Arrival

I have several rules about bars I go into.

· No karaoke

· No coin-operated pool tables

· No quarter drafts or pitchers of beer served

So, here we sit. This bar not only has all three, it is adding insult to injury by playing country music, at least what passes for country music these days. Basically, the industry is relabeling old rock and roll songs as country because country died a long time ago and they can’t admit the market is gone. I can remember when the Eagles were young and releasing their first few albums. They were banned from country music stations because their music was rock and roll. Now those same songs are somehow labeled country. Yes, the bull shit just keeps getting piled deeper. If it was horse shit, it could at least be used to grow mushrooms, but bull shit can’t be used for anything.

Why am I in this godforsaken place? The guy sitting straight across the U-shaped bar from me. Henry, my partner. Henry is the name he chooses to use when we haven’t been given our new names. We tended to have a different name every few weeks in our line of work. It doesn’t matter what place we end up in, Henry can find the low-life dives given no more than ten minutes to search.

You know you are in a great place when you ask for a glass of Chardonnay and the girl behind the bar asks, “What is that?” Some people might remember that scene from The Blues Brothers movie where they asked what kind of music the bar had, and the bartender responded, “Both kinds, country and western.” The scene was only slightly different here. You didn’t ask what kind of music they had, but when you asked what kind of beer they had, the answer was, “Both kinds, Hamm’s and Pabst.” Yes, we are rolling with life’s winners tonight!

They don’t even have a box of wine in the fridge or a bottle with a lovely screw-on cap. Yes, we have a wide array of drinking options tonight. Draft in a plastic cup, or you buy a can. Shots and mixers come in little plastic cups too, no glass. I guess the sink behind the bar is there for decoration? Haven’t seen them turn the water on yet.

At least this establishment had the vision to put a guy behind the bar along with what they were offering up as “eye candy.” In the dim light these women could almost pull off the Daisy Duke look they were trying to sell. At least until they smiled and made you think of hockey players and scenes from Deliverance. The guy appeared to be serving as both bouncer and brains behind the bar.

Oh, I wasn’t being cruel or demeaning. I have been here well over half an hour and haven’t seen either of these girls manage to make correct change. Most of the customers seem to have adapted to the situation by always handing one dollar more than the cost of their round and telling them to keep it.

I know people who will keep milk in the fridge well past the date on the container. Every day they sniff it to see if it is still “good enough to use.” Were any of them here tonight, they wouldn’t be able to resist walking by the cigarette machine in the back just to confirm it only had Lucky Strikes. Thankfully I don’t smoke and don’t feel the urge to look. Apparently, that law requiring tobacco products to be sold behind the counter never made it down here.

We got into this city four hours ago. The instructions were to check into a hotel and wait for a text message giving us an email account to use for further instructions. As always, we were supposed to keep a low profile. Little chance of that with Henry making the decisions. I’ve been with him six months. Only eighteen months left before I’m reassigned. I could even opt to retire if I wanted. No, we aren’t cops.

Look at the size of the woman he is talking to! She must only date guys driving a circa-1976 or older pickup truck, not because she particularly likes beater pickup trucks, but because she needs the full bench seat that era came with. A modern sixty-forty split seat with a center console simply isn’t going to let her get inside.

I had heard the rumors about Henry before being assigned to him. My guess is I really pissed someone off around the same time my rotation came up. While the rules of our organization are quite clear on what happens to someone who offs their partner, they are rather fuzzy about what happens when you maim someone in management. I do intend to find out who stuck me with Henry and pay them a visit before my time with him is over. Perhaps I’ll even have Henry cook them supper before I shoot them in the spine.

Most people don’t believe the rumors about Henry until they actually see him. Henry is a shrew, not in personality but in image. Some people used to refer to him as a Hobbit but that is being unkind to Hobbits. I have met people that don’t understand what you mean when you say someone is “mousy.” One look at Henry breaks all language barriers. He stands about 4’8” in shoes and weighs about 87 pounds soaking wet. A bald head with a short ring of hair around it and thin silver wire rimmed glasses completes the picture.

Size has little to do with Henry being “mousy” though. One look at his face and you can’t help yourself. Watch him for a while and you will notice how he curls the fingers of his hands and bumps them together like a mouse about to wipe his whiskers after eating cheese. I must admit I’ve even stopped at truck stops and bought cheese snacks for him while he was asleep. Of course, when Henry is allowed to pick the hotel, a box full of shredded newspaper would be considered upscale compared to his choices.

One might get the impression from Henry’s choice of hotels and clothing that he is cheap. That would be an incorrect impression. It has taken six months, but I’ve figured out his pattern. He won’t spend a lot on clothes because he doesn’t want to stand out in a kitchen, yet, he will dress up and drop a grand at a high end sushi place without batting an eye. Funny, I didn’t think mice liked raw fish.

Just lovely. Turns out this woman is married and her husband just got done shootin’ pool. Now he’s getting all neanderthal towards Henry. A sane man would quietly slip out of the bar and send Henry a Christmas gift every year without a return address. This guy apparently wasn’t burdened with an overabundance of education or the cerebral muscle to do even moderate lifting.

You know, times like these find me wishing I knew just exactly how many members our organization had and who they were. The rule about offing your partner is that the entire organization must hunt you down before taking another assignment. If you want to get rid of your partner you have to make sure they die during an assignment, at least then it would go to the council for a decision. I told you once already, we are not cops.

Why in God’s green Earth are the guy’s buddies coming over to help in this situation? When Henry stands up, his nose is going to be at the center of the guy’s stomach. Well . . . the center of that stomach is kind of difficult to determine . . . but the top of his head definitely won’t be chest high.

This is the third time in the past month Henry brought us to a shithole. You guessed it, the other two times didn’t go any better. The customary rule for a team is the person who did the last job chooses the entertainment and accommodations until the next job starts. Henry did the last job, not alone, but for the most part.

At least the next three minutes will be consumed by the guy’s wife trying to get off her bar stools. I thought she was only using two, but now that she is in the process of rising, I see it was three. That middle one must have . . . nah . . . I haven’t eaten yet and that isn’t an image I want in my head just before a meal.

Good thing nobody has caught onto the fact Henry came in with me. Knuckle-busting appears to be the primary form of entertainment here. The guy isn’t being that loud, but everyone has stopped what they were doing and are watching with a gleam in their eye. If anyone here puts it together, there will be three guys quietly slipping up behind me.

You think it’s an assumption? I get paid to analyze things like this. You’ve already forgotten about the choices of beverage containers here: plastic cup or can, no glass of any kind. If that didn’t spell it out for you, the fact the crowd got quiet when there was even a hint of an altercation should have spelled it out for you with sidewalk chalk. Pay attention in life, for it is the little things that keep you alive. I can only get paid if I’m alive.

