...After Dark

 Shriveled leaves tumbled in droves down the street, driven by the chilled winds of an early fall. Some had been caught in oily puddles then continued to pile up and shiver in particularly strong gusts. Dusk had already set in, but the streetlights remained dark, giving the tall man’s surroundings a murky ambiance. Flood lights bolted to the walls of crumbling cinder block buildings yielded patches of sickly yellow glow; this made utter darkness a more appealing option. The tall man pulled his long coat tighter and walked on.

 He needed to find a bar known to locals and lowlifes—one and the same to most people—as Mad Jack’s. By all accounts he should have already found it. On this street, what businesses remained hadn’t invested in actual names, as monikers as simple as Pawn Shop, Market, Irish Market, and Bail Bonds stood out in neon and backlit plastic signs. Still, the tall man had yet to locate his objective. A car hobbled and sputtered by, its tailpipe occasionally skipping on the asphalt and kicking up sparks. “…enough of this.” The tall man muttered, and a streetlight next to him flickered on, quickly followed by the rest of them.

 As if a hidden pathway had suddenly been illuminated, an intrinsically familiar presence made itself known. The tall man walked to the nearest intersection and turned left. There, sticking out like a too-tall book set horizontally on a shelf was Mad Jack’s. Only the sign read, Jack’s Family Bar & Grill. “Eh, same thing.” He said, quickening his pace until he stood on the adjacent sidewalk. The OPEN sign wasn’t on, even if the posted hours showed it should have been. Shutters on the inside of the door pointed downward, but light spilled out from between the cracks. He placed his hand on the cool brushed metal of the door and walked in, a cliché tin bell signaling that a patron had entered. If a family had ever set foot in there before, it was certainly the last and only time.

 The place was empty, though a not insignificant amount of shuffling could be heard coming from the kitchen. The tall man gingerly took a few more steps inward and surveyed the scene. The stools, booths, and tables hadn’t been disturbed for at least a couple days; the same could not be said for the myriad bottles of liquor that lined the mirrored wall behind the bar. A loud crash and louder expletive came from the kitchen. Moments later, the source of both barged through the swinging door.

 “Oh. A customer. I’ll be damned.” He said, sucking on his index finger. He inspected the finger and, apparently satisfied, wiped it on his jeans. “Green glass cuts just as neatly as clear if you weren’t already aware. So what can I get for you?”

 “A spritzer, if you’re able.”

 “Well, I’ve had some tonight already, but I’ll manage.”

 “Sorry, I meant if you’ve got the necessary ingredients.”

 “Oh, right.” He pointed to his obscene liquor collection. “Not the kinda stuff you’d call austere, by any stretch. But I’ve got what’ll fix ya.” He bent over and rummaged around in a refrigerated cabinet beneath the bar until he brought up an old bottle of white wine, winking as he set it to the side. In moments, the drink was made and set firmly in front of the tall man who sipped it cautiously.

 “I must say, this is rather better than I thought it would be. No offense to you, of course.”

 “Oh certainly not, mister…?”

 The tall man paused a moment, wishing he’d rehearsed more. “Haggard.”

 “Ahh, now there’s a name for a place like this.” He laughed harder than he should have and plucked a bottle with a ripped label from the wall. “Mine’s Jack, if the faded sign out front hasn’t made that obvious.”

 “So you own this place, yes?” Mr. Haggard asked. He took another sip of his spritzer and gently set the glass down.

 “Ohhh, yeah. Bought, paid, and ulcer’d for.” Jack took a swig then replaced the bottle, taking down another random one immediately after. “Keeps a man busy! Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Haggard?”

 “I would have to agree, if I’m being honest.”

 “Oh yeah?” Jack downed another gulp. “Honest. Hmm. Alright… but agree? Like you agreed at the funeral?”

 Mr. Haggard pushed his drink away and stood up. “I’m sure I don’t-”

 “Damn right, you don’t! I might not have said it to the one you’re wearing now, but you agreed to never show your face around me again.”

 Mr. Haggard let out a deep sigh and waved a hand across his face, revealing a wizened visage and a trimmed white beard. “I have to speak with you, Jack.”

 “You have to get the hell outta here.” Jack tossed the empty bottle onto the bar and walked to the far side of the room. “Place is closed.”

