Introduction


On the floor rested crumbs and wasted puddles of alcohol. The smell of biscuits lingered in the air. The chairs, tucked into tables with greasy tops, hid from the light that emanated from the few bulbs above the counter. There, a thin man stuck a cloth into a mug and wiped it clean before putting it away; he then produced another wet cloth and a spray bottle and began to wipe the tables.

A tiny bell rang; sporting a belt at the loosest notch, a man wearing dusty goggles entered. The bartender smiled. "Hey, Cap'n!" he said, "How ya doin'?"

"I-I tired," came the deep voice. He collapsed on a stool, took off his goggles, and placed them on the counter. "What's up?"

"Finished dinner. Thinking 'bout stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Commission."

"You're not going to get attacked by drakes like last time, are you?"

"Mm." The bartender chuckled. "So when did you get the commission?"

"Lunch."

"And you're flying out when?"

"'Morrow."

"Ah, tomorrow." Turning around, the bartender attacked the grease. "That's good to hear. What do you have to transport this time?"

"I not sure, but man back at, uh, um..." He scratched his head. "Damnit, forgot what it called, but he give lots."

"He didn't say? How much?"

"Five grand. Never got that before."

"Five grand?" The bartender walked to the counter. "Weird. You must be one lucky guy. Oh, can I get you something?"

"Mm."

"Five grand. I don't know what I'd do with that much. Maybe I'd clean this bar up a bit, add a new room, hire more people...oh, here ya go, Captain Sil."

"Fanks." He accepted the mug, took a hearty swig, and coughed. "Five grand for some 'stuff' and you just heard about it today," he continued, "The goods must be valuable. Strange." Yawning, Sil now watched the bartender stack the chairs atop of the tables. "So where are you supposed to move the stuff?"

"Soledad."

"Wait. Isn't there a military academy there?"

"Dunno." Sil took another swig.

"Who gave you the commission?"

"Guy with fancy suit. Called me." His eyelids drooped. "An-and I gots a baaad feeling..."

"It bothers me somehow, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Cap'n?" Snoring vibrated from his frame. The bartender scratched his chin.

***


"Hey, wake up."

"Ungh."

The bartender tapped the man's shoulder. "Come now, bar's closing."

Sil stirred and grunted. Between pants, he put one foot on the ground, then two, and then put his goggles on. When he reached the door, he froze. "It's on me," the bartender smiled.

The man pushed the door open and walked up the dark and empty street. From the shadow of the bar, a hooded figure watched him crawl into the distance.

Drafts

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