Shouldn’t be difficult putting us together though. We are the only guys in this place with shirts having sleeves of any length. If this place was more accurately named it would be called The Unwashed Armpit instead of Hank’s Ranch House. No, I haven’t gone to the bathroom yet and I was hoping to get out of here without having to go. Unlike most of you, I know exactly what will be waiting for me when I walk into that fine, fine room.

This situation wouldn’t be so bad if Henry hadn’t gotten to choose the accommodations. We are at the roach trap a block and a half from here. We walked. The cameras in that place aren’t for security. Neither is the deadbolt on the press board door. The inhabitants of this establishment will be more than willing to walk that far just to continue a fight, and this isn’t the kind of neighborhood regular people consider walking in at night.

I should just get up and leave now. I should also check into a hotel of my own choosing. We don’t have to be together until the text message arrives. I know this will sound weird, given my occupation, but I never learned to fight. Members of my organization aren’t burdened with a desire to kick the shit out of someone. It takes too much time to disarm and take someone prisoner. Perhaps now you will believe me when I tell you we aren’t cops.

At this point, there are many ways this situation can go down, few of them good. I could easily kill those three guys without a weapon, but there are at least fifty people in here and they are all watching the show. Besides, this is the kind of place that has the police department on speed dial.

It’s also the kind of place cops swing past when they’ve only got an hour left on their shift and want to spend it doing paperwork back at the station. Usually somebody beaten bloody in the parking lot for them to snag. I haven’t seen them come in yet tonight, but it is too early for a shift change. I told you, I get paid to notice these things. Noticing these things keeps me alive and I can only get paid if I’m alive.

So far no need for me to get involved. The husband and wife are going at it and keeping the crowd entertained. She’s hurling the napkins that Henry had been writing on earlier in his face. Ah, now the screaming starts. Yep, nothing but recipes. Henry hadn’t been talking with her long enough to give her a disposable cell phone number. Henry is also not smart enough to slither past them unnoticed while they demonstrate wedded bliss. No, Henry is still intent on sleeping with this woman. It isn’t beer goggles making him do this, he’s still on his first round.

You see, I told you, it took me six months to figure it out but I know why we are here. In a place like this, Henry rises above the crowd. Given his stature, that is important to him. The rumors about Henry were true, for the most part. The bigger, the better. If a woman can’t sit down in the wrong place and total a sub-compact car, Henry isn’t interested.

I have no desire to find out if the darkest rumor about Henry is true. Why don’t you just think back through to the description of Henry’s size, the kind of women he likes, and just let your mind come up with something about being reborn. I’m not going to repeat that story here. I told you, I haven’t eaten yet.

Just lovely, the crowd is egging them on now. Fuckin’ Henry! Just get up and walk out! What part about low profile do you not understand!!!

How can a shrew like Henry rise above a crowd? I told you Henry dresses the way he does because he doesn’t want to stand out in the kitchen. Henry is a Twenty-of-Two Grand Master. Before you can even begin that training, you must graduate with honors from one of two different premier culinary schools. At some point, those schools are going to start wondering why so many of their top students simply drop from the face of the earth after graduation, but that is a problem for another time. That also assumes my organization doesn’t actually own both schools.

As a general rule, women who tip the scales enough to get Henry’s attention like to cook and love to eat. Admittedly, I’ve never seen him chase one that tipped the scales quite this far before. I can only assume Henry views this like some men view a trophy bass.

The second general rule is that these women (if straight) are delighted when a guy in a bar has an ordinary conversation with them. Okay, I’m told talking about recipes is ordinary for some people. I never knew that until I joined this organization. I’m not saying I’m better off knowing it, just that I didn’t know it, and I’m still not certain I believe it. Imagine how overjoyed these women are when they discover a master chef has been chatting them up. Once they figure that out, they are locked onto him.

Happiness is nothing more than having something to look forward to. Set your bar low enough and you will always be happy. People who must have the latest and greatest of everything are never happy, they are too far in debt. A person that can wear the same pair of blue jeans, drive the same car, and live in the same small place for twenty years or more without wanting more will generally be happier and live longer if they don’t smoke.

Boiled down to a shot glass for you, the secret to happiness in life is to simply not give a shit.

Heard about someone that worked at the library or some other part of a university. He drove the same 1980-something Honda to work every day into the twenty-teens. Never really dressed up. When he died he left four million dollars to the institution, possibly just his department. Don’t believe me, look it up. I get paid to notice these things. Noticing these things keeps me alive and I can only get paid if I’m alive.

Know what someone really loves, not what they say they love. Knowing that allows you to both help and use them. If you do both they might even call you friend. That librarian loved books. All their entertainment came for free from work. Many large women like to cook. All of them love to eat. Henry knows this. He starts up a conversation with the biggest woman in the place because he knows it’s a sure thing.

Set your bar low enough and you will always be happy. A variation of the motto is Go ugly early and get a good night’s sleep. I’m old enough now, I can’t do the drink ‘em pretty thing anymore. By the time they get pretty enough, I’m either passed out or Mr. Happy done left the party.

When you see someone plainly dressed driving a thirty-year-old ride you quickly ignore them. Subconsciously, you think they are one missed paycheck away from being homeless. If they have a steady job paying a bit above minimum wage, odds are they are millionaires. Wait until you see where they work before you write them off.

Statistically, women which meet Henry’s criteria don’t have jealous husbands. The others I’ve witnessed during our time together weren’t married. If guys really prefer swimsuit models, that makes sense. We are definitely dealing with some outlier data tonight.

Obviously this couple has went at it before in this place. The bartenders are still serving drinks and watching sports on TV. The three women who just came up behind the men have to be her sisters. The family resemblance is quite sizable. They also have wedding rings on their hands. Just ducky. It’s a “family outing” and Henry just moused his way into the dysfunctional side of the family. Not that I believe the family has a functional side, I simply try not to judge.

Henry is sitting there grinning like a pig in shit. He hasn’t looked this way once. Nobody has noticed my interest in the situation since they all have that same interest. It’s like those really bad daytime TV shows, only it is happening live. Everybody says they hate those shows, yet when the DVDs go on sale it’s an easy $120 million for the person who put them out. Not exactly the kind of number which screams hate.

When it comes to attention spans, for most people the bell curve centers around three minutes. For anyone with an imbecile phone, it is under thirty seconds. Website designers and ad executives claim success of biblical proportions if they can hold a viewer’s attention for five minutes. I have noticed a lot of people talk while a television show is on, then pay attention to the commercials. I guess the commercials manage to fit inside their attention span. Others tell me there is a special level of hell reserved exclusively for child molesters and people who talk at the theater.

In my line of work, your head is filled with useless information which becomes infinitely valuable. I tell this to you now because two of the three women that came up lost interest in the argument and picked up the napkins. They didn’t just pick them up, they started reading through them. Some went back on the bar, but others were getting stuffed into purses and bras. The object of Henry’s desire has caught onto this and turned her venom towards her sisters.

