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NOTES:

NEW WRITERS' SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"The Patron"

by Michael Simon - Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Michael Simon resides in eastern Canada, where he practices medicine in his spare time to support his writing habit. Published works have of late appeared in Apex: Science Fiction and Horror, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, The Sword Review, Ragged Edge, Drabble, Mindflights and Art and Prose. He has been shortlisted for the AEON Award and Writers of the Future and has contributed to several anthologies including, most recently, Dead Worlds (Volumes 1 and 2). Nonfiction articles have appeared in Stitches Magazine, The Physician’s Chronicle, Physician’s Review, The Medical Post and Hockey Net. A travel article has been published in Canadian Doctor's Magazine.
 

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

1. The writing was atmospheric and provided an unusual take on a hackneyed subject. I enjoyed it but felt it lacked snap. The ending was predictable.

2. Poignant and bitter-sweet, well presented and well structured, with a nice style to the writing. The ending wasn't much of a surprise, but that didn't spoil the story itself. Enjoyed this. - The title didn't really feel as strong as it could be.
 

THE STORY:

I noticed her the minute she stepped through the door. With her jet black hair, chic glasses and black leather outfit, she was a head turner, and one step above every other female in the room.

My customers noticed as well, eyeballing her sleek form as she angled between the crowded bodies on her way to the bar. Unlike most weekday nights, my place was packed with customers. But that was a result of the recent terrorist attack as opposed to my sterling personality.

As she approached, it became apparent she wasn’t the bombshell she appeared at a distance, rather, her short stature and bland features were hidden behind the expensive clothes. And yet, I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, there was something about her…

“What’ll ya have?” I asked as she took a stool at the bar. The slips of gray in her hair and fine wrinkles about her eyes betrayed a girl who was older than she appeared.

A moment of uneasy silence passed as a pair of blue eyes seemed to take the measure of me.

“Do you still carry a certain single malt whiskey?” she asked quietly. “The previous proprietor used to import it from Ireland.”

I nodded. “Don’t get much request for it now-a-days but I still have a little around here somewhere.”

It took a minute to locate the dusty old bottle wedged under the bar. I dropped an ice cube into a glass and poured her a generous portion.

“I take it you’ve been here before?”

“A few times,” she replied, swirling the contents of her glass before taking a sip. She nodded. “That’s what I remember.”

I immediately liked her. It wasn’t often a patron ordered a drink for the sole purpose of enjoying the taste. In a seedy bar like mine, buried on a forgotten side street, people were just trying to get themselves, or someone else, very drunk.

“You were probably served by Mr. Singh? That’s who I bought it from.”

She took another drink, savored the taste and then shook her head. “No, actually it was from a rather large man with an eye patch. He was wounded in the war.”

“Are you sure? Singh ran this place for over a decade before me and… Oh, excuse me.”

I took a few minutes to serve some customers and restock the beer fridge. When I returned, I noticed her glass was empty.

I motioned to the bottle and she nodded. I poured three fingers and she smiled at me.

“You must have developed a taste for this stuff somewhere else,” I observed. “Nowadays, everyone is into fancy beers and coolers.”

“My business takes me all over the world,” she explained. “Some… time ago, I was exposed to this pleasant stock.” She took another drink. “I try to slip in a quick visit… whenever I’m around.”

“What kind of work are you in?” From her dress, I would have guessed the fashion industry.

But, curiously, her expression abruptly changed and her eyes dropped. “I’m into… expropriations.”

I hesitated. She definitely didn’t seem the business type. At that moment I was interrupted by a couple of drunken lawyers looking for a rum refill.

After I cashed their Andrew Jackson’s, I chanced a look down the bar. The woman was gone but there was something shiny left on the counter. The single coin she left as payment had me worried for a minute. But that was before I realized it was solid gold.

                                                         #

My bar is situated in the basement of a rundown apartment building beneath a freeway onramp. Some of the old timers swear there was a tavern on this exact spot before the present building was built, but who really knows. I bought the place fifteen years ago when Mr. Singh got sick. We linked up because he needed the money for treatment and I wanted to get out of the used car racket.

In my position as owner, janitor and gofer, it was up to me to maintain the high standards my patrons expect when they walk through the door. For most, that means a roof over their heads, a functioning toilet and copious quantities of alcohol. Everything else is superfluous.

Still, at times, I threw out the old posters and knit knacks and tried to spruce up the place with a few modern amenities. As I had little spare cash, the breweries usually donated the majority of material. Everything went into the trash except for a few items that I saved in an old storeroom.

And that’s where I found the pictures. Hidden in the bottom of an old trunk, the pile of faded black and white photographs were straight out of a bygone era. The one that struck me most was that of a burley, middle aged man standing in front of a bar that looked remarkably similar to mine. Wearing a jovial expression, he was hoisting a drink with one hand and holding a rifle in the other. He also had an eye patch over his left eye.

                                                   #

“Shame about the accident, eh?” the man with the Middle Eastern accent said as he purchased a couple of beers.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” I replied solemnly. “They’re still finding the bodies.”

