined to help themselves to some "free" booze. 

     Part of the day bartender's job was to take inventory and replace any missing bottles and to make sure all the bottle's labels faced outward. John opened the hinged doors on all the stainless-steel beer coolers that lined the North side of the bar and started refilling the coolers with bottles and cans of beer. He placed two emergency lanterns on the floor at each end of the coolers so he could see what he was doing. 

     As the stranger headed toward the bar, Gary swung his chair around to face the approaching man. "Well!" Gary said in an excited high-pitched voice. "Somebody certainly has an A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E!" 

     The stranger said nothing. He walked over next to Gary, picked up the bottle of beer John had placed on the bar two barstools down from Gary. He put the bottle to his lips and gulped down about half the ice-cold beer. Then he placed a ten-dollar bill onto the bar under an ashtray sitting next to his unused glass. 

     He walked over to Gary and while holding the bottle by the neck, swung it quickly around in a huge arc and hit the startled sailor over the head. The bottle smashed into several pieces, drenching Gary's head, face and chest with cold beer and broken glass. Then, still holding the broken bottle by the neck, the stranger sliced Gary's face making a deep cut that snaked in an S shape starting from below his right eye and continuing down to his chin. 

     The stranger sneered and said sarcastically, "There Sir! Now, by God,you'll have some manly character in that pretty, pretty face!" 

     Gary's face turned red, then white and finally ashen as he reached up and instinctively wiped his face. He stared for a long moment at the blood on his fingers and then, looking down at his shirt said, "Do you have any idea what I paid for this shirt?" 

     Then Gary's eyes rolled back and he slumped forward onto the leather armrest.The stranger watched as Gary slowly slid off the barstool and onto the floor, wedging his face between the bar's kick panel and the scuffed, brass rail that circled the Day Bar. 

     "Last thing I needed today was a damn Fairy Boat Captain!" the stranger said as he saluted, did a military about-face and headed for the front doors, pulling up his collar as he went. 

To be continued . . . .