Black Napkin

Twilight, Sunday night, and I am dreading work in the morning. The weekend slipped away before I could enjoy it. As I stare out the window, my attention is drawn to the shaky whimper of my dog, Merlin. His magical abilities include defecating indoors and dispelling his anxiety on my chair. I could stew in a spa of stress, or I can change the narrative. I put on my shoes and head out the door. Merlin stares out the side window, shaking, as I walk away.

I go to my favorite bar in the middle of town, a prohibition-style speakeasy serenaded by smooth jazz. Facing the brick wall behind the bar, a new bartender. She’s doing the usual chores of waxing and waning glasses with a towel in each hand. She is tall, might even be taller than me. She has her auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail so tight that I worry it might snap. She's wearing the establishment’s uniform. A black pinstriped vest, white dress shirt, and matching pinstriped pants. The uniform is baggy on others, but this one had to be tailored for her. It fit her athletic figure perfectly.

“Sorry, we’re closing,” she says, without turning around.

“Oh darn. Ok, have a good night.” I turn to leave the incandescent cave of cocktails.

As I reach the door, “Excuse me, sir?!” I look back and recognize her face from my last visit. “I'm sorry, it's been a long day, we don't close for another half hour. What’re you drinking?”

“An old fashioned, thank you.” I sit at the bar.

“Drinking on a Sunday night? You must not have work tomorrow,” she says, producing a whiskey glass from beneath the bar.

“The fact that I have work tomorrow, is why I’m here,” I say.

“Oh, I see,” she says raising her eyebrows, “you look familiar, have you been here before?”

“I usually come here on Fridays, but it's been a few weeks.”

She snaps her fingers, “oh yeah, you were here my first day—but I was training. I'm Elizabeth by the way, but you can call me Beth.”

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I'm Logan.”

“So, Logan, what’s so bad about this job?” she asks while setting the drink on a black napkin.

“Well, the work I do is—overwhelming, I'm not cut out for it anymore.” I sip the orange zested whiskey. “Honestly, I’d like to talk about anything other than my job tonight. You mentioned you had a long day, did something happen?” I ask.

“Well, it happened a while ago, but it made today worse.” She wipes the bar top, “I don't like to bother customers with my problems.”

“It's no bother.” I smile and sip.

She folds her arms and leans forward. “Between you and me, my boss is a total jerk. When he isn’t drinking the bar dry, he harasses the staff.”

“That’s not good, harasses you how?”

“He makes inappropriate jokes about the women. He thinks he’s funny, but it makes everyone uncomfortable. Today, of all days, he made a joke about me being his ‘work wife’.”

“That’s horrible. Have you considered quitting?” I ask.

“Trust me, if I could, I’d be gone already. Nobody’s hiring right now.”

“That’s a tough spot to be in. I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’d you mean by today of all days? Something to do with that thing that happened?” I ask.

“Yes, but I'll cry if I talk about it, so let’s not.”

“If I buy you a drink, will that help?”

“You read my mind. But you don't have to buy.” She opens a bottle of well vodka.

“This was delicious,” I say, as my empty glass chimes from the ice cube. “Could I trouble you for another?”

“Of course.” she grabs a fresh glass.

As she mixes the drink, I check my phone, 9:45 pm. “You close at 10?”

“That's right, but we can stay open later if it's busy.” She winks and places the drink on a fresh napkin.

“I don't want to keep you from anything.”

“Curled up in my bed eating from the carton? Yeah, I'm in no rush,” Beth says, taking a seat next to mine.

“Tell me what happened?” I ask, positioning toward her.

“My dad—he passed away a year ago today.”

“My God. I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you, I thought work would distract me, but that was wishful thinking.”

“How old was he?” I ask

“He was 56.”

“That's young, was he ill? If you don't mind my asking.”

“Yes, he struggled with it for years,” Beth says, looking down at the bar top.

“Well, I am truly sorry for your loss. Here’s to your dad.” I raise my glass.

“Yeah, here's to you dad.” Her eyes begin to swell with a subtle quiver of the lip.

“I know it’s been a tough day, but I'm glad you came to work today, Beth,” I say as I hand her a napkin.

“You’re sweet,” she says looking down, “Oh god, I forgot I was wearing these damn gold shoes.”

I look down to verify. “Wow, I don't know how I missed those, why do you wear them if no one else does?”

“Because I'm the new girl,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I thought my boss was bad,” I gulp from my drink.

“It makes me feel ridiculous. Especially after getting this uniform hemmed to look more professional.”

“I noticed it looked different on you,” I say.

“I'm not a fan of looking like a child in my uniform.”

