Just Another Tuesday Night
Written as a fan contribution for Spirits of Raleigh by ParanoidFighter
Tuesday nights were always slow. Not much tended to happen on a Tuesday that brought people out to Seven Bones. John, to his credit, had tried a few various gimmicks to attract more customers on his slowest of nights, but no one really enjoyed the open mic nights — no one except the Pack, that is. The Pack loved the open mic night to the point the mic actually opened up after Paola spiked the microphone onto — and through — the stage during a particularly passionate solo.
John wasn't very happy about that. Floorboards weren't cheap.
Zelig wiped down the bar for the umpteenth time as he looked over the few filled booths and mingling civilians sipping their beer and nibbling on nachos. They weren't really anyone of consequence, Zelig smiled as one of them approached with an empty beer glass, but they were the ones who ensured Seven Bones maintained its appearance as a totally normal, not-at-all criminal hangout spot for the Cabinet. Taking the dirty glass, he flashed his bright smile, grabbed a clean one, and poured another beer before adding it to the man's tab. With a drunken grunt of appreciation, the John-that-wasn't-John turned and walked back to his table and his plate of nachos. Zelig gave a side-eyed glance to the digital tip jar beside him and bit back a sigh; not only were Tuesdays slow nights, but they were also nights where it was hardly worth keeping the lights on—
A bell over the front door chimed and a single woman walked inside. She made her way straight to a booth at the back of the bar, one that most people seemed to think was secluded and private. Perfect, Zelig smiled as he slipped a notebook out of his vest pocket, he was hoping she'd be back. He had been watching her for a few weeks now. She only ever ordered ice water with lime, a single appetizer of hummus and pita chips, and would nurse that single glass of water while talking with her companion. The companion, on the other hand, would order a pitcher of beer and a pizza for himself twice to thrice a night. At least they were small pizzas, Zelig thought as he stared at the door, similarly waiting for the companion's arrival.
Like clockwork, the man strode in fifteen minutes after the lady had. He sat down in the booth, tapped an order on the table's tablet, and then swiped a card to pay for their order. The order pinged on Zelig's register — a pitcher of honey wheat beer — and the bartender went about filling it, grateful, at least, that the man had ordered a pitcher of the only beer that was pouring well that night...
Zelig wiped the pitcher dry with a clean towel as he glanced around the bar. Everyone seemed content for a few minutes, so he could run the drinks out to the table himself; the robotic waitstaff would take care of the food.
Ducking out from behind the bar, he carried the pitcher, lime water, and an empty glass over to the table. He placed the lime water down in front of the woman and then the empty glass and pitcher in front of the man. "Welcome to Seven Bones," he smiled warmly between the two of them, "your food will be out in just a few minutes. If you need anything, just sidle up to the bar and let me know!" He glanced down at the table again. "Oh, let me go ahead and get you some extra napkins, too. One moment."
They nodded — the woman returned the smile — and then looked away from the bowtie-wearing bartender who was already on his way back with a napkin dispenser. Having supplied the table with a new dispenser, Zelig slipped behind the bar and opened his small notebook with one hand while the other picked up an ink pen. He clicked the pen open and listened to the tinny whistle in his right ear for a half-second before the static cleared. He resisted the urge to tug on his earlobe with resolve strengthened by Sasha's pointedly blank stare.
"It's uncomfortable," Zelig hissed as he leaned over and took Sasha's empty glass, "could you have found a smaller earpiece?"
"No."
A sigh as he poured three fingers of top-shelf whiskey into a glass and then topped it off with cola. The sigh wasn't about the drink, though; Zelig was used to the order. "You tuned in, too?"