He nodded and handed me a ten, leaving before I could open the till. As with most strangers in the bar, it was his way of spreading a little light in an otherwise miserable week.

An abandoned chemical line had ruptured outside one of the city’s water treatment plants. Thousands had been poisoned before the cause was pinpointed and many more were still dying despite the best efforts of the medical establishment.

Which made for another busy week in my establishment. Misery loves company and there was enough misery to fill most bars in the county.

I recognized her immediately. Appearing unannounced at the end of the bar, she was blonde and dressed in a worn grey skirt and matching blouse. The glasses were gone but the face was the same.

I stepped over. “Welcome back.”

She looked surprised. “You remember?”

I reached into my wallet and pulled out a golden coin. “You’re hard to forget.”

She tilted her head. “I thought you would have cashed that in by now.”

I grinned. “Came close a few times but… somehow managed to squeak by.” I spread my hands expansively. “Besides, this place is a gold mine all on its own.”

She chuckled. “Do you still…?”

I pulled the bottle off the counter and grabbed an ice cube.

“Are you back in the city on… business?” I asked.

Something flashed behind those blue eyes. “Actually…yes. I have a few loose ends to tidy up before I can leave.”

There was an aura about her. I saw it now. The petit woman exuded a kind of presence that was almost palpable. Despite the fact my little hole in the wall was crowded with patrons; the seat on either side of her remained vacant.

She took a sip and savored the aftertaste. “That’s wonderful. You’ve kept the same supplier.”

“Only for the right customers.”

She gave me an appreciative smile.

“It’s good to see you still here,” she said finally. “I’ve seen a number of bartenders come and go over the years. Some were just plain disagreeable.”

“Like the man with the patch?” I asked.

She smiled mysteriously. “I like to set people back once in a while.”

“But you did meet him? It wasn’t a joke?”

The blonde hesitated before answering. “I met him. It was right after the war.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m having a little problem believing that. You see, I did some checking. His name was O’Connell and he did own a bar on this site after the war... the First World War.” I looked close but her expression never wavered. “By my reckoning, that was over eighty years ago.”

She continued to sip but her eyes took on a far away cast.

“It seems like only yesterday...” she murmured.

 I suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu. In my job, I meet a lot of characters…but she seemed so normal...so sincere...

“Last time, you mentioned you were involved in ‘expropriations’?”

Her gaze settled back into the present. “That’s my purpose,” she said simply. “I couldn’t change if I wanted to. Yes, some of the others have better jobs, conveying messages, making declarations, even fighting battles... but, at least, this job never gets boring.”

“Unlike running a bar you mean?”

She made a throaty noise that could have been mistaken for a laugh.

“Every day is different. I travel the globe, see strange and wondrous sights, and have the opportunity to meet so many different people...” Her voice trailed off momentarily before picking up again.

“No, I wouldn’t trade my vocation for all the world.”

I was forced to step away to satisfy a few customers but I managed to keep my eye on her. When I returned, her glass was empty. I refilled it without asking.

“Don’t worry,” I said as she looked about to protest. “You’re still working on the last dime so don’t bother trying.” I tried to infuse an edge into my tone but the look she gave me was pure compassion.

“I was right about you,” she whispered. “You do have a kind heart.”

I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Well, I don’t know much about hearts,” I stammered. “But a gentleman never takes advantage of a lady.”

A sudden commotion in my main room diverted my attention. It looked like a couple of drunks had taken exception to each other’s existence. Last time I let it go, I ended up replacing the plate glass window.

“Damn! Be right back.”

I grabbed my mini-bat and leapt over the bar. It only took a few seconds to separate the combatants and toss them unceremoniously out the door. However, by the time I returned, the stool at the end of the bar was vacant. My eyes unconsciously swept the counter before I let out a breath. She hadn’t left any payment.

Satisfied, I sat back and pulled out a smoke. It felt like I had done a good deed.

                                                    #

Business was booming. Ever since I installed the surgical mask dispenser at the door, I had patrons coming out my ears.

“Christ,” I muttered. If only we had a flu epidemic years ago, I might have been able to retire by now.

It still felt strange serving beers and cocktails to a bar full of surgeon wannabees. However, they looked even stranger, sucking up spirits through straws that punched small holes in the masks.

We were in the second month of the much anticipated global flu pandemic. Reminiscent of the 1919 Spanish Flu, this one had sprung out of the Far East and had all the hallmarks of a real killer.

I had just finished restocking the fridge and was enjoying a deep drag when I felt a chill race up my spine. I glanced towards the front door just as a petit redhead in a business suit stepped inside. Unlike every other customer, she ignored the mask dispenser and, instead, made a beeline for the bar.

I watched, amazed, as patrons unconsciously cleared a path. Even so, every eye in the place performed a once over before turning away. Three businessmen suddenly decided to vacate their stools and join the crowd in the main room. She took the stool in the center.

“I was wondering when you were going to pay us a visit.” I stared past the red curls and soft complexion. “You look tired.”

She moved a few stray locks off her face and beamed a smile.