Oddly enough, the husbands are now stepping back as their wives get into the act. For the moment they all forgot about Henry, but I wagered it is only for the moment.

Family dynamics never cease to amaze me. The men are getting another round while the women continue their turf war over the napkins. If the guys decide to shoot another game of pool we will have a full blown fight on our hands. Oh. No. Don’t get the impression the sisters will go at it in public. Three other women that would normally attract Henry’s eye have been eying the remaining napkins. The entire bar heard the whole argument and these women are close enough to actually snag the napkins.

I told you, I get paid to notice these things. Noticing these things keeps me alive, and I have to be alive to get paid. Thankfully, I’m the only one in here who does get paid to notice such things. Others here notice things in hopes of getting paid. There is a distinct difference. That difference determines if you are someone who wins in life or someone who has to hang their hopes on a multi-state lottery.

Take the Kevorkian blonde trying to casually slither into the bar stool next to me. I saw her out of the corner of my eye for only a second, but can tell exactly where she is headed. She is 38 feet away and has only taken one step, but in my line of work you have to know where the second step will land before the foot leaves the ground.

Decades ago she would have been called a suicide blonde, hair dyed by her own hand. Today, most of them are Kevorkian blondes because they pay for assistance with that suicide. This girl paid someone to assist her suicide blonding. She didn’t go some place cheap either. The hair was important to her. Most likely works some place requiring a uniform so hair and makeup are the only things to show off. She’s shopping for a man.

You can tell a lot about a person if you have been trained to observe. First, ignore the clothes. Yes, she’s in her finest trailer park attire, but anyone can dress like that. The look in a person’s eye and the expression on their face when they think they aren’t being watched is what you really need to see. Her cheek twitched to a smirk and her eyes flashed dollar signs. This girl has at least three kids from at least two different guys. At best, one of them married her, but nobody is paying child support.

I’m not dressed up, but I’m cleaned up and my cell phone costs more than her entire wardrobe, including her purse. She’s not evil, just in a hole and looking to punch a meal ticket out of that hole while she still has the looks to do it. Need to make an exit as soon as possible. Somehow I don’t think she will be turned off by my not leaving in a car. No, I can’t risk a cab or ride share service.

Most of the younger crowd consider cell phones a status symbol. The coolest must have the coolest. I’m not stupid enough to follow those lemmings off the cliff of financial ruin. My cell phone is neither cool-looking nor trendy, but it works thirty feet under water. No, that wasn’t just something marketing put on the flyer, I thought that too when I read it. Not long after I got it, I found myself in a situation where I needed it to work under water and it did. Don’t ask. It isn’t one of my happier memories. I don’t like working with explosives.

One develops a newfound respect for static electricity when picking up bricks of C4. Instead of zap followed by some cussing, it is zap—well, that was your life, was it a good one? That’s the good outcome. The bad one? Part of you actually lives, well, survives. If you can no longer wipe your own ass, can you really call it living?

Then again, you don’t have a lot of happy memories leading this life. It’s a life you lead while you are young enough to lead it, then get out of when you start seeing frost in your whiskers. I honestly can’t say I know many who have managed to get out though. Nobody really wants to admit that they aren’t young anymore. I know, that must sound odd coming from a guy who says he can’t drink ’em pretty anymore, but that has more to do with alcohol tolerance than age. Once you attain a certain level of tolerance, you don’t lose your vision until after either you or Mr. Happy passes out.

“Hi,” she says, after casually and needlessly bumping into me.

“Evening.”

“What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”

“The custom in most establishments is to place an order with the bartender and pay for it when they set it in front of you, unless you are running a tab.”

“Wow! Most guys fall over themselves to buy a hot chick a drink.”

“Seems to be quite a few guys in here to test that theory on.”

The bartender comes over and she orders another draft beer. When he looks at me I shake my head. He seems rather stunned that I’m not picking up the tab. Apparently he views her as a walking, talking drink market. In any other bar with any other woman I probably would have picked up the round, but this girl is a train wreck looking for a happening.

“So much for the theory,” she states when the bartender leaves.

“Theories require a lot of testing before they are proven either true or false. It’s early, you’ll find other test subjects to experiment with.”

“It’s not often I get shut down like that. Are you gay?” she asked, getting a little louder at the end.

“Nope, just not looking.”

“Oh. Married without a ring on.”

“Nope, just not looking.”

“Odd. I figured you were slummin’ it tonight.”

“No, just killing time along with a few brain cells that really deserve it . . .”

“What’d they do to you?” she laughs.

“I don’t remember. I just know I don’t need them anymore.”

“I’m Melony.”

“Hello Melony.”

She sits there waiting for me to respond further while I sit there drinking this swill they serve in plastic cups, pretending to be interested in the cat fight about to take place on the other side of the bar. After a time she pipes up, “Most people take that as a signal to introduce themselves.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

She laughs, “You haven’t had that many tonight. I’ve counted. That’s only your second.”

I shrug my shoulders and say nothing.

“Okay. You want to play the mysterious guy with money role, I can play along for a while. It might be fun. Different at least.”

“Let me be honest Melony. I’m not here by choice and not playing a game. I’m also not looking to get laid, as strange as that may seem. I’m simply waiting. When I’m done waiting, I will have some idea about who I am and where I’m going. I’m sure my wait will take until long after meal time and I’m certainly not going to eat anything prepared here. Until then, I’m just a guy sitting in a bar that wouldn’t make it into the top ten thousand places he wants to be. Why am I here instead of my hotel room? As unbelievable as it may sound, this dive is cleaner and in better condition than the shithole I have a room in tonight.”

“Ah, you’re staying at the Regal 8 up the street. So much for your man of mystery with money image.”

I nod in confirmation, intending to confirm only the last part and realizing I have just identified the hotel. Stupid.

“Good. You can take me to supper and I won’t have to put out. Then I can point you to a better hotel in the morning.”

Now it is my turn to chuckle. Spoken like a desperate woman looking to climb her way out of a very deep hole. “I find really good hotels when I search via HotWire. I get crack houses every seventh rental when I’m forced to use PriceLine. Tonight’s lovely abode wasn’t chosen by myself or any online service. I will most likely have to work once my wait is over, so I’ll be eating fast food, assuming there is anything still open.”

“The Chinese carry out place up the street is open until 11. Mike doesn’t mind if I eat it here as long as I bring him an order of egg roll.”

“What does a guy have to do to just kill time alone?”

“Be dead broke, ugly, or not here.”

“Alas, being someplace else right now is not an option.”

“Why? You got a drug buy going down here or something?”

“No.” I responded a little too quickly.

“Oh come on. What have ya got coming in? Is it any good?”

“What if I told you I had AIDS?” I asked, a little louder than I should have. This girl could really get me off my game.

“We’ve already established I’m not putting out, so other than getting my name in your will, I have no reason to care.”