 Mr. Haggard watched as Jack went through a creaky door and down a flight of steps. With a flick of his finger, he locked the entrance then went downstairs as well. Two pool tables sat crammed together by the far wall, their felt at various stages of ripped and shredded. A few stained glass lamps hung from the ceiling, but they offered little light that wasn’t tinted orange or green. Jack stood behind a minibar, pouring himself a drink from an art deco crystal decanter.

 “Now this is the good stuff.” Jack said, his voice suspiciously calm. “Makes pocketing all those Spanish gold coins worth it.”

 “I didn’t know you had done that.”

 “Not surprising. Though, really, how else do you think I managed to afford this place? Inheritance? Low interest loans?” Jack broke into laughter at the last part and knocked back the dark amber liquor.

 “Are you trying to prove a point? Is that what all this is?”

 “There’s nothing to prove here, old man.” Jack poured himself more bourbon. “This is all a coda that will eventually eclipse the movement it succeeded. Beethoven would be so damn proud of me.”

 “Oh, I’m certain he would have been.” Mr. Haggard dusted off a backed stool and sat down on it. “Not if he saw you now, however.”

 “And there ya go, Merlin! The deaf sonuvabitch won’t ever see me again because I’m never going back. And before you ask, yes, that includes everything more than five seconds ago.”

 “There are a lot of people who would do whatever they could for that kind of gift.”

 “Gift? Is that what you really think?” Jack waved his hand in dismissal. “Exactly how warped you are I will hopefully never know.”

 “The largely unfulfilled wish to travel to the past, to witness historic events as they unfold, should not be marginalized in any way.”

"You don't understand!" Jack shouted, bourbon sloshing out of the glass and onto his trembling hand. "I was 10 when I met Lincoln--THE Abraham Lincoln--and I could have warned him!"
 "Jack, it doesn't work that way. Never has."
 "You think I don't know that!?" Jack threw the nearly empty glass against the wall. The shards reflected what little light there was in the dingy basement. "You think I'd forget after Pompeii? DO YOU!? They were already dead and they didn't even know it... they didn't even know..." Jack lifted the crystal decanter, disappointed, yet unsurprised, to see it empty.

The two men sat in silence, both unwilling to make eye contact or be the first one to restart the conversation. The wind blew especially hard outside, making the building’s foundation creak more than it should have. Dead leaves had collected against the basement window, forming a crumbling layer that completely blocked a view to the outside. It was unquestionably a dark night outside regardless.

 “How did you know?”

 “How did I know what? That you were you? You’re talking to a guy who was sent all over the world to solve riddles and puzzles. Seeing through this one was easy.”

 Jack disappeared behind the minibar. Merlin heard the clinking of glass and crystal as the man he came to see scrounged for another drop of forgetfulness. Raindrops began to pelt the building, filling the basement with soft echoes that sustained until they became a unified murmur of static. It had been years—long, dreary years—since the two men had seen each other last. Now that they were in the same room together it may as well have been a week that passed, which made the transformation Merlin saw in Jack all the more discomfiting.

 “I think nature sees through it, too and was trying to warn me. Stupid as that sounds.” Jack said, reappearing with a can of beer that didn’t react when he opened it. “Huh, flat. Oh well.”

 “You’re right. It rained then, too.”

 “Not what I meant, but close enough.” Jack pointed at Merlin as he tried to finish off the beer in one go. He couldn’t. “Firstly, watch your step, gramps. Secondly, I mean the trees giving up too soon. Leaves don’t just pop off and shrivel up like they’ve been doing.”

 “Indeed they don’t, which brings me to why I am here.” Merlin stood up and took a cautious step toward Jack. “Something rather serious has come up that you can help with.”

 “Piss off.”

 Merlin held up his hand and took another step forward. “I won’t say you need to come back, but you will certainly want to if you listen to what I have to say.”

 “I said, piss off.”

 “Just let me speak. Annie-” Merlin suspected as much, but he was still caught off guard at the sight of Jack pointing a revolver at him.

 “I’m almost positive I was clear enough at her funeral.” He fired a round, killing a derelict pinball machine. “You don’t ever talk to me again and you sure as hell don’t ever say her name. Now I’ve been pretty lenient about the first rule so far, but you’ve only got another five words left before I switch gears.”

 Merlin looked unflinchingly at Jack, to the revolver, then back again. Without a word he held up his index finger to signal he wasn’t up to any funny business. He then loosened his long coat, reached inside, and pulled out a worn and frayed book. Its spine curled at the edges and the binding looked fit to fail at a hint of errant breath. “You can save Annie, Jack.”

to be continued