Sasha nodded and took the glass from the bartender. "This should be good." And it was. So good, in fact, that Sasha was practically sparking with anticipation as he watched Zelig scribbling furiously in something he could only describe as shorthand cursive, in-between serving the patrons who approached the bar. Sasha watched as Zelig poured beer after cocktail, a familiar glimmer in the man's eyes. He knew that look; situations, variables, and outcomes were being spun up, assessed, and reassessed... In short, Sasha knew Zelig was on to something good. Zelig circled something on the page — "servers" — and slipped the notebook over to Sasha before putting his pen down when another customer approached the bar. As Sasha's cybernetically-enhanced brain struggled to translate Zelig's notes, the bartender busied himself with the patron... Pouring ingredients into a shaker, Zelig blended the drink in a few deft shakes before straining the contents into a lightly chilled glass; it was one of his own creations, a blend of brandy, creme de cacao, cocoa powder, and a single egg yolk. The Brownie Batter, he announced proudly... and then promptly handed it to Reina to drink. She proclaimed it to be delicious, ordered another, and then demanded it be added to the menu. John acquiesced — if only because he didn't have much of a choice against a hyped-up Reina, Zelig chuckled at his memories. Right, he gave himself a mental shake as the customer walked away with their cocktail, he wasn't just working as a bartender; after all, no regular bartender would have a moniker and a place in the Cabinet. Zelig — Ouzo — smiled as he leaned against the side of his bar, surveying his domain and listening to the patrons. In this case, Bad Wig and Pizza Man over his earpiece. And writing in the notebook Sasha had discreetly returned. The woman — Bad Wig, Zelig's notes accurately named her — was someone Sasha identified as some high-ranking muckitymuck at the same company that had run Zelig out on a rail disguised as a promise of pain and death. All because he got lost. Again. And that people kept opening doors for him — doors he had to walk through so he wouldn't be rude. It wasn't his fault, Zelig protested again and again, that people just assumed he belonged in places he didn't. Nor was it his fault that he was too polite to point out the error. Well, maybe that part was his fault, but he wasn't going to say anything if no one else did. Anyway, Bad Wig and Pizza Man were planning on relocating some office supplies... Bad Wig tugged on the bad wig that she — bless her heart — thought was an adequate disguise while she talked about paperclips with Pizza Man. They apparently had a few boxes that needed to be moved from building A to building B and the floor administrators were always so fussy when things were moved without packing slips.
"Leave that to me," Pizza Man mumbled around a mouthful of melted cheese and tomato sauce, "packing slips will be made."
"When?" Bad Wig's whispered voice was a little too eager, she realized, as Pizza Man cleared his throat.
"Soon," was all he said.
Zelig glanced over at Sasha. "Maintenance guy, second in command. I recognize the voice, if not the face; fucker's voice kept yelling at me over the Tannoy whenever I got lost..." He whispered, his tone uncharacteristically dark and harsh. "They're about to jack a few servers, I know it."
Sasha said nothing but stood up from his stool. They both knew Sasha was about to do some digging; if Bad Wig and Pizza Man were about to jack some data servers, as Zelig suspected, then there were bound to be a few more calls to those particular servers in investigation and preparation... Sasha slipped out of sight as Zelig surveyed the restaurant once more; the bartender's earpiece crackled with static again as Sasha whispered that he was just downstairs in the basement in case things went south. "I think it'll be fine," Zelig whispered as he polished a glass. After all, Paola was seated by the door and looking as unobtrusive as a Pack bouncer could look. She met Zelig's gaze and gave him a reassuring wink — he'd be safe with her, the gesture promised. He gave her a small smile as he discreetly bowed his head; he was grateful for her presence — if not her singing voice. Bad Wig and Pizza Man's discussion lasted for only a few more minutes — they were jittery at this point, Zelig thought as he made his way over to the table with a smile on his face.
"How's everything tonight? May I take your empty plates?" He asked sweetly.
"Great." Bad Wig said without a thought.
Pizza Man nodded in agreement as he handed the dirty dishes to the bartender, an eyebrow slowly raising as he stared — and really stared — at the bartender. Zelig cocked his head and smiled a disarming smile, one that made his eyes all but sparkle. "Is something the matter?" Mentally, he found himself sweating bullets as he hoped that they wouldn't recognize the chronically lost ex-employee who routinely made a mockery of their security system. The man opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and then spoke before he could stop himself. "Just wondering if you actually tie those bowties," he gestured with the half-empty glass of beer, "never seen anyone wear one, let alone tie it. Especially around here."
With a laugh, Zelig handed the dirty dishes over to a passing waiter-bot. "I do, indeed, sir!" He was familiar with this exchange. And relieved at the turn of events.
"I don't believe you." They always said that. Always. "I'm wounded, wounded I say!" Zelig clapped his hands over his heart, his knees bending as he swayed and laughed. "Tell you what, sir, I'll bet you twenty CAS I can tie this without even needing to look in a mirror." Normally he'd only bet five, but he knew what Pizza Man's paychecks were like; bastard could spare to lose a twenty a few hundred times over. "Hah, yeah, right! You're on..." Pizza Man's confidence died just like the words on his lips; the bartender had untied and retied his rose-patterned neckpiece in a series of practiced movements without breaking eye contact.
