Jameson's

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​      The Jameson's Pub sign flickered on the busy street corner. The once brilliant, bright red paint on the heavy, wood door had long since faded and chipped away, leaving only specks of what it once was. On the dusty window sill, the owner, Andrew Jameson (known to his loyal patrons as AJ), for the third time that year, placed the tired, beat-up "Now Hiring" sign. Andrew stepped outside to light his cigarette, the embers resembled his hair years before, and had since taken on a chalky, grey tone. He ran his calloused fingers through his hair, and solemnly went inside.
​    "That AJ couldn't keep a bartender if he tried," the old man chortled to his companion, and took another swig of his beer. "I'd be twice the bar owner he is if he'd just let me buy the darn thing!"
​   "Mel, you say that every Tuesday," AJ laughed from across the room. "If you ever owned this bar there wouldn't be any liquor left for the customers!"
​   "You know that's right!" Mel hollered enthusiastically as he and his friend made their way to the door.
​     As the two men left, another entered. His hair was black as night, with hints of grey peeking through as the strands brushed against his overcoat. His eyes were a piercing blue, and his skin as pale as the snow that had begun to fall. Slowly and shyly, he approached the bar.
​   "What can I get you, friend?" AJ kindly asked, while cleaning a shot glass.
​    The man's eyes averted AJ's. "Actually, I was here about the bartender job."
​   "News sure does travel fast! Heck, I just put that sign up, not but an hour ago, I'd say."
​    The man shifted uncomfortably, wanting to say something.
​    "Oh! Right, right! Sorry, here's the application. Learn to speak up, brother," He laughed. "So, you got a name?"
​   "Uh, it's Scott, Scott McGuire."
​    "Well, Scott Scott McGuire, I'm Andrew, but my friends call me AJ." He outstretched his hand.
​     Scott rubbed his sweaty palm onto his tattered jeans, and nervously shook his hand. "Um, here's the application, Andrew."
​     "It's AJ."
​     "Right. AJ."
      AJ grabbed his hat and coat from the closet. "Well, time to lock up. You start Thursday. And, uh, I only pay in cash, y'know man taxes and what not." He crumpled up the application.
     Scott stared, bewildered. "Uh...thank you!"
     "Yeah, yeah. Want me to give you a lift home?"
       Scott's face turned red and tears began to well up. "N-no that's alright."
       "Oh... I see. Say, I've got a little apartment underneath the bar I usually rent out in the summer! It ain't much, but I can deduct it from your pay."
     "Thank you! Thank you!"
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       Within a couple weeks, Scott was really getting the hang of mixing drinks. He was doing so well, it seemed all of Nashville came out to try the newborn Jameson's.
​     "Scott!" A drunken AJ called.
​     "Yeah?" Scott looked up from wiping off the new pool table.
​     "We're gonna," He belched. "We're gonna celebrate!"
​     "Are you hammered again?"
​     "Hey man! I am not a tool and I refuse to be called one!"
​      "Gimme your keys."
​       "No," AJ yelled as he climbed onto the pool table. "They're mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine..." His head slammed onto the table with a thud, and he immediately began to snore.
​      Scott carefully grabbed AJ's keys and hoisted him over his broad shoulder, and gingerly laid him in the backseat.
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         AJ woke up on his dingy, cream couch to the smell of vomit. He hesitantly peered out the window, and groaned at the sight of dawn. He trudged into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, rubbing his temples. He took a sip, and then, suddenly let it hit the floor.
    
       He sped past every stoplight he came across, cursing himself for forgetting to lock up. He sprinted up the steps, and ran inside to be sure nothing had been stolen. As he leaned over the counter, someone grabbed his mouth from behind with a handkerchief.