“Mission accomplished, I'd say.”

“So, what about you? Are you from here?” she asks.

“Born and raised, you?”

“I'm from California originally, but we moved here three years ago.”

“We?” I ask.

“Yeah, me and my dad. We lived together for a year and then I got my place.”

“You don't have any other family around? That’s gotta be tough,” I notice discomfort from my wallet and remove it from my pocket.

“It's been just me and my dad for as long as I can remember, now it's just me.”

“What was he sick with exactly?”

“I'm going to need another drink,” she says then walks behind the bar.

“Sorry, being nosey is part of my job, I hope I didn’t overstep,” I say.

“No, it's fine, it's just really hard for me to talk about this, but I know I need to.” She throws back another shot.

“Everyone grieves differently. I hope you have someone you can talk to.”

“I have a few good friends back home. They’re always telling me to look on the bright side, that he isn't suffering anymore. It drives me crazy.”

“I've found that people have no idea what to say, and that's ok, why would they?”

“Have you ever lost someone?” she asks, dabbing the corner of her eyes with the napkin.

“Yes, and it felt like my heart was torn from my chest.”

“How did you heal?” Beth asks.

“I'm not sure I did, I just learned to move forward.”

“But how?” she asks.

“A lot of this.” I point to my drink, “and a lot of time. So, what was he sick with?”

“He would get really sad sometimes, he never told me why. Every few months he would lay in bed for days at a time, just staring at the wall.”

“Depression.”

“I thought that too until I found the note he left for me. Sorry, excuse me.” With tears swelling, she walks to the bathroom.

I glance at my phone, 10:05. I don't want to overstay my welcome, but I don't want to leave her like this. She emerges from the bathroom a moment later.

“Logan, I’m sorry but I have to close the bar now.”

“No problem, how much do I owe you?”

“Twenty-two.”

I grab forty from my wallet and place it on the bar. “I hope I didn’t say something to offend you.”

“You didn’t, but I'm working. I shouldn't have laid all that on you,” she says.

“I know we’ve just met, but I hate to leave while you’re so upset. If you need to talk some more, I can walk you to your car when you're done?”

“That’s sweet, but I walk home. I think I'll be ok, thanks for offering.”

“I'm walking home too, it's no trouble. But I don't want to push,” I say, holding both hands up in surrender. “Either way, I enjoyed our conversation and hope you have a good night.” I turn to leave.

“You know what? Sure. That’d be nice. Just give me ten minutes to close up and I'll be outside.”

“Ok, sounds good.” I step out into the cold darkness. The city was quiet, apart from the train horn in the distance. I cross the street to sit on a park bench while I wait for Beth. Ten minutes go by and she isn't outside. She might have had some more things to do, I'll give it a few more minutes. Ten minutes pass, still no Beth. She might’ve decided to leave without me. I cross the street and descend the stairs to the bar. I peer through the tinted glass; the lights are off and the door is locked. I can only assume she left out the back. I cut my losses and begin the walk home.

As I walk, I replay the conversation with Beth. Did I say something wrong? Had I become one of the “creeps”? Something about it didn't add up. I make it about halfway home before I pat my pocket for my wallet. “Damn.” I turn back.

I arrive at the bar, and I peer through the window, hoping to see my wallet. I see a silhouette on the bar, it's too dark to tell, but it might be my wallet. I notice a faint glow emanating from the kitchen beyond the bar. I knock on the door. “Hello! Anyone in there?!” The glow disappears. Weird. I make my way to the back alley, which is lined with sour dumpsters. About ten feet from the dumpster was the back entrance to the bar, a slightly rusted metal door. There are two trash bags on the ground between the dumpster and the door. One is laying on its side with beer bottles fallen out, some of them broken. As I approach closer, I see there is a black pickup parked behind the dumpster. I pull out my phone and dial.

After three rings, “Sergeant Blake here.”

“Hey Sergeant, this is Detective Hayes.”

“Logan! How the hell are ya?”

“Fine. Hey, are you still working the graveyard shift downtown?”

“Sure am, what's up?” he asks.

“Can you send a unit down to 111 State Street, I might have a situation here. Could be nothing, but better safe than sorry.”

“Of course, tell me what’s going on?”

“I have a pickup parked out back of the building with possible signs of a struggle by the back entrance. There is activity inside with no response at the door." I approach the truck. The windows are rolled down, nothing inside. “I also have plate number 618JVC, can you run it?” I hear Sergeant Blake talking over the radio.

“Ok, Logan, I have a unit heading your way and we’re running the plate, standby.”

“Thanks,” I start walking towards the door. I hear radio chatter in the background.

