A Small Gray Dot

Had the bar been larger, it would’ve had a lot more wasted space judging by the fast scan I did upon entering the place. Two men sat at one of the small tables; two more at another; and three in the lone front booth. I saw the top of a messy blond head peeking over the booth at the back. Eight. That wasn’t many patrons for a Saturday night, or it wouldn’t have been back in my neighborhood. Of course, it was still early, only around seven-thirty. Maybe it would start filling up later. A lot of folk didn’t like coming into a bar until nine o’clock or so.

On the other hand, I didn’t suppose many would want to roam around Blue Heaven at night. That probably applied even more to women since, unless the blond in the back booth was one, there weren’t any around which was another difference from the bars at home. There, you could always find a few ladies in short skirts or skin-tight pants and heavy make-up, occupying a bar stool and nursing a drink. Usually they were trying to get work. Everyone had their ways of making a few bucks.

I grabbed one of the five stools at the bar and waited for the bartender to come my way. He was the same one from before and he recognized me. He even remembered my name. I wasn’t surprised; they probably didn’t get too many strangers in Blue Heaven. Especially at night.

He came over smiling.

“Well, hello – Tennessee, right? What brings you into the Hole tonight? I see you found us just fine – unless… er, you’re not lost again, are you? Going to get something a little peppier than water this time?”

I chuckled. “No, not lost, and yes, give me a whiskey neat. And Joe, you can call me “Tenn”.

I never drank much before the Event but as I’ve mentioned somewhere before, there was a time afterwards when I drank a lot. I hadn’t been alone in that – quite a few people had. But eventually, inflation set in and for a while, the cost of alcohol went higher than the price of a good hooker. It became very expensive unless you wanted to drink pure bathtub swill or homebrew, and drinking that stuff was slow suicide so I got out of the habit.

Prices eventually dropped though they never returned to a pre-Event state. I still drank from time to time but not as much as before and not as often, especially after I became a tracker. After all, tracking was hard enough cold sober. After the trip I’d just made, though, I felt I could allow myself one drink. It would only be one and not because of the expense but because I never had more than one while working.

Joe nodded and went about pouring my drink. He set it in front of me and watched while I took a sip. I nodded my approval. It was good; real whiskey, a smooth scotch and not some watered down shit. I placed a twenty and five ones on the counter, the price of the drink plus a five dollar tip. He stuck the bills in his apron pocket.

“Good drink.” I eyeballed him. “Would you happen to know where I can find a man by the name of Frank Berger?” I asked quietly. I took another sip keeping it small since I didn’t want to drink it too fast.

He peered over his glasses at me, again reminding me of Dave. He answered as quietly as I’d asked.

“Well, I might, Tenn. Law not looking for him, are they?”

From that question, I figured he knew what kind of work I did. Word gets around, even in Blue Heaven, so I didn’t bother to speculate on how he might know, though, it made me wonder if the police had come looking for Frank Berger before.

I shook my head. “No, nothing like that. I just want to talk to him.”

I didn’t know if he owned the bar but even if he did, from what I could see, like Lowell with the smoke shop, he wasn’t making a fortune from it. I laid a c-note on the counter. He took a swipe at the counter with a towel but didn’t touch the money.

He studied my face for a moment. “Guards give you any trouble at the gate?”

I took another sip of my drink and shook my head. “Didn’t come in that way.”

I understood the question. It was his way of verifying I wasn’t with the police. He knew I didn’t live there and only residents of Blue Heaven, or law enforcement – or somebody working for law enforcement – got in easily through the entrance at night.

One eyebrow went up and he drew in a sharp breath. “You came—”

I nodded. “Across the strip.”

His eyes rounded and he pushed his glasses up his nose. He stared at me in silence for a moment, then he seemed to make up his mind and nodded once. He palmed the c-note.

“In the back,” he said keeping his voice low.

I smiled and stood. “Does that jukebox back there work?”

He nodded and said a little louder, “It takes coins.” He grinned. “And, as a holdover, it’s cheap. If you put in a dollars’ worth of coins, you can play five. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Joe. Mind if I take my drink back there?”

At his nod, I picked up my glass and headed to the back.

Chapter Twenty-three