The young bartender woke up and wanted to wipe his eyes. It was the first thing he did every morning. It was the first thing he did waking from a nap. His right hand would come up to his eyes and wipe the night away with his forefinger and thumb. He wanted to wipe his eyes. But he couldn't. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting in.
Tied was not entirely accurate, he realized, as he reclaimed more and more of the waking world. He felt the pinch of plastic and eventually realized that it must have been plastic zip ties. Done up tightly too. He couldn't remember going to sleep. Why would he sleep in a chair? And in the bar?
He was in the bar. The garage doors were all closed and the night sky could be seen through the windows at the top of each door. It was quiet out. He could hear the waves. He smelled Scotch. Vincent sat across from him on a chair turned around backwards. Ginger. Vincent wanted to be called Ginger now.
"Ginger?"
"Shhh. I get to talk first. It will let you know where we stand. It will save time. The boy is dead. Shot dead with a bullet in his brain. That changes everything, doesn't it"
Vincent... Ginger was talking with that weird British accent. It had been months and he still could not get used to it. "Who is dead?"
Ginger swung his arm around and down and the bartender felt a sharp pain in the middle of his forehead. He even heard the "tock" as whatever was in Ginger's hand made contact. Ginger held it up dangling from his forefinger - it was bartender's own bottle opener.
"You play stupid and I am going to do that. Understand?"
"Vincent! What,,," TOCK.
"Ginger! Ginger! Why the hell am I tied up?" TOCK
"I keep hitting the same spot like that and the skin's gonna split. Don't insult me child. I am not in the mood."
"I don't...." TOCK
"Yep. Split the skin already. Gonna get blood in your eyes child. Stop being stupid. Better yet, stop counting on me being stupid."
"The boy," he hesitated, no tock so he continued, "the man who came to see you a couple of months ago has been shot dead." He worked very hard to make sure that last bit was not a question.
"Now see that, lad. No pain at all that way."
The bartender swallowed. and blinked his right eye against the blood that was only just beginning to make its way through his eyebrow. "You think I know some..." TOCK. This one did not hit the same spot as he managed to twist his head in time.
"I am sorry. Some of this may be my fault. You see me as the doddering old bar owner who has shuffled around here for years. You need to know - that is not who I am. I am a man who is used to doing whatever is necessary to get what he wants. Whatever that might be. Doing this to you is not something I ever had to agonize over. It is not something that will haunt me later. It is simply what is necessary. You need to understand that to save yourself a great deal more pain."
"What do you wan..." TOCK.
"STOP BEING STUPID!"
The young bartender glared at him. Ginger sat back and sipped his Scotch. "Let me help you. I am smart enough to know that she let's me live here. I am also smart enough to know that she would never do that without eyes and ears on the ground. I know those eyes and ears belong to you."
"Ginger, what the hell are you talking ab...." TOCK
"I don't know...." TOCK
"I'm not..." TOCK
"Dammit, stop hitting m..." TOCK
"Alright! Alright! I am paid to watch you! But I never knew..." TOCK
"Half truths get you a full smack. Not an economical way of doing this."
"What do you want to know?"
"Well now. That's almost disappointing. I have done this kind of thing before and its always ended on an even number. Like 12 or 20 or 30 or even 10. We are only up to eleven. Doesn't feel right to me. But an agreement is an agreement. You tell me how you send your reports. How often you send your reports and if there is anyone else here that you know of who is supposed to keep an eye on me."
Ginger listened as the boy detailed how he called a certain number to make his reports. The reports were usually monthly unless anything different happened. There had to be somebody else reporting too. When Ginger had broken his arm out fishing with the boys, the young bartender had thought nothing of it. But he had gotten a call asking why he had not called about the arm. He had no idea who the other could be.
Ginger thought back to the call he had gotten. A woman's voice. "Is this Ginger?" It was not a voice he recognized.
"This is Vincent Cost," he almost said from too many years of fear. "Yes. This is Ginger."
"He's dead. He was shot in the head. I am gone. Don't try to find me. But if you ever loved him the way he loved you, do something. Don't let her get away with this."
And the line had gone dead. He was surprised how quickly it hit him. He was crying. Great racking sobs. He felt empty. So damn empty. Carla came up behind him then and wrapped her arms around him. She was asking what was it? How could she help? "Oh baby, how can I help you," he clearly remembers her saying.
They had been in her tiny little house. The night was still except for an old man sobbing uncontrollably. He did not know how much time had passed before he regained himself. But he took a deep breath. Exhaled. And the last of Vincent of the island went with that last breath.
He turned to Carla. It was Ginger looking at her. She did not know, but she sensed something. She felt the difference.
She reached to wipe away the last tear that was still on his cheek when his hands found her throat. She wrapped both hands around his wrists and was just coming to the idea of going for his eyes when his thumbs crushed her wind pipe and he tossed her across the room.
As he walked over to her closet he watched her. As she lay there trying to gasp for air, he had an image of the fish on the dock that would spasm and gasp in much the same way. He threw several boxes and hats from the top of the closet before finding the shoe box. He took it down and walked back over to her.
She may very well have already been dead by the time he opened the box. "Shoe boxes full of cash in the top of your closet? Really? Did she tell you nothing about me? Did you think because you took me to bed I wouldn't ever suspect you? Carla I could have loved you. I wanted to love you. Of course you were the one she would pick to keep tabs on me."
"Having to kill you? That's part of the punishment for coming after her. Couldn't leave you alive to report me leaving this tropical hell hole. But you are a month away from your next report. I have time now. I think. But first I need to go down to the bar and fix a stiff drink and talk with my favourite bartender."
The boy had finished his story and was babbling now. Repeating bits and pieces of the story again. Anything to keep the room from filling with silence. The bartender was scared witless of silence now. As he rambled, Ginger poured himself a fresh Scotch and sipped at the bar with the bartender looking over at him.
Ginger reached over and under the bar and got another glass. He poured the Scotch into it. He walked back to his chair and used his foot to slide table over to them. He sat the glasses down along with the bottle. "You did well boy. Now we are going to sit and drink and we are going to plan how we get me back into the States. I am going to need help with what I am doing and you at least don't need it all explained to you. Now I am going to come over there and cut you loose and your aren't going to do anything stupid right?"
The bartender nodded vigorously. "You see boy, whatever she was paying you, I have an angle on enough cash to make you never have to worry about money ever again." And with that he pulled his long knife from his belt and moved around the table. He moved behind the bartender and with one hand took a hold of one of the plastic bindings at the boy's wrist.
The bartender never felt the knife as it slid into the back of his neck and ended his life.
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