FIVE minutes before closing time, the man in the grey suit was the only customer at the bar. As the bartender began purging glasses of their varyingly intoxicating contents, and wiping down the tables where the more intoxicating varieties, or the less intoxicating in larger amounts, had been consumed, the grey-clad man gazed into a nearly empty glass of beer, as if hesitant to take the final sips and so end the pleasure of the drink.
Four minutes before closing time, a man in a black suit walked into the bar, the chime on the door sounding loud against the quiet contemplation of the grey-clad man and the almost stealthy cleaning-up of the bartender. He laid down his black overcoat on one of the barstools and waited until the bartender was once more behind the counter.
“A Scotch,” the black-clad man said.
The bartender selected what seemed a fitting glass for the precious liquid.
The black-clad man turned to the grey-clad man. “He’s coming.”
“I never really cared for Scotch,” said the bartender, pulling a cork out of a bottle.
“Is it tonight, then?” said the grey-clad man.
“It’s too dry.” The bartender poured out the golden-brown liquid into the glass.
“We have no choice,” said the black-clad man.
“Give me a good, sweet bourbon any day.” The bartender set the glass in front of the black-clad man.
The man in the black suit picked up the cup, swirled it, took a tiny sip, and poured the rest of it into the glass that the man in the grey suit was still holding slightly tilted. He righted it as it was filled to the brim. The grey-clad man took a sip, as the black-clad man stared at the bartender’s cuffs. Only a nearly imperceptible raising of the eyebrow indicated that the bartender had noticed what happened.
Three minutes before closing time, the two men at the bar both turned to watch a man in a brown suit enter. The bartender set an empty glass and a bottle of beer on the counter and withdrew to the backroom. As the black-clad man filled the glass with beer, the grey-clad man gestured toward the stool over which the overcoat was draped. The brown-clad man sat down and took a sip of the beer that was proffered to him. The black-clad man got up as the grey-clad man and the brown-clad man faced each other.
“Do you have my reward?” the brown-clad man asked. The black-clad man reached into his black jacket.
“Yes,” the grey-clad man said. The black-clad man fixed his gaze on the brown jacket in front of him.
“Where is it?” the brown-clad man asked. The black-clad man smiled.
“Here,” said the black-clad man. There was a click.
Two minutes before closing time, the man in the grey suit pushed the body of the man in the brown suit backwards off the stool so that it landed sprawling on the floor, the overcoat of the man in the black suit cushioning the rough floor and saving it from the splatters of blood that were emitted from the torn and oozing brown fabric. The grey-clad man gripped the ankles of the corpse, while the black-clad man firmly supported its shoulders.
Their shoes thumped heavily. The door-chime sounded. A car engine started, revved, and was gone.
One minute before closing time, the bartender sighed as he came out of the backroom and looked around the bar. One glass that was almost empty and two that were almost full sat guiltily on display. He took the glasses and dumped them in the sink, although not before he took a sip of the Scotch. When all was clean and tidy in the bar, he stepped outside and locked the door, giving the chime one last jangling tug.
T. G. 12/3/20
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