"I don't do umbrella drinks sweetheart..."
“Bollocks!” he hissed, clenching his fist against the intense pain. His cigarette fell to the floor forgotten and slowly stained crimson from the tragedy of Pino Noir that littered the floor of the cellar.
“What have you done now?” Mige called down the cellar stair. The familiar shuffle of footsteps and floorboards was quickly followed by a groan of frustration from the owner of the bar when he reached the bottom and saw the thin man bent over the pile of glass and wine.
“Breaking more of my expensive shit he is, put me out on the street if you can’t stop dropping these cases.” Linde said in between sweeps of the broom.
“If you’d hire a barback we wouldn’t have this problem. I can’t tend your miserable customers and keep it stocked without proper help and you know it. You just like watching me drop things on myself.” Ville replied nonchalantly, lighting another cigarette as he grabbed the intact bottles and bolted up the steps. Linde considered this and shrugged. It’s true they had been hurting for an extra hand ever since they caught the last guy pinching from the drawer but good help was hard to come by and Linde loathed conducting interviews.
The Nightside of Eden was a hole in the wall pub that Linde had bought out and brought back from the grave about five years prior. It wasn’t exactly in the most appealing of neighborhoods but it was manageable enough. He had developed a long string of regulars who came in every Friday evening to watch Ville perform and it was no surprise that the bar was doing well.
The musician filled glasses and mixed drinks through the haze of smoke and dim purple and white lights that hung over the bar, thin hips swinging in their lining of black leather as he padded back and forth. With his eyes lined in black and hair to his shoulders, from behind he was often mistaken for one hell of a woman but the deep baritone voice that rumbled from his chest was more than enough to dispel that assumption, at least it was before this evening.
Ville knew he was trouble as soon as he sat down, it wasn’t his demeanor or his tone that gave it away; it was his eyes. Cobalt blue and curious they made contact with emerald green and froze. Ville smirked as the blue eyes combed over his thin frame and raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw the man’s gaze shift to look at his left hand and then back up to his emerald eyes with a grin.
“What do you recommend?” He asked, not at all interested in the beverages behind the counter.
“Well it would have been the Burgundy but unfortunately I just dropped the last of the case in the cellar. Could I offer you a brewski?” He smiled.
“A brewski?”
“You’ve never had a beer darling?” Ville asked sarcastically.
“Of course I have,” he replied with a cheeky smile, “I don’t do umbrella drinks sweetheart.”
“That’s a shame,” replied Ville, “I was hoping you might be the type.” There was an awkward pause as the man’s face flushed and he choked on a laugh and pulled the black beanie off of his brown mop of hair.
“A Harp, please.” Ville grinned and pulled a beer out of the cooler below the counter and handed it to the man with a chilled glass.
The rest of the evening went smoothly, working diligently until the last few stragglers finished off their glasses, blue eyes among them, Ville might have called today a good day. Mige, Gas, and the rest of the crew had gone home earlier that evening and Linde was in his office in the cellar but it was when this man walked in that the line between good and bad day was drawn. When he entered the bar Ville was finishing cleaning out the glasses and had his back to the doorway as he placed them on the shelf behind the bar.
“Hello beautiful, care to do me a favor?” the voice asked roughly.
Ville’s eyes flicked over to the blue eyed man to his left and he was immediately worried by what he saw. His customer’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were wide in apprehension, a frown creasing his brow he looked to Ville and back to the man behind him, hand tightening on the glass of beer. Ville turned slowly on the spot and came face to face with the barrel of the stranger’s .38.
“Count out the money from the register for me and I won’t have to make a mess of your pretty face.”
“What have you done now?” Mige called down the cellar stair. The familiar shuffle of footsteps and floorboards was quickly followed by a groan of frustration from the owner of the bar when he reached the bottom and saw the thin man bent over the pile of glass and wine.
“Breaking more of my expensive shit he is, put me out on the street if you can’t stop dropping these cases.” Linde said in between sweeps of the broom.
“If you’d hire a barback we wouldn’t have this problem. I can’t tend your miserable customers and keep it stocked without proper help and you know it. You just like watching me drop things on myself.” Ville replied nonchalantly, lighting another cigarette as he grabbed the intact bottles and bolted up the steps. Linde considered this and shrugged. It’s true they had been hurting for an extra hand ever since they caught the last guy pinching from the drawer but good help was hard to come by and Linde loathed conducting interviews.
The Nightside of Eden was a hole in the wall pub that Linde had bought out and brought back from the grave about five years prior. It wasn’t exactly in the most appealing of neighborhoods but it was manageable enough. He had developed a long string of regulars who came in every Friday evening to watch Ville perform and it was no surprise that the bar was doing well.
The musician filled glasses and mixed drinks through the haze of smoke and dim purple and white lights that hung over the bar, thin hips swinging in their lining of black leather as he padded back and forth. With his eyes lined in black and hair to his shoulders, from behind he was often mistaken for one hell of a woman but the deep baritone voice that rumbled from his chest was more than enough to dispel that assumption, at least it was before this evening.
Ville knew he was trouble as soon as he sat down, it wasn’t his demeanor or his tone that gave it away; it was his eyes. Cobalt blue and curious they made contact with emerald green and froze. Ville smirked as the blue eyes combed over his thin frame and raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw the man’s gaze shift to look at his left hand and then back up to his emerald eyes with a grin.
“What do you recommend?” He asked, not at all interested in the beverages behind the counter.
“Well it would have been the Burgundy but unfortunately I just dropped the last of the case in the cellar. Could I offer you a brewski?” He smiled.
“A brewski?”
“You’ve never had a beer darling?” Ville asked sarcastically.
“Of course I have,” he replied with a cheeky smile, “I don’t do umbrella drinks sweetheart.”
“That’s a shame,” replied Ville, “I was hoping you might be the type.” There was an awkward pause as the man’s face flushed and he choked on a laugh and pulled the black beanie off of his brown mop of hair.
“A Harp, please.” Ville grinned and pulled a beer out of the cooler below the counter and handed it to the man with a chilled glass.
The rest of the evening went smoothly, working diligently until the last few stragglers finished off their glasses, blue eyes among them, Ville might have called today a good day. Mige, Gas, and the rest of the crew had gone home earlier that evening and Linde was in his office in the cellar but it was when this man walked in that the line between good and bad day was drawn. When he entered the bar Ville was finishing cleaning out the glasses and had his back to the doorway as he placed them on the shelf behind the bar.
“Hello beautiful, care to do me a favor?” the voice asked roughly.
Ville’s eyes flicked over to the blue eyed man to his left and he was immediately worried by what he saw. His customer’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were wide in apprehension, a frown creasing his brow he looked to Ville and back to the man behind him, hand tightening on the glass of beer. Ville turned slowly on the spot and came face to face with the barrel of the stranger’s .38.
“Count out the money from the register for me and I won’t have to make a mess of your pretty face.”