"Damn." He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and placed it on the table. "I think that's enough for tonight, then." He nodded to his companion and left the bar. Pocketing the money without even looking at it, Zelig smiled at Bad Wig. "Can I get you anything else? Another water?"
She shook her head and made to stand up, a motion that had Zelig politely backing away from the table.
"Have a good night; come back and see us again soon." He smiled as she stood and hurried away... Once her and Pizza Man's cars left the parking lot, he collected the napkin dispenser and returned it to the bar.
"You love that bowtie bet," Sasha's voice was a blend that could only be described as an "approving accusation."
"Why do you think I wear them?" Zelig's whisper held his cheeky grin. "Got the info you needed?"
"Yep. You were right. Getting in touch with John now; he'll have some interested parties lined up by the morning. If they want that data so badly, it's gotta be valuable. Doesn't even matter what it is."
Zelig's smile betrayed nothing of his thoughts. "They won't have changed the cameras around the campus; I can point out blind spots later, whenever you get your blueprints." His whisper was lost in the low thrum of the slowly growing dinner crowd. "Happy to help."
"You're the only person I know who can say that innocently and maliciously at the same time. Zekie can't even do that." Sasha chuckled. "Nicely done, Zelig. Got exactly what I needed and I barely lifted a finger."
"Technically you lifted three. Of whiskey."
"Smart ass."
They nodded — the woman returned the smile — and then looked away from the bowtie-wearing bartender who was already on his way back with a napkin dispenser. Having supplied the table with a new dispenser, Zelig slipped behind the bar and opened his small notebook with one hand while the other picked up an ink pen. He clicked the pen open and listened to the tinny whistle in his right ear for a half-second before the static cleared. He resisted the urge to tug on his earlobe with resolve strengthened by Sasha's pointedly blank stare.
"It's uncomfortable," Zelig hissed as he leaned over and took Sasha's empty glass, "could you have found a smaller earpiece?"
"No."
A sigh as he poured three fingers of top-shelf whiskey into a glass and then topped it off with cola. The sigh wasn't about the drink, though; Zelig was used to the order. "You tuned in, too?"
Sasha nodded and took the glass from the bartender. "This should be good." And it was. So good, in fact, that Sasha was practically sparking with anticipation as he watched Zelig scribbling furiously in something he could only describe as shorthand cursive, in-between serving the patrons who approached the bar. Sasha watched as Zelig poured beer after cocktail, a familiar glimmer in the man's eyes. He knew that look; situations, variables, and outcomes were being spun up, assessed, and reassessed... In short, Sasha knew Zelig was on to something good. Zelig circled something on the page — "servers" — and slipped the notebook over to Sasha before putting his pen down when another customer approached the bar. As Sasha's cybernetically-enhanced brain struggled to translate Zelig's notes, the bartender busied himself with the patron... Pouring ingredients into a shaker, Zelig blended the drink in a few deft shakes before straining the contents into a lightly chilled glass; it was one of his own creations, a blend of brandy, creme de cacao, cocoa powder, and a single egg yolk. The Brownie Batter, he announced proudly... and then promptly handed it to Reina to drink. She proclaimed it to be delicious, ordered another, and then demanded it be added to the menu. John acquiesced — if only because he didn't have much of a choice against a hyped-up Reina, Zelig chuckled at his memories. Right, he gave himself a mental shake as the customer walked away with their cocktail, he wasn't just working as a bartender; after all, no regular bartender would have a moniker and a place in the Cabinet. Zelig — Ouzo — smiled as he leaned against the side of his bar, surveying his domain and listening to the patrons. In this case, Bad Wig and Pizza Man over his earpiece. And writing in the notebook Sasha had discreetly returned. The woman — Bad Wig, Zelig's notes accurately named her — was someone Sasha identified as some high-ranking muckitymuck at the same company that had run Zelig out on a rail disguised as a promise of pain and death. All because he got lost. Again. And that people kept opening doors for him — doors he had to walk through so he wouldn't be rude. It wasn't his fault, Zelig protested again and again, that people just assumed he belonged in places he didn't. Nor was it his fault that he was too polite to point out the error. Well, maybe that part was his fault, but he wasn't going to say anything if no one else did. Anyway, Bad Wig and Pizza Man were planning on relocating some office supplies... Bad Wig tugged on the bad wig that she — bless her heart — thought was an adequate disguise while she talked about paperclips with Pizza Man. They apparently had a few boxes that needed to be moved from building A to building B and the floor administrators were always so fussy when things were moved without packing slips.
