A Shot Glass of Bullets Read online



  My scarred right hand moved in a smooth circle, dragging the damp cloth over the glossy top of the bar. The material caught most of the spilled alcohol and grime, leaving a bright, shiny finish as though the wood wasstill new. That’s never how it is though, is it? With every wipe I rub in a little bit more of the blood, sweat, and tears that countless men had left on the counter. Despite its pristine look on the outside, the counter harbors a dark history. Kind of like most men, I’ve come to find.

  I worked in Las Vegas for fifteen years as a bouncer. Darkest period of my life. I came into contact with the good, the bad, and the ugly of humanity. Mostly the latter two, which is why I used my fists so much and scraped them up real bad. These lowlifes dressed well and looked nice, but Sin City has a habit of showing a person’s inner being. I’ve seen well-dressed men walking around with girls a quarter of their age. I’ve seen young people full of promise and potential snort a mountain of powder that would kill an elephant. I’ve seen gentle beings turn into terrible, sadistic animals when they’ve had too much to drink. Vegas revealed the lowest depths of humanity, and that’s why I came home to this small town. At least here most people are straight-up about who they are. The good people are good and the bad people are to be avoided.

  It was a quiet night, as was the norm nowadays, and I was cleaning up before shift change. I had just finished when a kid walked in. He was young; probably just out of college. He was handsome and trim, had his hair combed over and was wearing a fitted-suit that cost a pretty penny. The kid obviously had money and taste. That doesn’t say a thing about him, though. I no longer made snap judgements about people.

  He walked in hesitantly, lugging a black briefcase at his side. Glancing around the empty bar with soft, brown eyes, he asked, “Are you guys going to be open for a while?”

  I glanced at the clock even though I didn’t need to.The look gave me a chance to think about the kid and why he was here. In fact, the bar was always open. Only now it was half past one, a time when few people have any reason to be out. Shoot, all of my regulars had already left for the night. It was a Tuesday night and most of them had jobs. The ones I liked did, anyways. I nodded slowly, keeping eye contact with the newcomer.

  He moved to one of the closer stools and sat down. His voice was calm and even, betraying no emotion besides politeness. “So when do you guys close?”

  “We don’t. The next bartender comes in at two. His name’s Jimmy. He’s a good guy.”

  “And you don’t mind me hanging around here for a few hours? I looked around, but every other place in this town is closed up.”

  I shrugged and tossed the rag towards a bucket, keeping my body facing him. In this business you never turn your back on a stranger if you can help it. The kid seemed nice enough, but looks can be deceiving. “Keep paying for drinks and I’ll let you stick around until this place falls down around your ears.”

  The kid smiled wryly. “Then I’ll start off with the best scotch you’ve got.”

  I pulled an ancient bottle out from beneath the bar, the label faded with age. Smirking, I replied, “I’ll call your bluff, kid. This here is quality stuff that’s been aged for about thirty years. I’ve only pulled this out twice in the last five years. Shots normally cost twenty-five bucks, but I’ll take twenty.”

  The stranger calmly pulled out two crisp Jacksons and laid them on the countertop. “I’ll pay for two shots if you’ll take one with me.”

  “I’d be an idiot to turn down that offer.”

  I poured the whiskey into two large shot glasses. Not the puny shot glasses some lousy bars try to pawn off as a drink. These suckers hold two ounces easy. I held up my glass and inhaled deeply, smiling at the familiar smell. The kid followed suit and quickly down his drink. I kicked back my glasseagerly. I wasn’t lying to the kid; the whiskey was quality. It was unlawfully smooth and had a rich flavor with an almost buttery aftertaste. Drink too much of this and you start acting like an elitist, sneering at the common whiskeys most regular people consume. I looked at my customer and smiled as he swiftly laid two more twenties on the counter. Smart guy. I nodded at the cash.

  “That’ll pay forthis round, but the next one’s on me.”

  Shots two and three were as smooth as, if not smoother than, the first drink. The kid leaned back on his stool, his face slightly flushed. “You weren’t joking about this stuff.”