“Anna Nicole Smith without the pictorial,” I chuckled. “Melony, I don’t have a problem with buying Chinese if you are going to fetch it, but know this, I do not use nor do I condone the use of street drugs.”

The look in my eyes combined with my tone makes it obvious I’m not playing. Our eyes stay locked for some time before she mutters, “Sorry.” A moment later she turns and shouts, “Hey Mike! Menu for Golden Wok.”

The bartender nods and brings over the menu.

“Was hoping you were going to bring something in tonight. I didn’t have lunch today,” he says as he hands it to her.

“You want egg rolls? He’s buying.”

“You bet. Thanks mate. Your next round is on the house. Melony can be a real lifesaver in here.” He moves off to grab another round for a customer.

Spend much time actually sitting at bars instead of just sitting in them, and you notice the difference between a career bartender and a between-jobs bartender almost instantly. It doesn’t matter if it is a bar where the cheapest drink is twenty dollars or a toilet bowl like this place. There is an efficiency in their movements and an ability to know which customer wants what before they order.

Mike was flagged by only one guy, but he went to the fridge and pulled out seven cans of beer, nearly evenly distributed across both brands they carry here. Those he set up in front of the people surrounding Henry, on his way over to the yard arm to pull another plastic cup for the guy who made the initial flag. While it was pouring, Mike set up three plastic shot glasses and poured shots of Jagermeister. The draft he sold to the original flagger, and the shots he placed in front of three guys who cheered his timing. He came back over to make change and update tabs, removing all doubt about his career.

“Melony, stop at City Liquors and pick up a bottle of Chardonnay for this guy on your way to fetch Chinese.” He handed her two twenties and went back to serving drinks.

She said “okay” as he drifted off, then looked at me. “You’ve never been here before, so how does he know you and why is he letting you drink wine?”

“He’s never met me before and isn’t likely to ever see me again. That was just a thank you for supper.”

“You must have asked for it when you first came in.”

“I asked one of the ladies for a Chardonnay when I came in. She didn’t know what it was. I told her it was wine and she said they didn’t have any of that and I told her to bring me whatever was on tap. I never saw her speak to your friend Mike. You visit with Mike, but you don’t actually see or know him, do you?”

That brought a quizzical look to her face.

“He’s a professional bartender, even if he never went to school for it,” I continued after a moment. “He reads a customer before they find a seat and knows what they want. He knows the right time to show up with drinks to stop a fight, and the right time to show up with drinks to start a fight. Most bar owners only value the first skill, but in a toilet like this the second is far more valuable.”

“Why is that?”

“You need to cancel out the largest threats early on before a melee ends up taking the place out for days.”

“And just how do you think he does that?”

“Dropping off a drink to a guy’s wife or girlfriend and refusing to say who it came from is usually a good way to get most of the ogres spoiling for a fight. In a dive like this, they know they cannot go grabbing and pounding on the bartender without ending up in a dumpster without any witnesses, so they start challenging small guys. The girlfriend or wife gets vocal about it and another ogre decides to step in and shut him up. Whenever there isn’t a canceling ogre, I imagine he gets you to go sit by the current ogre threat until some stocky guys who like you show up to trim his wind.”

Her laugh was enough to confirm both had happened more than once. It also sounded like she enjoyed it. “So, what are you having? I need to call it in and get going.”

“Beef and pea pod is good, beef and broccoli would be a real gasser . . . hmmm . . . they have Mongolia beef . . . I’ll take the Mongolian chicken and some fried rice. Be sure to order something to take to your kids.”

That statement brought her up short. “I never said I had kids.”

“You didn’t have to. You are wearing a charm bracelet, and in this geographical area, they aren’t a religious thing. You have three different charms after a baby bottle. If I remember what an old woman told me, two boys and one girl.”

She stared into my eyes as she placed the order over the phone. I debated handing her a fifty for a second, but knew that other than this bar, no retailers around here would take a bill that large. Four twenties ended up in her hand. Besides being great food, Chinese takeout is usually cheap. She ordered a lot of different dishes before I heard my Mongolian chicken and Mike’s egg rolls.

“Not many men can read a charm bracelet. Are you sure you aren’t gay?”

“Just go get the food and don’t forget to drop your kids’ meals off.”

“They are with my neighbor now. Already had supper for tonight, but somehow I think they will be up for a second meal.”

She stood and gathered up her purse, then said, “I’ll be back in 45 minutes. Do me a favor and still be here.”

“How can I leave? My supper doesn’t get here until you do, nor does my wine.”

“I’ve had guys do worse and you aren’t the kind of guy I could have one of these ogres, as you call them, find.”

As long as you are active in this line of work, your training stays and nobody can really tell who you are. Once you retire, the first part of the training to go is the ability to hide your skills. People like to say you simply get rusty at it or old age has crept in, neither statement is correct.

When you no longer have a target to focus on, you no longer have the thing your training made use of. You can avoid showing your skills because you are focused on the target. Minor slights, drunks in a bar and the like aren’t enough to distract you. Your training doesn’t teach you how to hide your skills as much as how to develop a singular focus on your target. The side effect of all that focus is not slipping up in public. With security cameras and cell phones everywhere in today’s world, all it takes is one knuckle dragger to take a swing, they’re dead and you are a viral video on the Internet.

Mental training doesn’t translate well into film, which is why you don’t see much in movies unless they can make it something visually horrible à la that Kill Bill movie franchise. At best, mental training gets a single line of dialogue in passing. It’s about putting all of the shit you can’t deal with into a little box in your mind, then slamming the lid shut and carrying the box to the curb. In short, they teach you how to be a successful sociopath.

Well, they teach the recruits this now. I assume it is more productive than finding sociopaths to hire in the first place. Obviously, that is what they did before they had the training.

We aren’t soldiers. We don’t serve a country. I’m sure many different countries have hired us, we just make it a point to never ask who is picking up the tab.

You always hear about people who are kicked out of the volunteer military because they fail a psych evaluation. I always wondered why the military didn’t simply route the natural-born sociopaths to a special unit under CIA or some other alphabet soup department’s control.

There is always some godforsaken part of the world where dropping in a trained force of just a few with only enough food and ammo for a week, telling them to do what they enjoy doing, will make things better without getting noticed. If you don’t believe me, then you obviously haven’t watched news reports about all of those third world countries with multi-year civil wars full of genocide and other atrocities. There are already a bunch of mercenaries there. It’s not like a few more would be noticed by the news media.

Then again, the psych evaluation is mostly there to weed out people they “don’t like.” When it is war time and volunteers are down, you find they start to like a lot more people. The evaluation process gets changed and people who failed it before start getting letters and phone calls to come in and take it again . . . or simply told to report for training. The biggest “don’t like” class used to be gays. The majority of that problem comes from the top though.