“Good to see you again, Barkeep. And yes, work has been... hectic these past few weeks. I’m just now able to slip away.”

I tried some gentle prodding. “And work won’t be missing you?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “They have all had… time off. They can wait.”

“I don’t suppose they have a choice?”

Her smile twisted into a snicker. “Perhaps they don’t…”

I prepared her drink and watched her consume it quietly in small sips. She seemed totally engrossed in the moment.

“I have to ask you a question.”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked up.

“How old are you really?”

A wry smile appeared. “Don’t you know you’re never supposed to ask a lady that question?”

“That may be true,” I admitted. “But you haven’t aged a day since we first met. I, on the other hand, am getting more decrepit with each passing month.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m completely immune,” she said, fingering a strand of gray.

“Sorry,” I shook my head. “That’s not new.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “What would you say if I told you I sampled the first barrel of whiskey they ever rolled out?”

My heart did a quick flip flop. I didn’t want to acknowledge my suspicions. “I’d almost believe you.”

She looked disappointed. “Almost?”

I felt deflated. “Maybe I’m trying hard not to.”

She shrugged.

I sold some more beer and sat down opposite her.

“Tell me more about your journeys,” I said. “It must be something to travel the world.” I, on the other hand, had never been out of the city.

Her eyes widened. “It’s truly awe inspiring. I have witnessed the best and worst of mankind; acts of extreme kindness and mercy… and yet, the prevalence of greed and depravity still sickens me.” Her gaze seemed to focus on a point above my head. “It comes down to heart, Barkeep. If you have a good one, you are blessed.”

“And if not?”

Her gaze fell and she drained the last of her glass.

She reached into a pocket but I raised a hand.

“My treat,” I said softly. “I hope to see you again.”

A soft smile returned. “Oh, you will, Barkeep. You will.”

                                                    #

The years flew by. Fate had decreed that I would not find a soul mate nor start a family. Instead, I served the bar and scraped together a meager existence.

Thanks to my smoking and the nature of my job, the inevitable happened. In my seventieth year they diagnosed me with lung cancer and told me to quit smoking.

I laughed. The notion, at that point, seemed absurd.

They subjected me to weeks of gut-wrenching, commode-hugging chemotherapy. At the end, I was a shell of my former self.

When they informed me about the relapse, I felt my world collapse for a second time. The decision about further chemotherapy left me sweating buckets at night.

To add to my discomfort, the bar was slowly sinking under a tidal wave of medical bills. At times, I wasn’t sure which of us was going to kick the bucket first.

She appeared on a cold, rainy Saturday night when only a few patrons clung stubbornly to their drinks.

I limped over. “It’s been awhile.”

The brunette in the chic party dress nodded solemnly. Beneath the dark eye shadow and long trusses, she hadn’t aged a day. Her blue eyes emanated compassion.

I cocked my head to the side. “I can’t think of any recent catastrophes in the area. Are you sure you’re not lost?”

She shook her head silently from side to side and I chuckled softly.

“Well, I have some bad news for you.” I reached under the bar and withdrew a dust covered bottle. “I’m afraid this is the last one. And with my little establishment on its last legs, you’re going to have to find a new stash.”

“It’s been done before,” she whispered.

I stared into her blue eyes. “I imagine it has,” I muttered.

I poured her drink and sat back. My lungs were filling up again and I hurriedly reached for my puffer. I coughed for a full minute before I could breathe.

She pretended not to notice.

“I think I’m beating it,” I deadpanned.

Only her eyes smiled.

I watched her sip for a few minutes, once again mesmerized by the sheer enjoyment she received from such a simple pleasure. There was probably a message in that.

“You didn’t have to make a special trip,” I murmured. “I know you linger only during the bad times.”

She leaned forward and placed a hand on my arm. Something warm and soothing radiated up into my chest.

“Ah...”

“There is no need for you to suffer further, Barkeep.”

Her lips didn’t move and yet her words were as clear as my own thoughts.

“You are an honorable man and I have counted you a friend these past years. It is my honor to serve you now.”

I felt confused. “You mean it’s not actually my time?”

“Almost. I have come to spare you further pain.”

Our eyes locked and I took a deep breath. Within those orbs of blue, I spied paradise.

She smiled and this time it was a truly radiant smile. She knew what my answer would be. “Are you ready?”

I automatically reached for a smoke, laughed, and tossed the pack on the counter. “Let me close the place. If I leave these drunks here alone, they’ll steal everything that’s not nailed down and that includes my new toilet brush.

I stood, hesitated, and pulled a special item from my wallet.

“Here. I never used it but I figure you would know someone who could.” I had another thought and smiled. “I kind of consider you my next of kin anyway.”

When I placed the gold coin in her palm, I saw a tear form in the corner of her eye.

It took a minute to clear out the bar and lock the door. When I returned, she was sitting quietly on a stool, sipping her drink and watching me.

I sat down next to her. “Tell me what its like,” I said. “I’ve never taken a trip before…”
 

Copyright (c) 2009 by Michael Simon - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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