Interesting Times
"Dante and Virgil walk into the 9 Story Hotel bar and Order Shots of Fireball. But You're a Dumb Cunt Annow I've Wasted a Good Joke" - Bishop, Bartender at The 9
It’s the usual dilemma. The place is packed and nobody to talk to. I’m overlooking a sea of ‘eads, none of them smart. Wankers. They’re braying for water, braying for a drink. It’s water in the Wittgenstein sense. Give us nourishment, give us a Mojito, give us a Negroni, give us an Old Fashioned, give us a Gimlet, give us a Cosmopolitan. Give us something to ‘old onto while we ogle the ladies and drown our sorrows.
Increasingly glassy eyes asking for favors, asking for special treatment, asking for change. They get their drinks. They get some world class mixology from me. Valuable life advice for free, if the fancy strikes me, but I keep the change. Not bothering counting coins. And ‘onestly, it’s also tax for me because I ‘ave to listen to all the mediocre bullshit they drop.
The notion that a bartender ‘as to be sympathetic is false. Drinks are good and I don’t knife all the mental wankers; it’s a job well done. It’s funny, some of them look at my chef’s knife with trepidation or distrust when I cut lemons or limes. That’s not the one I’ll stick ya with, laddy. My Infidel is in me breast pocket. My chef’s knife? She’s too good for ya. Cuts ingredients, not cunts. Let’s keep business and pleasure separate shall we?
I’m bored, bored, bored. Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves? My ‘ands moving automatically. Transactions take place. Drinks out, cash in. And yeah, I ‘eard ya, there in the back. But the level of excitement is close to absolute zero. Just let me get back to The Kreutzer Sonata already, so I can ‘ave some culture in me life, will ya? Even the music is easy listening. I tried to ‘ave a go with Cosi fan Tutte the other day, but it scared the locals. Sorry Wolfie me boy.
Ah, a familiar face. Rufus ‘as made ‘is way over. One Rusty Nail coming right up. ‘E lingers at the bar for a minute. Tall, sophisticated, and suave. Smells nice too.
“How’s tricks?”
“The usual. Nothing big. ‘Ave ya ‘eard about the ruckus on seven? Something’s not kosher up there. Talking about kosher, most drinks in ‘ere are. Just not the grape based ones and a few other exceptions. Yours is. Always ‘as been.”
Rufus nods and takes ‘is Rusty Nail over to the small round table at the wall. Sits down in ‘is usual spot. Watches the crowd. I’m wondering if ‘e is looking for someone in particular. Time will tell. Lots of business going on at that table. Lots of ladies staring at Rufus and ‘is chest too. Don’t get yer ‘opes up girls. ‘E is not doing that for ya.
One of them wankers is losing it. Should ‘ave cut ‘im off sooner. Demands another Sea Breeze. Not in a million years.
“If ya want something like that, ya better get yerself to the nearest ocean. Ya can piss in it for the yellow and bleed in it for the red. And if ya don’t shut up right now, ya can do the pissing and bleeding right ‘ere.”
Looks like that got the message across. Wanker and ‘is friends are leaving. One of them even drops a big bill in the tip jar. Embarrassing cunts pays off from time to time. Spot is already taken by another bloke asking nicely for a Screwdriver. That we can do. Freshly squeezed orange juice and all. Just for the record, this particular drink isn’t kosher, because of the juice. Not that anyone was asking.
I keep serving and Shakespear speaks for me when he says ‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time.’ I ask one of them wankers what ‘e thinks about the emotional impact of sublime music on ‘is daily life decisions, but I only get a blank stare back. Pearls before swine, pearls before swine, why am I even trying? Cunts, the lot of them. Bloke wants a Dark And Stormy. That we can do.
Getting a shiver down me spine. I look up and see Bosch enter the bar. Got ‘is goons with ‘im. What’s this about then? Usually ‘e comes in much later, or just orders spirits up to ‘is suite. The whole atmosphere changes. Every wanker is looking at ‘im and the four pieces of muscle flanking ‘im. Place gets filthy quiet. I’m shooting glances between Rufus, still watching, and Bosch. They better not turn my place into cinder. Rufus looks like a cat about to pounce, but to ‘is credit, ‘e stays stock still.
Bosch comes up to me and asks for a White Russian. That we can do. One White Russian coming up. The goons just stand around. Seizing up the crowd. I give Bosch ‘is drink. None of the ordinary blokes say anything. My ‘ands at standstill for the first time tonight. Bosch smiles as if ‘e is giving benediction. Drinks ‘is White Russian and turns away from the bar. I grab the empty glass and put it in the sink by reflex. Bosch walks up to the little table.
“You know, Mr. Balthazar, we can expedite things if you have a problem.”
Rufus doesn’t react. Just smiles.
“Do we have a problem?”
“You would know if we did.”
Jesus fucking Christ, can they not do their posturing somewhere fucking else? I got an establishment to run. Got to answer to Pinch and the big boss. This looks like it’s going to get really messy. I’m ‘olding me breath.
Bosch turns around and leaves. Goons flanking ‘im and trotting out like a gaggle of geese. I only exhale once the last one of them is gone. Rufus ‘olds up a hand for another Rusty Nail. That we can do. Me ‘ands are a bit shaky and I got time, because nobody else is ordering yet. Some blokes are leaving, quietly making for the exits. I’m shaking me ‘ead too. Might ‘ave brought that upon meself. That saying ‘May you live in interesting times’ is a curse for a fucking reason.