A Meek And Thankful Heart by Jeff Somers

A Meek And Thankful Heart
A Phillip K. Marks Story
by Jeff Somers

Exhalation


The old man should have been cut off an hour ago, but he was obviously well known to the bartenders, as they continued to serve him gimlets despite his increasing inability to bring their contents successfully to his mouth. He was well-dressed and groomed, with an expensive suit and new shoes. Handsome, in the way old men get handsome sometimes, just from the dignity of their experience. He’d been a semi-regular and was popular with the female staff of Rue’s Morgue. One or two of the waitresses had flirted with him purposefully, but he’d gently turned them down. They all considered him a rich old man, lonely in his money, who came out to a young people’s bar a few times a month to hear some noise around him. He always drank gimlets, always complimented the bartender on her rare ability to make them, and always left a huge tip. He’d been coming to the Morgue for five years now, and every Christmas had given each of the staff a nice monetary gift. They liked him. They thought he added a bit of class to a place otherwise populated by predatory former frat boys and the squeaky women they attract.

This night, however, was different. Usually the old man (who told everyone to call him simply Juno) had at most two drinks, smoked a few cigarettes, and then bid farewell before the real crowd poured in. On rare occasions, he deigned to have dinner at the bar. He would chat amiably with the staff, flirt a little, and then go home with some kind words and a big tip. Tonight, he’d come to drink. He’d been drinking steadily since three in the afternoon and did not seem prepared to stop, had smoked three packs of cigarettes, and had not eaten a thing. His cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a grim monosyllabic personality which frightened the staff a little. They wondered if he was having a breakdown, if there was anyone they should call.

The other customers of the Morgue knew him and regarded him as a weirdo. They didn’t notice anything different about him aside from the fact that he was taking up valuable bar space he usually had the good sense to abandon.

“You feeling all right, Juno?”

The old man winked at the bartender, who was a thirty-three year-old blonde named Tracey. “Aye. I’m fine there, my dear. Getting better all the time, eh?” He laughed bitterly. “You always want to end it in a familiar place, eh? People go home to die. Want to be in their nests. This is as close to a home as I ever got.”

Tracey glanced over at her tending partner, her roommate Sharon. The two were attractive and single and had made careers of avoiding the roaming hands of various drunk men. That Juno had not once even been caught staring at their breasts had endeared the old man to them, and she was genuinely concerned. Sharon shrugged helplessly at her.

She turned back to Juno, who was draining his glass. “Maybe you ought to go on home, Juno. I’ll call you a cab, if you want.”

The old man shook his head and suddenly placed his hand on her arm. It was the first time he had ever touched her, she thought. His hand was warm and dry and pleasant. There was no force involved, and she realized that she’d placed her hand on his without thinking. “My dear,” he said with only a slight slur, “just let me be a few moments. It will be over soon.”

“Over?”




Juno pulled his hand from hers and patted her arm. “Don’t worry. You have other customers? When you have a chance, one more gimlet would be a blessing. And quit using so much lime juice. You can’t sober me up that way.”

Tracey smiled faintly; this was more like the old Juno she’d come to know. “Alright. One more. But then I’m calling you a cab whether you like it or not.”

Juno waved her off, his attention on his empty glass. His hands were shaking.

###

Busy pouring shots for a group of softball teammates who kept singing “We Are the Champions” off-key at deafening volume, Tracey didn’t notice the guy until most of the rest of the place had. It wasn’t silence, really; the bar was as noisy as ever, but a shift in the shrillness of the voices caught her ear, made her look up. And there was this guy: a tall, pale man with hair so blonde it was practically white, dressed in black, his eyes a bright blue and his face contorted in a twitching smile that made him appear to be mumbling to himself constantly. Tracey couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong with him, but something was. He just wasn’t right.

She glanced over at Juno and found him staring at his glass, his eyes wide and unfocused, haunted. She wasn’t surprised when the newcomer took a seat at the bar next to Juno. By all appearances, neither was Juno. She served the shots, forgot to collect payment for them, and wandered closer to hear what the duo were talking about.

“—have known it would be you,” Juno was saying. “The Angel of Death himself.”

“Mikaline to my friends,” the pale man responded, grinning. Suddenly, he noticed Tracey hovering nearby. “Miss?” he said clearly through the noise. “A bourbon on the rocks, please. Maker’s.”

Without thinking, she turned to pour the drink. She could still hear the conversation, but found herself absorbed in the drink order, heart-pounding, desperate to complete the task in a satisfactory manner.

“Waste,” Juno muttered. “All of you, wasting.”

“Juno, be as bitter as you like. You could have stopped this any number of times. You were too stubborn, and now the Syndicate has voted. You’re out.”

Juno snorted. “Out. You have no idea what you’re doing. It’s open season, now. You’ll all kill yourselves in months.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Mikaline said in a voice that sent a shiver down Tracey’s spine, a shiver not altogether unpleasant. There was something about him…she concentrated on getting the proper proportion of ice in the glass for his drink. She took pride in her work, wanted to impress him, wanted to see his eyes again, wanted to please him with her skill.

He went on behind her. “I hope so, Juno. Survival of the fittest. I’m more than happy to trade body blows with the rest of the Syndicate.”


*********The Rest of the story is found on Buzzy Mag.com!***********