Nemesis

He pushed open the door and walked into the vestibule. The hat check girl was the same red head of the night before. She smiled at him without recognition as she took his hat. She handed him a check and he went into the bar room.

The place was half-full. The orchestra was playing, a few couples were dancing and there was a little play at the dice tables that flanked the band.

There was smoke in the air and the pervading tavern smell of perfume and stale beer. He sat down at the bar and waited for the bartender.

He was the same one. The dark haired guy with the lively brown eyes and the scar running across his forehead. Larry couldn’t be mistaken. Not with that scar. That was as good as a finger print.

The bartender was talking to a couple a few stools down. When he saw Larry he came over and put his hands on the bar. His face was expressionless.

“What’ll it be?”

“A beer,” Larry said. “But there’s no hurry. I want to talk to you.”

“You can have the beer,” the bartender said.

He moved away, came back in a moment with a glass of beer with a neat collar.

“Anything else?”

“I want to talk to you,” Larry said.

The bartender leaned a little closer. “I speak English,” he said. “I understand it, too. But I guess you don’t. I’m busy. I haven’t got time to talk Do you get it now?”

“This won’t take long,” Larry said “I was in here last night. I talked to you. Remember?”

The bartender’s brown face was expressionless. But his lively brown eyes looked wary.

“I get paid for tending bar,” he said. “I serve hundreds of drinks every night. I don’t look at the people who buy the drinks. I just look at their money. And you owe me a quarter for that beer, bud.”

“You must remember me,” Larry said. “You asked me if I wanted to meet someone. I told you I had a fight with my wife and was anxious to get home. Don’t you remember that?”

“No. I got trouble enough without listening to other people’s. I never seen you before.”

“Any trouble, Sam?” a quiet voice said.

Larry looked around and saw a solidly built man standing behind him, looking at the bartender. He had black curly hair, swarthy cheeks and white even teeth. His expression was one of amiable curiosity, but he had the kind of face that could become hard and savage in an instant. He was dressed carefully in a midnight blue suit, a figured white shirt and blue tie. Except for the too-wide shoulders and too-pinched effect at the waist, and the extra couple of inches of white handkerchief showing from his breast pocket, his clothes were in excellent taste.

The bartender said, “no trouble, Mr. Tonelli. The guy’s just gabby and I’m busy.”

Tonelli’s face lost its amiable expression. “Sam,” he said, “that’s no way to talk to our customers.” He sat down on a stool beside Larry and smiled. “What’s the trouble, pally? Just feel like talking, eh? Well, I’m a good listener.” He put a hand on Larry’s shoulder and gave it a little pat. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t feel like talking,” Larry said. “I just want to clear up something. I was in here last night. I talked to the bartender. Now he says he don’t remember me.”

“So, that’s it,” Tonelli said. He looked thoughtful while he undressed a thin cigar and wetted one end slowly. When it was drawing well he glanced through the smoke at Larry. “Now this isn’t anything to worry about. Sam here serves dozens of people every hour. You can’t expect him to remember everybody. But what of it? You didn’t come back just to see if he remembered you.”

“That’s right,” Larry said. “I came back here to find out about a girl.”

“Ah!” Tonelli smiled genially. He removed the cigar from his mouth with manicured fingers and made a little O with his lips. His expression was amused. “So that’s it. Now what about this girl? Did you meet her in here?”

“Yes. The bartender introduced us.”

“Not on your life,” Sam said.

Tonelli raised his eyebrows. “A little difference of opinion.” He patted Larry’s shoulder. “How about it?”

Larry looked at the bartender. “He introduced us. She was sitting one stool away and he bought us both a drink, told us we ought to get along well together.”

“And did you?” Tonelli smiled.

“The guy is crazy,” the bartender said.

“Now, now,” Tonelli said soothingly. “Let’s not argue about it. The customer is always right. Now about this girl. Supposing you did meet her here. Supposing Sam just doesn’t happen to remember. What about it?”

Larry wet his lips. He didn’t know what to say. But he knew the bartender, Sam, was lying. And that gave him a little assurance.

“Now,” Tonelli said, “look at it this way. You met a girl in here last night. Tonight you’re back asking about her. That means a couple of things. She stood you up for a date tonight and you want to find her. Or she rolled you last night, or gave you a run around, and you’re out to square it up. That’s the reason guys look for dolls, take it from me Pally. They either love ’em, or hate ’em. Now which is it, with you?”

“I don’t know,” Larry said.

“Well, what did she look like?”