  “No I was not.” I looked at the bottle, now about four-fifths of the way gone. It was unfortunate, but the bottle had to die someday. Sensing the kid was loosening up a little, I asked quietly, “So what’s the occasion?”

  His face locked down tighter than a vault. I couldn’t get a read on the kid. He might as well have been wearing a mask. My customer shrugged and said, “Just wanted to cut back a little.”

  Sure he did. People don’t pound back expensive drinks unless they’re celebrating success or torn up about something. Normally I’m not one to pry, but his answer made me immediately suspicious. I’d suspected something was off about this situation, and his response only confirmed it.

  Wanting to steer me away from more questions, the kid asked, “You want to finish the bottle?”

  “It seems a little disrespectful finishing it just so you can cut back a little…”

  “Trust me;I’ve got a good need of it.” A little bit of emotion flickered across the kid’s face. Whether pain or regret, it caused me to fill the glasses one more time. Slamming back the shot, the stranger looked around the bar. “Bathroom?”

  I pointed towards the far wall. “Down the hallway on the right.”

  The kid picked up his briefcase and carried it with him. It was odd, but that wasn’t the most perplexing thing about him. For the first time I spied the mud on his trousers and shoes. A lot of mud. Like the guy had been hiking through dampcorn fields for hours on end. It was especially strange because the uncleanliness contrasted sharply with the rest of the kid’s ensemble. For a man so obviously manicured and meticulous, the mud should have been unbearable. As it was, he acted like he didn’t even notice. He certainly didn’t care about it.

  My mystery customer reappeared a couple minutes later, the mud still plastered on his pants. I nodded at his clothes. “Nice suit. Those guys run around six hundred dollars, right?”

  “Good eye. How’d you know that?”

  “I used to work as a bouncer in Vegas. Threw out a lot of assholes who wore those suits.” I was changing my tactics, now trying to get the kid riled up. Get him out of his element. That’s the best way to determine a person’s true character and find out if he has any secrets. To his credit, my customer didn’t even bat an eyelid. He was indifferent. So ticking him off.

  The kid replied, “Yeah, I guess there would be a lot of assholes out there. You from there?”

  “Nope. I’m originally from here and came back a few years ago. Got a few relatives in the area and the same thing happened to them. They all went off to big cities and corporate jobs, but everyone eventually came back here. Something in the water, I guess.”

  My customerrubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He had a distant look in his eyes as he said, “I like this place. Wish I had come here sooner.”

  “Hey, you can stay here as long as you want. Visitors in these parts are in pretty short supply.”The kid gave a sad smile. It was plain as day that something was riding him hard. Too bad; I actually liked the guy. I continued, “Do you need a phone or anything? Everything’s closed up, but we can get a hold of the sheriff’s office if you’re in that kind of trouble.”

  “No thanks.” The kid gripped his briefcase to his chest, slightly hunching over it like it was a cherished possession. “I’ve made my play. Now I get to deal with the consequences.”

  “Is trouble going to follow you here?”

  “I’m sure of it. But don’t worry; I’ll go outside so nothing happens in here. No need to wreck your bar on my account.”

  That comment really struck a nerve. The kid knew trouble was coming but his focus wason how to make the outcome easier on me. Though obviously upset, he had a strange, almost peaceful demeanor about him. I’d seen the look a couple times before, both in Sin City. Once it had been a guy waiting patiently in the casino lobby after he had dropped all of his cash on roulette. I saw him escorted out by a couple goons sporting cheap suits. There were armed to the teeth. That was the last time I saw the gambler. The second time had been an old coworker just before he had lost the battle to cancer. The strange serenity that all three men possessed was a realization of impending death. Which made me all the more curious about the kid’s past.

  I poured the rest of the whisky into the glasses. Raising it, I said, “Here’s to the present, kid.”

  The alcohol started to hit me after that drink. Back in the day I could’ve downed ten of those shots and only felt a buzz. I’m not superman, though. And, in retrospect, that lifestyle certainly took a toll on my body. Age and a decreased tolerance were working