Two tables were occupied, and there was a fellow at the end of the bar, nursing a beer while he worked his way through the
“It looks beautiful,” I said of his handiwork, “but it’s not what I’m here for. I just stopped by to ask you a question.”
“Go right ahead, Matt. If I don’t know the answer I’ll make something up.”
“I was just wondering if anybody came around recently asking questions about me.”
“Questions. I don’t think so. What kind of questions?”
“What I used to drink.”
“Why would anybody ask that? But you know, there was an old friend of yours in here the other day.”
“Oh?”
“He sat here, had a couple. Paid for his drink when he got it, waved away the change. ‘That’s good, have one yourself.’ So, you know, guy’s like that, you fill the glass a little fuller on his next round.”
“Sure.”
“Same story the second time around. ‘That’s good, have something for yourself.’ And he says how this is a nice place, and an old buddy of his used to come here.”
“And he mentioned me by name.”
He nodded. By now he’d finished putting the Bloody Mary together and strained it into a stemmed glass. I’d assumed it was for a customer, but he took a sip of it himself. “Long night,” he explained. “Got to get the heart started.”
“Sound policy.”
He took another sip. “The impression I got,” he said, “was you were cops together.”
“He was a cop?”
“Used to be, would be my guess.”
“I don’t suppose you got his name.”
“No, and I don’t think he got mine either. We never got that far.”
“What did he look like?”
He frowned. “You know,” he said, “I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention. Middle-aged, not fat, not skinny. Sort of average. He was drinking Scotch, I remember that much, and I think it was Johnnie Red, but I couldn’t swear to it.”
“And he talked about me.”
“Just did I ever see you, and did you ever get here now that you weren’t drinking anymore, and how you used to be a bourbon drinker.”
“He remembered that.”
“But what he couldn’t remember,” he said, “was what your favorite bourbon used to be.”
“Ah. What did you tell him?”
“I don’t think you had a favorite. But he wanted an answer. Say it was a special occasion. What was that bourbon you would order then? Like he used to know, and he wanted his memory refreshed.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I don’t know if I ever poured it for you,” he said, “and what difference did it make what you used to drink, since you’re not drinking it now? But he had to have an answer, Mr. Have Something for Yourself, and I remember somebody else was going on about how one particular brand of poison was the best in the world, and I think it was Turkey, but it might have been Evan Williams, and you named another bourbon and said it was as good as either of them. You remember the conversation?”
I shook my head.
“No reason why you should. This was years ago. But it stuck in my mind, and a day or two later I had a taste of it myself, and I decided you were right. Can you guess the label?”
“You tell me.”
For answer he reached and drew down the bottle from the top shelf. Maker’s Mark.
And he hesitated for a second or two, it couldn’t have been any longer than that, and then he replaced the bottle on the shelf.
“So that’s what I told him,” he said. “You know the guy, Matt?”
“I had an idea who it was,” I said, “and your description nailed it down.”
“Yeah, I’m hopeless at describing people. He was wearing glasses, if that helps. Was it okay what I told him?”
“Sure.”
He hesitated, then said, “You know, it’s funny. Just now, when I had the bottle in my hand, I had the feeling you were going to ask me to pour you one.”
“Really.”