“10-4. Logan, the truck is registered to the owner of the building, John Howard. You still want us to head down there?”

“Stay on the phone a second, let me see if this guy’s here.” I bang on the door, no response. I bang again, louder. “Hello! Mr. Howard!?”

A muffled male voice responds, “We’re closed!”

I hold my phone against my side and bang again. “Open up please!” I hear a door close inside. The deadbolt releases and the door cracks. A large bald man in a polo peaks through the opening.

“What do you want? I said we’re closed.”

Even in my tipsy state, he reeked of booze, “I heard you. Are you John Howard?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Take it easy. I'm trying to get my wallet. I left it inside.”

“There's no wallet in here,” he says.

I raise my phone, “Yeah, you better come down here.”

“You got it. My unit is about six minutes out,” Sergeant Blake responds.

“Who the hell is that!?” John yells

“Look, I'm a Police Officer, I don't want any problems, I just want my wallet.”

His eyes widen, “O—ok, I’ll go look right now.” He slams the door shut. He emerges a moment later with the wallet. He sticks his arm through the doorway, “Here you go, have a good night,” he says with a nervous smile.

As he closes the door, a shimmer catches my eye, a golden shoe on the floor behind him. I jam my foot in the doorway, “Hold on, the bartender Beth, I forgot to tip her, is she still here?”

“What’re you doing? She closed ten minutes ago and left out the front. Can you move your foot? I’ve got work to do.”

I turn and point to the trash, “Seems like she left in a bit of a hurry.”

“She must’ve wanted to get home, what do I care? I'm asking nicely, move your foot.”

“It's going to be hard for her to walk home without her shoe,” I say, nodding toward him.

He turns to see the shoe, then back at me. “You’ve got your wallet, now get lost, Columbo.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Open up this door and show me where sh—.” A swift blow lands on my face and everything goes black.

I come to and hear the screech of tires in the alley. The truck is gone. I pull myself up, with a deep pounding through my head. I make my way through the back entrance, vision blurred. “Beth! Are you in here?!” I approach an office door in the kitchen and open it slowly. Beth is curled up in the corner, crying with her uniform ripped and a bloody nose.

“He...he grabbed me outside, told me he’d kill me if I made a sound. If you hadn't shown up, he would've... he would've—”

“You’re safe now. Help is on the way ok? He’s not getting away with this.” As I stand in the doorway, I realize the back of my shirt is wet. I reach my hand up to the back of my head and feel a slow but steady flow. Feeling consciousness fade, I reach for my phone. I begin to dial. As the tunnel of vision closes, I hear Beth.

“Logan!”

Between blinks of consciousness, I hear the Sergeant’s voice amid sirens. “Logan... Don't worry buddy, we're getting you to the hospital... You did good.”

#

I awake to the warm glow of sunlight on my face and the silent hum of machines. As my eyes adjust, I see Beth asleep, using a police jacket as a blanket.

“Hey Buddy, you gave us quite the scare.” Sergeant Blake says, standing in the doorway.

“You know me, always causing trouble. What happened? Did you get him?” I say, sitting up.

“Yeah, we got him, he put up a fight too. When you’re ready, we’ll need your statement. Don't worry about it now, get some rest. The doc said you'll have to stay another night; you've got a pretty bad concussion.”

“Do you think someone can go check on my dog, Merlin? I left him home alone last night.”

“You got it,” he says.

“Thanks. How's she doing?” nodding to Beth.

“She's a tough kid, didn't want to leave your side last night. Sounds like you got to her just in time. You did good, Logan. I'll come back and check on you later. Tell her she can keep the jacket.”

“Thanks, Sarge.” He shuts the door behind him, waking up Beth.

“Hey, how're you feeling?” she says, yawning.

“Not exactly the kind of hangover I was expecting, but I’m ok. The real question is, how’re you?” I ask.

“Alive, thanks to you. I hoped you would come, and you did just in time.”

“I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner,” I say, noticing her black eye.

“How’d you figure it out anyway?” Beth asks.

“Your gold shoe, I saw it in the hallway.”

Beth bursts out in a crying laugh, “Those god-awful things saved me?! You’ve gotta be kidding me. I hope that scumbag rots in jail.”

“I don't think he’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were a Police Officer?” She asks.

“Well, it doesn't exactly help with making friends nowadays. I like people to know I'm a person before they know what I do.”

“You are a person, a damn good one,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Now get some rest, you’ve got a broken head. I'll be back later.”

“I am pretty tired,” I say as I lay down.

She opens the door to leave, then turns back, “you know you’re wrong, Logan.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are cut out for this.” She smiles and walks away.

End