​      AJ slowly began to come to. He felt the blurry floor and recognized it as soon as his fingertips touched it, ice cold concrete. He struggled to lift his head up and began to identify the hazy, red-orange brick walls. He carefully tried to stand, and failed. He looked down at his feet to find rusty shackles. He tried to scream, but the duct tape across his wrinkled lips muffled his cries for help. 
​     Then, a dark figure slowly crept into the dimly lit room. "I suppose you're wondering who I am, and where you are, and," His voice took a mimicking tone, "what do you want from me? I'm just good ole AJ! Ain't harmed nobody, buddy!"
​      AJ nodded and answered with incoherent, muffled pleas.
     "Well, that's where you're wrong." The figure stepped into the light and ripped off AJ's duct tape.
​      "Scott?"
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      Scott shook his head. "Y'know, when I first walked into the bar that night, I'd planned to kill you then. But, when it was apparent you didn't recognize me? I decided to hold out." He quickly grabbed AJ's arms and bound them with a bandana.
​    "I just met you a few weeks ago! You've got the wrong guy!"
​    "I can assure you, I don't. Does the name Norman Young ring any bells?"
​      AJ's eyes widened. "We were only kids, man! I've changed a lot since then, honest!"
​     "Right. You put a smile on your face and call everyone 'friend' and expect all those years of torment to just fade away," He pushed his hair back, uncovering a long, crescent-shaped scar above his ear. "You remember that don't you," He watched as guilt flowed over AJ's face. "Yeah, you sure do," He touched his knife to AJ in the same spot. "I could give you the same one."
​    "Norman, man that was like thirty years ago! Why'd you wait until now? I know I bullied you pretty badly, and I never should've cut you with that stupid switchblade...I was a jerk back then, and I'm really sorry..." AJ sighed as Norman tried to hold back tears.
​     Norman pushed his chest out and began to slyly grin. "I guess now is as good of a time as any."
​     "For what?"
​     "Before I came to work in this dump, I was the editor of The Tennessean, and I was good too! But then, the murders began," He looked over at AJ, smirking as AJ began to shift. "I became obsessed with the murders. I had to know every aspect of every one. I studied the backgrounds of the victims. I meticulously examined the crime scene photos. What did these guys have in common," He pretended to ponder this. "I mean, there has to be something! Right? So, I started to ask around if anyone knew these guys, because the cops weren't doing anything! Finally, I met a little old man, well, you know him as Mel. Well, you're good old pal told me all these gentlemen worked for you! You can imagine my surprise, I'm sure," His eyes gleamed with excitement. "Of course, the paper fired me for never showing up, which was I mean, ridiculous, right? Anyway, so I hatched a plan. I'd come in mister shy guy, you'd feel all sympathetic, and then I'd getcha," He jumped forward. "But, well, you know the rest, mister forgetful. So, yeah, you're the killer everyone's afraid of, I guess."
​     AJ hunched over.
​    "Oh no, is the poor baby upset he's been found out, aw..." AJ cut Norman off with a head butt to the mouth.
​Norman dropped his knife, turned away and held his hand out in front of himself. AJ inched towards the knife as Norman spit a bloody tooth out. AJ managed to pick up the weapon and cut his hands free. He carefully dropped the knife and swiftly put his hands back behind his back. Norman clenched his fists as he stood and then angrily stomped over to AJ.  He squatted down next to him and picked up the Bowie knife.
​    "You little... you haven't changed a bit! It's like we're fifteen all over again," He pressed the blade to AJ's throat. "Only this time, I'm the one with the happy ending."
​     AJ grabbed the blade and screamed as blood poured from his hand. He punched Norman in the stomach and gained control of the knife.
​     "AJ, c'mon now, let's be reasonable, I..." Norman doubled over, attempting to grab his own innards as they spilled from the newly formed gash. AJ smiled triumphantly as Norman violently gagged until, finally, his head hit the concrete. AJ snatched the keys out of Norman's pockets and released himself from the shackles.
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     "AJ, you have got to quit doing this to me and the boys. Sooner or later, someone is gonna put two and two together." The cop warned as the others cleaned up the mess inside.
    "I know, Harry, I know. But he knew. I couldn't just let him go. And look, here's a little something for all you've done for me." AJ handed him a generous sum of cash.
​    "Hey, no, no...no, we're family. Don't worry about all that."
​    "Look, I know you and Sammie don't live in the nicest house, and she's due in a couple months, and... I just want my sister to be happy, and two things make her happy. You and money," The two laughed. "So, just take it. And here's some for the guys in there cleaning up my mess, again."
​   "Well, thank you, Andrew. You know, deep down, you're a good man."
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     Hours later, AJ returned home, and went up to the attic. He proudly stood in front of the wall of newspaper clippings and photographs.
​     He ran his fingers over headline after headline: "Local Man Found Dead" "Twelve Men Dead in the Last Two Years" "Will We Ever Know Who Has Killed So Many in Music City?"
​     AJ stepped back and looked at all the pictures of bartenders past, red X's over all but one. He grinned as he marked an X over the last one, Norman, and began painting a new "Now Hiring" sign.