Yes, there are still a few bible-thumping raw recruits with the same baggage as the gray hairs, but they are getting fewer and farther between. The rank and file is routinely called the “Will and Grace” generation because they grew up watching that show or others with openly gay characters. They also grew up listening to music from Elton John and a little band called Queen. Some of them even grew up with two moms.

No, the “don’t like” issue is dying out with the gray hairs at the top. The Bible-thumpers seem to be focusing more on becoming CEOs that go to prison or trying to replace all of the judges on the Supreme Court so it can be full of sock puppets that ignore the law. Not so many of them signing up to get shot at these days. They feel heathens should be sent to die for them.

Drumming people you “don’t like” out of the military had always seemed a stupid tactic to me. If you don’t like someone then you should encourage them to be on the front line in a meat grinder of a war. If they won’t enlist but smoke, buy them cartons of cigarettes and lots of fried food. Once you get them up to two cartons per week the outcome will be predetermined. It may not be as fast as you want, but it will get rid of them and people will think you were a good friend.

I took you down this little mental side trip so you would have a faint hope of understanding why it is easy for anyone who has been in clandestine operations before to spot someone who used to work in clandestine operations, no matter what country they are from. You see, it’s not just the bad shit you put into that box, it is everything you find morally repugnant or “out of character.”

The phrase “out of character” is what tends to trip most people up. Every new cover you put on requires anywhere from thirty seconds to four hours of character building. The length of time is due in large part to however much backstop information and documentation was created. All the traits of that character have to be filled out. You really cannot use many, if any, of your own traits.

If your birth name really was Bill Smith and you are a Bible-thumper who thinks drinking, smoking, pre-marital sex, and homosexuality are all morally repugnant, then every character you put on is going to require you to put a lot of things into that box. Some people manage to build their own mental UPS pack and ship store just to keep the worry tank empty.

When we talk about putting things into that box which are “out of character” we mean “out of character” for Bill Smith, not any of the other characters you have to become to do your job. The Bible-thumpers tend to have deep moral convictions, which somehow manage to let them put on a chain-smoking character that can knock back shots of whiskey with two guys that are ass raping a third guy as an interrogation technique. Of course, there is the occasional strike at the mental UPS pack and ship store. Then there are lots of bodies to either clean up or explain.

There was no real training when I started. I was a good shot and didn’t have a problem with killing as a side gig. One always has to wonder just how many gigs a person has in a gig economy, and what they are. The training started being mandatory when a few people’s worry tank got full. Caused a meltdown where everyone physically near them wound up dead or near enough before they took their own life.

There is a critical difference between being a sociopath and a high functioning sociopath. Hence the need for training. Only so many mass murder events can be swept under the rug with all the gun control freaks running news outlets. They cry out for gun control even when all the people were killed with a steak knife. Funny how they just leave the actual weapon out of the news so they can use the event to demand gun control.

When you finally bail on a life like this, you become easy to spot for a while. Some people are easy to spot forever. They develop noticeable little tells when they encounter something which is “out of character” for them and they have to fight down the impulse to simply put it in a box. I’ve heard it called the I’m-not-wearing-a-cover twitch.

The other tell is that look they get of being lost. It can happen in the middle of a meeting or in a crowd, there is no warning or predictable pattern.

Only way to describe it for those that haven’t been through it is to continue with that UPS pack and ship analogy. You built the store, but have no idea how to take it down or get rid of the workers. Even if you go through all of the exit therapy provided by your former employer, the damned thing will still be there. Periodically, the workers for that store stage an open revolt about having nothing to do and you have to listen to them, hence, you get that lost look while the labor dispute plays out in your mind.

Some people find a solution which may not be considered ethical, but keeps the body count down. They create a new character which has most, but not all, of their own personal traits. They assume a new identity and line of work which is only slightly offensive to them so it won’t require dead bodies after the tank fills up.

Sometimes, the Bible-thumper types end up working for adult film distributors. It keeps the UPS store workers busy and doesn’t typically require the former operative to shoot anyone. It does mean they can never really let their family know what they are doing or come for a visit, but you cope as you must. Most of us don’t have family anyway. None that we’ve kept in touch with over the years.

The other crowd, those who try to put back on their own identity and return to “normal” life, ignoring their past, are a real hazard. Not only will they get the tells I spoke about, but they will go to one of two extremes when faced with “out of character” things.

Some will be quiet and silent while their mind goes through hysteria trying to figure out how to respond. Others will issue loud and boisterous responses to “out of character” things because they understand they now have the skills to actually do something about it.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the last group is a problem which has to be quickly eliminated. That would pretty much be why I don’t know anyone who officially retired and is leading a “normal” life. I heard of some that did retire. Was sent to have drinks with them, tell stories that could only be told to someone who worked where we worked. That was it for them.

The company has a cure for dementia: two behind the ear. It is actually a selling point to some recruits. Those who watched a grandparent spending a decade or more in a nursing home forgetting everyone they knew and wearing diapers and burning through all of the families finances. Quick and clean. Two behind the ear or a meal from the Grand Masters. You won’t be a security threat or suffer.

How do they get us? That’s easy. Remember those ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) tests one had to take in high school? Well, somehow, the they who run this operation managed to get some key questions on that test. Even if you bomb every section of the test, a recruiter will pester you to no end if you manage to answer those key questions correctly. What are those questions? I have no idea. I do know they have something to do with being able to compartmentalize reality.

Don’t sit there scratching your head. Compartmentalize reality is the new buzz-phrase for ability to lie. MBAs go to college to learn how to lie before Congress or a federal judge without breaking a sweat. Actors learn to lie by acquiring the skills to “put themselves in the moment.”

We have a different ability. For us, reality is what we say it is. We don’t just use a cover alias, we become the alias. We can switch to an existing alias at a moment’s notice and we can maintain the cover even through torture and other interrogation techniques. Even lie detectors cannot sniff out the lie. When we compartmentalize reality, whatever compartment we happen to be in at the time is reality. You can’t convince us otherwise.

I know what you are thinking. Multiple Personality Disorder. I’m not a doctor of psychology and odds are you aren’t either. I can tell you one of the things I read claims there should be some kind of memory impairment. We don’t suffer from that, or at least I don’t. I remember everything I do when I’m someone else and I don’t become that someone until I get instructions on who I’m supposed to become and where I’m supposed to become them. When I start forgetting, right away I promised myself I would get out. Everybody forgets what they did years ago, at least the day-to-day things.

Personally, I don’t think Henry bothers with any of it. Why should he? His cover is always the same, just a different name. There is always a culinary school in his background, usually the one he actually attended. He also doesn’t need much of a cover story when he is just playing Igor, lugging my tools.

