Due Diligence

 If you have never met someone like this, consider yourself lucky. I was a bartender for 8 years, and not that kind of lucky

Due diligence

Raphael eyed his two tables- the quiet man in the back in the wide-brimmed hat, and Larry, sitting alone with his six empty bottles. Tearing the bill from the printer, Raphael approached Larry’s table. ‘You’ve had enough Larry, it’s time to go.’

Larry scratched his balding, liver-spotted  head, sending flakes of dandruff fluttering through the air like snowflakes. ‘But I’ve only had one or two,’ he said, eyeing his six empties in what he thought was a discrete manner. ‘Plus I’m a great driver!’

Raphael arched an eyebrow, glancing outside. ‘Which one is yours?’

‘Red…’ Larry mumbled. ‘F100.’

‘You mean the one with the broken headlight and the flat tire?’

Larry’s wide flushed face, blushed even redder. ‘It ain’t completely flat. She ain’t as bad as she looks, trust me!’

‘Well, it looks like I’ll be having your keys, please. You don’t want the cops interested again, do you?’

Larry frowned, pounding his hands on the armrests. ‘I thought we was pals- pals don’t stop each other from gettin’ home to their lovin’ wives!’

Raphael barked a laugh. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Darlene described as ‘loving’ unless it was in a string of curses, or a bad joke. Keys.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Keys.’

Huffing loudly, Larry reached in his ragged plaid sweater, arms shaking from a blend of Parkinsons and beer. He scowled at Raphael as he withdrew a single key and hurled it towards him. Raphael chuckled as it fell short, tinkling to the ground. Larry scowled, narrowing his eyes at the well-dressed bartender, then slowly began the parody of a controlled fall that was bending over.

Raphael’s face remained cold. He had seen this scenario play out many times before. Larry had a reputation, at least among the barmen that had been around for a few. ‘Key.’

Larry puffed his cheeks, grabbing the key tightly, and slammed it on the bar.

‘Your bill,’ Raphael said calmly, as he slid the key from Larry’s reach.

‘No tip,’ Larry sneered, a sideways smile on his face, as though he knew things you couldn’t imagine, and wouldn’t want to. Reaching in to this stained blue sweatpants, Larry retrieved his debit card.

‘Darn, I thought that fifty cents would send my daughter through college.’

‘You don’t have a daughter, and lucky for us all,’ he snarled.

‘And you don’t have… your key, or any reason to be here. Enjoy your fifty cents.’

Larry stumbled out to the snowy parking lot. Raphael watched through the window as he heaved open the rusty door of his truck, fished in the glovebox, and was revealed by the gleam of a silver key in the fluorescent streetlights.

‘Old dogs…’ Raphael mumbled, printing the final bill of the night, which he delivered to his other customer. ‘You handled yerself well, son,’ he said. 

Raphael’s shrug was reflected in his patrons mirrored aviators. ‘Anything else, officer?’

‘How much did Larry stiff ya?’

‘Six times five… tax… fifteen percent… Eugh math… $6.

‘What a prick. Throw twenty percent of that on there, plus an extra fiver.’

Raphael’s face split in to a wide smile. ’And I thought it would be a dull night!’

The officer chuckled. ‘My night’s just getting started.’