I did as I was told. I sat straining to see through the dim lighting and smoke. The place smelt stale, dirty. A bartender stood behind a makeshift bar made from lobster crates. A long plank rested on top of the crates forming the bar top. Dirty ashtrays along with bowls of shelled salted peanuts sat on a thin cloth used as a bar cover. As the patrons walked around the bar, peanut shells crunched beneath their shoes.
A large rotunda of a man with a patch on his right eye flicked his cigar in the peanuts, then tossed back a double Scotch. He slammed the shot glass on the plank with a sharp clack. He nodded approvingly at the bartender, and then limped out of the bar through a mob of patrons who mingled, drinking and chatting loudly, most of whom looked like dogs after a hard fight, hair unkempt and ragged clothes.
Behind the bar was a makeshift wooden shelf holding bottles of Scotch, and whiskey. A fish net draped down from the wall covering a corner of the shelf, an obvious attempt at decoration. Oddly to say, it worked. At least it fit in with the tables made from old lobster crates with a small plank laid across them. These tables filled the place. On each table sat a candle in a bottle, which most used to light their stubbed cigars or cigarettes. The chairs were wicker and old. I felt if I move too fast theses would-be assassins would collapse, killing me.
Adding to the ambiance are the walls. They were made of old planks with tight lines of grain with a knot or two. Rough prints of pirate ships hung from old nails driven into their knotted mass. I sat beneath the only painting not of a ship, it was a pirate.
I looked at the black bearded pirate in the painting, wondering who he might be. That’s when I heard a voice that somehow didn’t fit in the surroundings. The voice was soft and sweet. I turned to see an absolute angel.
Her young face smiled at me from beneath two large blue eyes. Her blonde hair lay on her shoulders like a layer of golden cream. As I gazed down her perfectly proportioned figured, I was instantly enchanted. Jessica Simpson holds nothing on this dame.
“Excuse me,” she said in an English accent, “May I get you something to drink.”
I sat gazing into her eyes wondering if she had a name ...or a price. Her perfume, sweet and alluring, danced in my nostrils. I liked it.
She asked again, “Sir…would you like a drink?”
I smiled, “Sure, Scotch straight up.”
She smiled back, twirled on one foot then trotted up to the bar.
I watched her walk away…and nearly fell off my wicker. Then I remembered the package and patted my shirt pocket, reassuring myself. I opened the top of the pocket and stared in at it. It was a small manila envelope with the top-glued shut and stamped with a wax seal. I jiggled and heard something rattle inside.
“Here’s your drink,” said the waitress.
I looked up into her eyes while her perfume drew me toward her, “Thanks.” I mumbled, and start to pay for the drink but she stopped me.
“The lady at the table by the door paid for it,” my young infatuation told me as she pointed to a woman dressed in a body length overcoat and wearing a large brim hat. Even in the dimly lit room, she wore dark sunglasses, more cloak and dagger. I was intrigued.
The woman raised her glass to me.
I raised my drink to her, thanking her, “Who is she,” I asked the waitress.
“I don’t know, never seen her here before.” Then she trotted off, with my eyes watching her every step. That’s when the mystery woman made her move by stepping into my line of sight. All I saw was her black overcoat. I followed the line of buttons up the coat to her face, which sat recessed in the shadows of her large brim hat.
“May I sit down?” she asked with an unusual, heavy accent. Her voice was feminine but deep as if suffering from a cold.
“Sure, I mean, please do.”
I watched her slide gracefully onto the wicker chair across from me. The candle did little to cast a glow onto her face. Her red lips shimmered in the light but the rest of her face remained cloaked in the shadows of the hat.
I sipped on my Scotch with my eyes fixed on her. “So, what brings you here tonight?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away but sat motionless in the candlelight. “You,” she finally said in almost a whisper.
“Me,” I questioned, “Why, I don’t even know you.”
“You have the package,” she said.
BT’s instructions came rushing back to me. No talking. No drinking. I sat the glass down with hardly two sips out of it. She might be my contact but how would I know. Something inside my chest told me she wasn’t.
“The package,” I questioned trying to de-rail her suspicions.
“You’re known as, ‘BT,’ aren’t you,” she said, sliding the sunglasses off her thin nose, revealing deep brown eyes. You know the kind, the kind that melts your soul with a passing glance.
“No, I’m sorry…I…I’m not him. My Name is…Will….Willard Humphrey. I work with the offshore men …HR issues.” I tried making things up but no matter what I said it sounded like a lie. Not even I believed it.
She stood, “Quit with the fun and games. Give me the package,” she demanded while patting her side coat pocket. “I’m sure you know what I have in here. Don’t make me use it.”
I wasn’t sure of anything except that I was in deep shit. What had BT gotten me into? As for her pocket, it could be a gun or maybe a bluff. I was willing to take a chance. Besides, we were in Moe’s; too many people for her to kill me here. “Listen, Dark and Mysterious, I have no idea what you’re talking about…but hey, I’m willing to forget it. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll —”
“Enough of this,” she snapped, then stepped next to me reaching for my shirt pocket.
I reached for her wrist, but my reach was intercepted by the waitress who sat down on my lap, wrapped her arms around me, pressing her body against mine. She winked before kissing me deep and long. I was surprised to say the least. Our lips parted and she leaned back and said dramatically, “Darling I knew I would find you here,” then she kissed me again. Believe me, I wasn’t complaining. I could do this all night. It crossed my mind several times.