Oh, I should probably clarify the clandestine bit for you. Too many people associate that with a group of military-trained badasses dropping in to do things which look really cool in movies. Some people associate it with things that Micheal Weston character did in Burn Notice. Others tend to view it more as a James Bond $1200/night hotel and quarter million dollar car thing. In truth, Motel 6 leaves the light on for us those nights we don’t sleep in the vehicle. Lately, we are generally sent to kill someone, or at least I am. Didn’t use to be that way though, well, not all the time. Once in a while I get to do something cool and geeky. Sometimes I get to slip in and steal something. One time, I was sent to steal an LS-120 Super Floppy disk out of an executive’s laptop. You remember those 120MB floppy disks don’t you? Yeah, I’m old. Getting in wasn’t difficult. I even passed by the mailroom with their FedEx shipping stuff. Made a stop there on the way back from the guy’s office. Why steal it when FedEx will deliver it for me and bill it to the place I stole it from?

They searched every person leaving the building when the guy got back from the bathroom. Nobody checked the FedEx drop. It makes me smile to think about that day, but you would fall asleep watching it in a movie. I think that is the week this agency got its own FedEx account. Why have people try to get out of a company with something when all you have to do is have someone get in and ship it? The bigger the corporation, the easier it is. The mailroom doesn’t know everybody. If you’ve got a form with a valid account number, it gets shipped.

I told you before, we aren’t cops. Now you know we aren’t military. I’m not even certain the group I work for are part of any legitimate government organization, despite their claims to the contrary. Honestly, I never checked. Once I found out about the questions on the ASVAB tests, I simply stopped digging. Who they were didn’t matter at that point. I liked the work and it was only part-time.

Most of you will have read books or watched movies where characters talk about getting recruited for the CIA or some other clandestine group in college. Don’t know if that is true for them. Don’t care. I know that this group, whatever its real name is, actually sends kids to college.

Once they have you identified by your ASVAB, they look at everything else. Various things on that test identify jobs you might be suitable for. Vehicle mechanic, cook, pilot, etc. That ’s the primary purpose of the test. If someone is well suited to be a doctor or nurse, you don’t want them digging ditches while in service. Likewise, you don’t want someone who could be a skilled sonar operator working in a galley. The military really does believe God gave everyone a gift and they sincerely hope it is one they can both find and use based on this test.

Imagine the surprise a handful of parents have each year when a school their kid never applied to drops a full-ride scholarship into their collective laps. Many times it is a small school. Sometimes it is a full-ride scholarship good for one of several universities and majors.

Yes, this happens even today. Most corporations around the world are shitholes run by MBAs who believe labor costs are something to be eliminated, like the venereal disease they got on their last business trip. A token few companies are run by people who actually know something. Instead of thinking they should be able to purchase any quantity they wish of ready-made labor for absolutely no money, they choose to spend money grooming workers.

Your first test is accepting that scholarship. Indoctrination of the youth is how one builds loyalty. A full-ride scholarship, with the strings of maintaining a B average and requiring you to work for five years in your field after graduation for company you’ve not heard of, is a deal even the most well-meaning of parents will force their kid to take. It’s only five years and it’s a job in their field after all.

Given the chain smokers in this place, I didn’t smell the food before I saw Melony moving towards me with it. That little stroll down memory lane distracted me to the point I didn’t notice her until she was three feet away. Gotta stay focused when not in a safe house. I haven’t had enough glasses to be even remotely foggy! This girl is going to get me killed. Speaking of foggy, this place looks better when much of it is hidden by cigarette smoke. Not good by any stretch, but better. You can forget that clean indoor air act. Health inspectors don’t come to this part of town for anything other than a payoff.

Where is Henry? There wasn’t a fight. That would have snapped me back instantly. Not cool! Henry is now surrounded by the three sisters and the three others, all of which are well over his minimum size requirement. He’s kind of trapped in the middle of tables they pushed together, but has a way out.

The wife that started everything isn’t here. Only a gullible man would believe she’s in the restroom. Hubby and his pool shooting crew are still drinking and eying Henry. Well, two of them might just be keeping an eye on their own wives, but unless one of those other three are unattached, there is no way he walks out of here before the pool shooters do and they will be waiting for him.

“Hope you’re not allergic to MSG because this place uses a lot,” stated Melony as she put the sack on the bar. Mike came over to fetch the Chardonnay along with his egg rolls. “Pair of 1.5s and a regular bottle?” he queried.

“He said he wasn’t puttin’ out so I might as well get him drunk. Besides, I’ve never had Chardonnay, I might like it,” responded Melony.

“Or you just might get him hammered enough to carry back to your place,” laughed Mike. “By the way, did you . . .”

“Bottom of this bag.” She fished and came up with a small, cheap corkscrew.

“Good. Now I don’t have to try and find the one I brought when I first started working here,” answered Mike. “We don’t have actual glasses here,” he continued, looking for my reply.

“I like it on the rocks anyway,” I answered. “Especially if you have one of those big, drive-up window glasses. Throw a scoop of ice in it then fill ’er up. I can always add more ice later.”

“We actually have a few of those back in the office,” answered Mike. “Let me get a pair washed up.”

After Mike left and I started eating, I got an uneasy feeling which had nothing to do with the food. Must have let it show.

“Don’t like it?” asked Melony. “There’s an extra order of crab rangoon here.”

“Food’s fine. I just probably shouldn’t have let you get the wine.”

“Why?”

“Nothing is going to stand out more in this place than Mike pouring wine,” I responded.

“Most here probably don’t know what it is,” answered Melony. “Sure to get noticed unless he pours it in the back. He did take the sack with him, so that’s probably what he will do. Mike’s not an idiot.”

Mike returned with our glasses, washed them along with some of the mixing stuff then disappeared again, returning with two large Chardonnays on the rocks.

“Thanks,” I said as I put more money into a small pile of bills in front of me, slipping a fifty onto the bottom.

Dammit! What is wrong with me tonight? Henry’s trophy bass still hasn’t returned. A couple of the women have small notebooks out. Bigger than what fits in a man’s shirt pocket and smaller than a stenographer pad. I’ve never known a name for them, but most women with kids tend to carry them so they can write stuff down. The rest seem to be trying to type into their phones while the men keep cruising by to make sure no phone numbers are being exchanged.

Seriously! You guys are jealous? Thank the man then come over here and take Melony home! Three of her weigh less than . . . never mind. Don’t judge. Low profile, remember.

If things did escalate into a testosterone hosing of the deck, it was going to be tough for me when the big plastic cup in front of me had cartoon characters from some kids movie. You can’t be loud if you can’t be proud, or so the saying goes.

Thankfully, this Liberty Creek Chardonnay she picked up is pretty good, even standing up to the ice without having that strong, burnt oak taste common in higher priced bottles. I don’t know what she paid, but the big bottle wines tend to cost less than many of the smaller bottle wines. This is definitely a wine for when you are leaving one in the dust. When you are having only one, drink the most expensive stuff you can afford. When one isn’t going to even be a speck in your rearview mirror, price matters almost as much as the answer to “does it give me a hangover?”