"Leave that to me," Pizza Man mumbled around a mouthful of melted cheese and tomato sauce, "packing slips will be made."
"When?" Bad Wig's whispered voice was a little too eager, she realized, as Pizza Man cleared his throat.
"Soon," was all he said.
Zelig glanced over at Sasha. "Maintenance guy, second in command. I recognize the voice, if not the face; fucker's voice kept yelling at me over the Tannoy whenever I got lost..." He whispered, his tone uncharacteristically dark and harsh. "They're about to jack a few servers, I know it."
Sasha said nothing but stood up from his stool. They both knew Sasha was about to do some digging; if Bad Wig and Pizza Man were about to jack some data servers, as Zelig suspected, then there were bound to be a few more calls to those particular servers in investigation and preparation... Sasha slipped out of sight as Zelig surveyed the restaurant once more; the bartender's earpiece crackled with static again as Sasha whispered that he was just downstairs in the basement in case things went south. "I think it'll be fine," Zelig whispered as he polished a glass. After all, Paola was seated by the door and looking as unobtrusive as a Pack bouncer could look. She met Zelig's gaze and gave him a reassuring wink — he'd be safe with her, the gesture promised. He gave her a small smile as he discreetly bowed his head; he was grateful for her presence — if not her singing voice. Bad Wig and Pizza Man's discussion lasted for only a few more minutes — they were jittery at this point, Zelig thought as he made his way over to the table with a smile on his face.
"How's everything tonight? May I take your empty plates?" He asked sweetly.
"Great." Bad Wig said without a thought.
Pizza Man nodded in agreement as he handed the dirty dishes to the bartender, an eyebrow slowly raising as he stared — and really stared — at the bartender. Zelig cocked his head and smiled a disarming smile, one that made his eyes all but sparkle. "Is something the matter?" Mentally, he found himself sweating bullets as he hoped that they wouldn't recognize the chronically lost ex-employee who routinely made a mockery of their security system. The man opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and then spoke before he could stop himself. "Just wondering if you actually tie those bowties," he gestured with the half-empty glass of beer, "never seen anyone wear one, let alone tie it. Especially around here."
With a laugh, Zelig handed the dirty dishes over to a passing waiter-bot. "I do, indeed, sir!" He was familiar with this exchange. And relieved at the turn of events.
"I don't believe you." They always said that. Always. "I'm wounded, wounded I say!" Zelig clapped his hands over his heart, his knees bending as he swayed and laughed. "Tell you what, sir, I'll bet you twenty CAS I can tie this without even needing to look in a mirror." Normally he'd only bet five, but he knew what Pizza Man's paychecks were like; bastard could spare to lose a twenty a few hundred times over. "Hah, yeah, right! You're on..." Pizza Man's confidence died just like the words on his lips; the bartender had untied and retied his rose-patterned neckpiece in a series of practiced movements without breaking eye contact.
"Damn." He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and placed it on the table. "I think that's enough for tonight, then." He nodded to his companion and left the bar. Pocketing the money without even looking at it, Zelig smiled at Bad Wig. "Can I get you anything else? Another water?"
She shook her head and made to stand up, a motion that had Zelig politely backing away from the table.
"Have a good night; come back and see us again soon." He smiled as she stood and hurried away... Once her and Pizza Man's cars left the parking lot, he collected the napkin dispenser and returned it to the bar.
"You love that bowtie bet," Sasha's voice was a blend that could only be described as an "approving accusation."
"Why do you think I wear them?" Zelig's whisper held his cheeky grin. "Got the info you needed?"
"Yep. You were right. Getting in touch with John now; he'll have some interested parties lined up by the morning. If they want that data so badly, it's gotta be valuable. Doesn't even matter what it is."
Zelig's smile betrayed nothing of his thoughts. "They won't have changed the cameras around the campus; I can point out blind spots later, whenever you get your blueprints." His whisper was lost in the low thrum of the slowly growing dinner crowd. "Happy to help."
"You're the only person I know who can say that innocently and maliciously at the same time. Zekie can't even do that." Sasha chuckled. "Nicely done, Zelig. Got exactly what I needed and I barely lifted a finger."
"Technically you lifted three. Of whiskey."
"Smart ass."
Comments