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“Vinegar’s good for you. You know how many health nuts drink that apple cider shit straight? Here, you get the health benefits and the alcohol all together. What the fuck’s wrong with you, Diesel? You come in earlier and you were all about what we do here, now, you suddenly got rich man airs?”
“Get us something from a bottle,” I say.
“A bottle? Fucking fancy, you are,” the bartender says. “Drink your beer and be fucking happy with it.”
Diesel reaches into the waist of his pants and pulls out a gun, which he plunks down on the bar next to his glass. “I wanted to wait until after a beer before we got to this point, or maybe even not at all if you decided you didn’t want to be a dick, but you’re kind of talking me into it. You, me, and my friend are going to take a walk into the back office and have a conversation. Got it?”
“If you want to rob me, I’ll give you the money. I don’t give a fuck. This isn’t my bar.”
I shake my head, then show my gun, too, since this man seems like he gives so few fucks that he might be a problem. “Damn, man, don’t you have any loyalty?”
“Yes. To me, myself, and pussy.”
I scan around the room, note the moss — actual moss, thick, verdant, and surprisingly moist-looking — growing from the antennas of one of the bar’s TV’s. “Working in a place like this, you must be drowning in it.”
“It’s good enough for your mother,” he retorts.
“Diesel, buddy, a place like this, run by a popular bartender like this guy… how long do you think it would be before the police respond to a call?” I say.
“Oh, fuck, I bet they take a good long time. I bet they believe the talented, intelligent, handsome bartender can obviously handle himself.”
I heft my gun in my hand, keep it in a loose grip, but pointed at the bartender. To my unsurprised surprise, not a single patron in this dank hole has even said anything about the Diesel and me toting weapons. Is this just a regular night out to them? “Let’s go back into the office and have a chat. You give us the answers we want, and we’ll leave, no problems. Got it?”
“And two beers, don’t forget. Something from a bottle and something that doesn’t taste like piss. So, no domestic,” Diesel adds.
“Fine. Don’t shoot,” the bartender says, holding his hand. There’s a satisfying flash of fear on his face. “We’ll talk in the office. It’s this way.”
He leads us behind the bar, down a back hallway, and through a door.
“This is the fucking alley,” I say.
“Alley, walk-in, office, same difference here.”
“I feel like I’m in a version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory if it were written by Hunter S. Thompson," I mutter, looking around the grimy alley. Trash overflows from dumpsters, and the stench of urine and rotting food assaults my nostrils. At the end of the alley, hidden by a dumpster, there’s a man who may be masturbating. It’s hard to tell in the shadows, and I have no desire to get closer to find out the truth.
The bartender leans against the grimy brick wall, crossing his arms. "So, what do you want to know? And make it quick. I've got customers to poison."
"We're looking for some new players in town. Word is they're working for Moretti. Ring any bells?"
The bartender's eyes dart between us nervously. "Look, I don't know nothing about no Moretti. I just serve drinks, man."
"Bullshit," I say. "A place like this? You see everything that goes on. Talk, or things are going to get unpleasant."
The bartender's eyes dart between us nervously. "Look, I don't know anything. I just serve drinks and mind my own business."
"Wrong answer. Try again." I press the barrel of my gun against his temple. “Think real hard.”
“We kill you here. No one’s going to find your body in this mess for ages.”
“I overheard something earlier today. A new customer came in, a guy I’d never seen before, but he took a phone call from someone wanting to buy some guns. From what I heard, that deal was going down tonight. May have already happened, considering it’s late.”
Fuck, that must be them.
Diesel and I trade a conversation in a wordless look. If these killers are making connections to get weapons, that means they’re close to taking action.
We have to find out more.
I push the barrel of my gun into his temple, and he flinches. “I hope you have more than that. Think: what’s your life worth to you?”