Despite what they told you in health class, not all alcohol will give you a hangover. I know some people who can get falling-down drunk on icky, nasty Budweiser and not show any sign of a hangover the next day. Give them just two cans of some watered-down light beer and they can barely open their eyes due to the splitting headache. Other people claim that just one swallow of Budweiser is a guaranteed hangover.

People have similar experiences with various wines. Of course, you have to be a professional to understand this. Amateurs who drink only at weddings, family gatherings, and on New Year’s Eve can’t possibly understand.

“So, what are you going to tell me about yourself?” asked Melony.

Why am I drifting? Something is wrong with this entire situation, and I mean more than just sitting here in The Unwashed Armpit.

“I can tell you this wine is pretty good, stands up to the ice without being overpowering and probably won’t give me a hangover even if I drink one of those big bottles by myself,” I responded.

“While I’m glad you like the wine, that wasn’t what I asked,” she retorted, looking me directly in the eye.

Just then, a scruffy short beard and ball cap poked his head between us, putting his arm around Melony. “Hey Mel! I thought you waz hangin’ wish me toni,” he slurred too loud over the music. Not hostile. Not angry. Just too drunk to control his own volume. “What’s with all this food?” he continued, not waiting for a reply. Yeah, loaded. Attention span measured in nanoseconds.

“I wanted more than a six pack and bag of pork rinds tonight Billy, so I found me a sugar daddy who could buy me a real supper.”

Great! Drag my ass into this. Fucking Henry! His trophy bass still isn’t back and now there is going to be a two-fronted fight. Well, not much of a fight. He’s really drunk, won’t even know he died. His ghost will probably haunt this bar like some of those Civil War soldiers still haunt the battle fields where they died. Legend has it they were killed so quick they still haven’t realized they are dead.

“Well who is your sugar daddy honey?” he slurred. “I might want to get a job with him or at least tell my sister.”

Is this just a redneck thing? They ask a question and keep right on talking without giving the person a chance to answer.

How many of you remember what I told you about a career bartender? Efficiency of movement? Ability to read people? Mike had been close enough to hear what was said. He also saw the fifty I put on the bottom of the pile. I told you. Noticing things like this is what keeps me alive and I have to be alive to get paid.

“Billy.”

“Wha Mi?” Billy slurred as the English language got ever closer to one contiguous vowel.

“Your sister just waved at me from the far side. I think she wants ya.”

“The thins I do for family!” exclaimed Billy. “I’m gonna be back to hang with you Mel. It wash ’posed to be you and me toni.”

“Go check on your sister,” stated Melony as she gently pushed him away.

Billy kind of lurchy-drunken-dance-stumbled through the crowd after what I assume was an attempt to tip the bill of his hat.

“Thanks for bringing me up,” I said when he was out of earshot.

“I never said you were my sugar daddy,” she replied.

“No, but we are sitting beside each other eating the same Chinese food with the same Happy Meal glasses in front of us,” I stated matter-of-factly without looking her direction.

“Oh, don’t get so huffy. Billy hits on me every night I come here around this time. He’s mostly harmless. Not really husband-type material, at least not one who could start out supporting three kids and a wife. I do kind of wonder why Mike stepped in? Billy’s been way worse than that before. His sister ain’t even here. She left to spend the weekend at their cousin’s. We keep in touch.”

“It was all I could think of on short notice,” chimed in Mike. He had been on the far side of this U-shaped bar but knew what was being said. He couldn’t possibly hear over the music. Either he knows her well or he reads lips. “Besides, if he was too drunk to remember that, he’s too drunk to be around the single women.”

“What about the married ones?” grinned Melony.

“Their husbands will make sure he leaves just like they have before,” answered Mike as he hopped to serve another customer.

“I must admit,” I said as I began bagging up what was left of my meal, “that was some good food. Too bad it will probably be a short-term rental.”

She looked at me kind of curious for a few seconds then burst out laughing. “Most people just get a headache. If it affects you that bad you should have just got the egg rolls like Mike. Those things are the size of burritos,” she continued, still laughing. “By the way, not that I’ve ever been in there, but I hear the men’s room is pretty horrible. You definitely want to get out of here before the end of your rental period!” She was laughing hysterically now. Either she really enjoyed bathroom humor or she can’t handle the wine.

When she finally finished laughing, she volunteered, “Glad I met ya, whoever you are, because this is the most fun non-date date I’ve had in years. Usually when I’m here it is just a bunch of guys trying to get in my pants.”

“Why come here if you know that’s how the evening will go?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Mike watches out for me and I’m friends with some of the wives over there. When the guys get too drunk and forward, I go talk about mom stuff with them,” she replied. “Besides, this is my one night out and I can walk here.”

“You walk home from here?” I asked, with a bit more shock showing in my voice than I wanted.

“It’s not that bad around here. Usually a couple of the ogres, as you call them, make sure I get home alright before they head to their next place. I leave well before closing. If I do tie one on and stay ’til closing Mike is usually good for a ride home. Before you ask, he’s my cousin.”

I couldn’t suppress the chuckle and she caught it.

“Not that kind of cousin,” she said a bit too loud as she slugged my arm.

“I just observe, I try not to judge,” came my chuckling reply.

“You judge a lot really,” she responded. “You judged me before I even came over to you.”

“Nope, I observed you and calculated the probability of your intentions. They didn’t fit with my plans for the evening,” I stated.

“Well, I never . . .” she trailed off. “I knew you weren’t going to be a regular when I saw you. Figured you were stranded here for a night for whatever reason, probably car trouble. I knew the score.” She finished that last sentence very softly. I had been looking her in the eye and said nothing. We both managed to take a drink of wine without breaking eye contact. Harder than it sounds when you are both drinking out of those big plastic drive-up window cups.

Finally, she looked down and said softly, “Sometimes a woman just wants to step up when she steps out. Way up, if she can, if only for a little while. Do you think I woke up one morning in my early teens and said ‘I want to be a single mom with three kids living in the low rent part of a redneck town?’”

“Probably not,” I responded, stealing an opportunity to look around and verify Henry was still here. It was enough to tell me that he was getting up and so was one of the three single women gathered around him. The husbands were paying close attention.

“You’re damned right I didn’t!” came her hot reply as I turned back to look her in the eye. “By the way, your friend over there isn’t really leaving with Rhonda. He will be hooking up with Melissa, most likely back at your hotel room.” She saw the look in my eye and continued a bit softer. “Rhonda and Melissa are friends. Sometimes friends with benefits, so the story goes. This wouldn’t be the first time Rhonda escorted someone to her and Melissa’s hubby knows it.”

Internally, I was shocked as all hell. Outwardly, I expected my training to hide it. Expectations aren’t always outcomes though. Peripheral vision told me Rhonda was walking behind Henry after saying her goodbyes to the other women. That much of her story tracked. Rhonda knew the routine. It wasn’t going to be enough of a diversion though. The husbands were on the move.

