SPLINTER

Ep 3: An Evening at the Admiral's Keg

Al

A carefree tune rolled off the keys of the wind-up player piano. Each note faded under a sultry voice—one that held the attention of a dozen dreamy onlookers. As the final chords resonated through the smokey saloon, a wave of applause rained from the crowd, and a chorus of empty shot glasses clicked the tabletops. I shifted in my seat and leaned on the mahogany countertop, flagging the bartender.

A gray-haired gentleman finished drying a glass and nodded in acknowledgement. “What can I get ya, Albright?”

“Another whiskey, Will. One for Pa and one for Junior.”

Williams filled my glass. A portion of the amber liquid cascaded over the rim and splashed onto the bar. I could tell by the way he avoided my eyes and focused on wiping the spill that he wanted to say something, but probably didn’t know what. That might have been a first for him. Talk of the dead had a way of quieting even the loosest of tongues.

“Sorry to hear about your kin.” He wrung the towel and held it to his chest, over his heart. “Your Pa was a good, honest man, and your brother…well, he would have turned out just like him.”

“Yea, he would have.” I dug in my jacket for my wallet. “Pike and I have our work cut out for us.”

Williams waved off my efforts. “This drink’s on the house.”

“Put it on our account, and leave the bottle. The war may be over, but there’s still tough times ahead. Years of southern tradition won’t be erased overnight by handshakes and politics. Hell, if it was that easy, we could have avoided the war altogether.” I threw back the shot and poured another. “The way I see it, most differences can be settled with an open bottle and a game of cards.”

“Now, I can drink to that,” came the sweet timbre of a familiar female voice.

A hand moved up my back, and I turned to see wide blue eyes staring me down. “Why Miss Lucy! It’s been too long. And if I may say so, you’re still prettier than an oleander blossom in the moonlight, and only about half as poisonous.”

“You still using that line on the ladies?” She winked as she ran a finger around my collar.

Her touch sent fire over my skin. She might have been a few years older than me, but she was the finest woman this side of the Mississippi. I wasn’t any better at resisting her than any other man, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “You still stealin’ kisses and breakin’ hearts?”

Lucy flipped her blond curls and placed the tray on the counter for Williams to load it with another round of drinks. She leaned into me with her shoulder and a fresh breeze of rose petals rolled over me. “A girl’s got to make a living. It’s not like I can wait around for a fine, young soldier to whisk me out of this rundown town.”

My head spun briefly, maybe from the whiskey, maybe from the way Lucy eyed me. I pulled her close and inhaled; I could almost taste her. “You keep talking like that, and I might have a mind to make it happen.”

She let my lips graze her neck, before she spun away, balancing the tray and giggling. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m proposing to you, Mr. Albright. There are plenty of boys back from the war who are dandy to see me.”

“No doubt about that, Miss Lucy. No doubt about that.” I raised my glass in her direction and winked. As I finished the shot, a hand hit me on the shoulder. When I turned, a uniformed man stood beside me. “Evening, Sir.”

He saluted me, even though I was in plain clothes, the motion stiff and trained, like a typical greenhorn. I saluted him back with as much effort as it took to shoo a fly, then shook his outstretched hand. “Al Albright.”