I was working the early night shift at Clancy’s and trying to schmooze this old drunk out of a little better tip when in the front door came these two guys dressed in three-piece suits and carrying briefcases.
More damn lawyers, I thought. I stuck the smile on, though, just in case, although I gotta say that lawyers are the cheapest bastards in town except when they’re plying their accountants and can write it all off anyway.
I slapped cocktail napkins on the bar in front of them.
“What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
The first guy was the talker. He had a blue suit with those little pinstripes and a shirt that could have starred in a bleach commercial.
“I’ll have Cutty on the rocks and give him a Jack Daniels neat.” He waved his hand toward the silent second guy and his pinky ring flashed like lightning.
“You got it.” I turned to grab the two bottles from the back bar, dropped in the cubes and had their drinks in front of them in a few seconds.
Blue suit nodded. I figured that was thanks, so I said, “You’re welcome.” Both of them ignored me and I walked back to the old drunk.
“How’s it goin’? Can I get you another one of those?” It took him a minute to realize I was talking to him. He moved the glass with his wrist and I figured he wasn’t long for the conscious world. I pushed the button.
The button under the bar called out the manager. I didn’t use it very often, but it came in handy for the occasional rowdies or an over-the-limit guy like this one.