“He’s not going to make it out,” I heard her whisper in my ear. Just then, a more drunken Billy stumbled between the husbands and Rhonda. Whether Rhonda was the intended target of his alcohol-fueled libido or not, we will never know. The wives and other single women at Henry’s former table were all still turned to face Rhonda leaving, after having said their goodbyes. Melissa’s hubby shoved Billy out of the way without thinking. Somehow Billy landed with the back of his head wedged between the breasts of one of the wives.

“I done died and gone to heaven!” Billy hollered at the top of his redneck lungs. Henry and Rhonda got another two steps towards the door as the husbands turned to see. One of the husbands hollered, “Billy, get out of there!” The jukebox had chosen that particular moment to change records. Yes, it still had records. Everyone stopped and turned to see. Henry was now past me with Rhonda close behind. Half the bar erupted in laughter as the next song began to play. The women were trying to shove the puddle named Billy away, while hollering at all three husbands for causing this. Henry was out of the door.

I turned to look Melony in the eye, and in a low voice said, “Your buddy Billy comes in handy.”

She smirked and responded, “So I was right. The walls in that hotel are thinner than the napkins in this place. Even if you aren’t in the same room you are going to hear it. Is that how you want to spend your evening?”

“It wasn’t at the top of my list,” I said in all honesty.

“I guess it is time for me to ask about getting in your will,” she beamed.

“What makes you think there will be anything worth having?” I retorted.

“Well, for the next couple of hours I’m sure some part of it is worth having,” she said with a sparkle in her eye.

“I may try to finish all three of those bottles and roll out of here in worse shape than your friend Billy. You’re pretty confident about something which may not be functional,” I responded with a hint of a smile on my lips.

“I’m pretty sure the first one is already in these cups,” she said, taking a large gulp. Then came her next chess move. “As for the other two, they will leave with me. If you want them you will have to follow them.” I was well aware that we were playing her game now.

You generally don’t get to her situation in life without knowing how to work a guy that has had a few. I was a long way from hammered, despite what those field sobriety tests would say, but I had consumed enough to be more social. I believe it is called “a more pleasant buzz about me” by kids today.

I was lucid enough to not volunteer that we got the last room at the hotel which, thankfully, had two beds. Honestly, I have no idea how Henry found that particular shithole. I never saw him searching the Internet. Unless he had been here before with another team, Henry has been shuffled around a lot. I really don’t know. Not knowing bothered me more than the hotel. The possibility of walking into that room and learning those stories about Henry weren’t just rumors . . . well, let’s just say Melony’s offer was starting to sound like the lesser of two evils.

I have valid credit cards with my current identity. They matched the name on the driver’s license. I could easily check into a better hotel. Better hotels had security cameras though. I didn’t have a hat with me and I didn’t know what the next assignment was going to be. Since we had just dropped the truck in this town and were basically barefoot until our next assignment. I had to try for a very low profile.

The locals were egging on the happily married group and Billy was somehow on his feet between them. Don’t get the wrong impression there. He was like a reed in water bobbing and weaving, just trying to work his way through the shoving and hollering.

“Ah, wedded bliss,” I accidentally said out loud.

“For them it’s foreplay,” commented Melony. “They have a fight in here and go home for makeup sex.”

“Sad, women always seem to need a reason to have sex. Guys just need a place and a moment,” I volunteered. Okay, now I know switching from the tap beer to wine was getting to me.

“Too many of you only need a moment, that’s why women need a reason,” Melony responded to what she perceived as a challenge. Maybe it was? I certainly hadn’t meant it as one. “How did you get here?” she asked.

“I walked from the hotel.”

“No, I meant how did you end up here? You came from somewhere else,” she clarified.

“Truck.”

“Is it back at the hotel or here in the parking lot?” she queried.

“Neither.”

“Ah, so you are broke down, I was right.”

“Nope.”

Now she really did have a confused look on her face. She kept looking at me expecting me to explain and I just looked at her. She used the excuse of taking another drink to break eye contact then looked at me more thoughtfully. I watched her for a bit with a growing smirk.

“You don’t have to lie about it,” she spat in an irritated tone. “It’s a simple answer which can’t be a national secret.”

“I’m not lying. I came in a truck and no longer have the truck.”

“You drove your truck here to sell it?” she asked.

“Wasn’t my truck to sell.”

“Oh, a car chaser? Someone who transfers vehicles between dealerships?”

“Nope.” Now she was more perturbed than curious.

“You don’t have to be an ass about it, just tell me!” Melony’s exasperation was starting to show. This was almost fun.

“You’re a smart girl, you will figure it out. You figured out my companion quick enough.”

“That was just observing. You kept sweeping the bar with your eyes but lingered a bit in his direction. Besides, both of you have shirts with sleeves,” she offered.

“Well, there is a completely ordinary reason someone could come here in a truck and no longer have the truck without being a car chaser or having any kind of accident or breakdown. You are just assuming something which is incorrect.” I informed her.

“What am I assuming? That you are just messing with me?”

“No. You are making an assumption about the truck.” Now her perplexed look was back.

“It’s a truck. Nearly everyone in here came in a truck.”

“While your second statement is most likely true,” I responded, “your first statement is where the assumption was made. It wasn’t that kind of a truck.” She thought for a second, then I could almost hear the rusty wheels grinding on shafts not meant to be turned in her head.

“You don’t look like a truck driver,” she said hesitantly. “They usually look like everyone in here.”

“It’s not my occupation, but I have a license and am more than capable of driving one.”

“What is your occupation then?”

“Not a topic for conversation,” I said a little too quickly and without any warmth.

“Oh come on, you start out the evening playing man of mystery only to tell me you arrived in a big rig? You really had me going there, I must admit. I would have never pegged you for a truck driver. Known too many of them.”

I sighed. I could tell by the look in her eye she thought it was a sigh of defeat, because now I was not “a step up” as she called it, but more the same. After a pause, I said, “I’m not a truck driver, but I can drive a truck. Yes, I drove one here. When you need to travel a long way without attracting much attention it’s a good way to travel. There is a sleeper, fridge, and most truck stops have shower rooms you can rent for under twenty dollars without leaving much of a paper trail. For now, I’m as far as I was told to go. As to what is going to happen with the truck, I neither know nor care. Eventually I will get a message and go somewhere else via some other means.”

She gave me a look which said she still thought it was bullshit.

“Well, it was nice meeting you. Time for me to wander off. I certainly won’t say anymore here,” I stated, then finished my drink. I got up and started walking out when Mike said, “Mate, you forgot your money,” holding it up so I could see. I was pretty certain Melony could see the fifty on the bottom. I had no idea how much was left and didn’t care. Too many risks were taken tonight for a low profile evening. “Nah, it’s yours,” I answered, and walked out the door.